Henry takes me to a restaurant called Oleana. It’s a thriving spot on Hampshire Street that serves Turkish and Middle Eastern food. I take Lucy’s advice and don’t pretend to be more sophisticated than I am—show your hand, Lissy.

“I don’t have the most adventurous diet,” I tell Henry. “I haven’t eaten much of this type of food before.”

I look up at Henry. He looks incredibly sexy in camel-colored cotton chinos, a crisp white collared shirt, and a double-breasted wool and cashmere blazer. His blond hair has been combed into a style, but a stubborn cowlick remains. He wears a blue tie that brings out his piercing sapphire eyes.

I’m in a silky pink dress that rises just above my knee, with an embroidered lace overlay that falls a little lower. It was another thrift shop find—I’ve found that upper-class areas always have designer finds in their second-hand stores. I’ve paired it with some soft pink brushed suede ankle boots with a wide heel.

“Turkish food is amazing,” he tells me. “The flavors are incredible. I used to hang out with the language students at uni, and they were mad for foreign foods—Russian, Georgian, Turkish, Japanese. We used to have themed food nights monthly. Then, once a year, we’d bring out everything to watch the Eurovision Song Contest. There’d be an absolute feast.”

I smile. We’re standing outside the doors of the restaurant, waiting to make it to the hostess’ stand.

“What else did you do at Cambridge?”

“I rowed,” he tells me. “Although I was never good enough to race Oxford.”

I look him over and understand where those rippling biceps and incredible six-pack came from. “That sounds amazing.”

“I enjoyed it,” he admits. “Although, if we’re talking Cambridge, then nothing beats the May Ball.”

“The May Ball?”

“Yes, although it’s actually in June—don’t ask me who named it. Each college hosts its own all-night party. Every room in the college and all its grounds get filled with performers, fairground rides, entertainment, food. If you go in for a dining ticket, you have a full four-course dinner beforehand. Everybody wears black tie. The men in suits and bowties; the women in ballgowns. Unlimited champagne. It’s something.”

My eyes are wide in wonder, picturing all those people in their finery dining and drinking in a magnificent age-old college. “It sounds wonderful.”

I pause for a second to check my cell in case Connor has tried to reach me. The guilt of knowing I’ve left him home alone has me itching to know he’s okay.

Henry catches me looking. “Your brother?” he guesses.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I told him I’d be out tonight, but I still worry.”

“We don’t have to go out,” he offers. “I’d be happy to go to yours and watch a film or something if you’d rather.”

I’m touched that Henry’s offered, but I wouldn’t want him to come to my place and have to pretend he didn’t notice Connor flying high in the corner. I smile. “No, it’s all right. I’m putting it away.”

We reach the hostess’ podium, and she leads us to our table. Half the restaurant is booths, and the other half is made up of wooden tables and chairs. We’re led to a table for two against the wall.

The restaurant is lit by wall sconce lights that cast an orange glow over the diners. The walls are covered in food-themed art. The sound of patrons talking fills the air, along with the scent of spices.

We sit down, place our drinks orders, then look at the menus. There are no prices, but Henry tells me not to worry. “This is a date,” he says. “It’s on me.”

I look down and read through the menu. The appetizers boast delicacies such as grilled pita, quail kebob, and whipped feta. For the main, there are exotic options such as grey sole and shrimp youvetsi, lamb gyro, and scallops. I don’t know where to begin.

“These are the meze options,” Henry explains to me. “Do you want to share some dishes?”

I smile. “Sure.”

“What do you like?”

We talk for a while about the different menu options. Henry listens carefully to my likes and dislikes and tries to make suggestions for things I’d enjoy. I appreciate his patient help and the way he isn’t condescending.

Rather than feeling like an unsophisticated imposter, I enjoy dining out with Henry. He encourages me to discover new things and takes great pleasure in seeing my enjoyment of them.

Our drinks arrive, followed quickly by our order, and we talk over spinach falafel, pita and buttered hummus, kalamata olives, and fatteh.

“Try this!” Henry urges, passing me a sliver of pita piled high with sunchoke hummus.

I take a bite, and my mouth fills with the flavors of tahini and pimenton oil. “Mmm. It’s delicious.”

“Nothing like grocery store hummus, right?”

“Not at all.”

“Here—try this one.”

We share a relaxed, easy dinner, passing each other mouthfuls of each of the dishes and commenting on their flavors. Our chairs move closer together as we eat so we can more easily share the experience.

As we eat, I feel a surge of affection for Henry. Once again, I find that what others view as hedonism hides a sincere appreciation for life and all its joys. Henry is taking me out of my small little world and opening up a door to new and exciting things—a night dancing, scintillating conversation, new foods; things I’d never do without someone pushing me to enjoy them.

After all the meze, we’re both too full for a main, so we skip straight to dessert. I try a sweet cheese mutabbaq. My taste buds dance with the flavors of saffron cream and hibiscus granita.

“Taste this,” Henry urges. He loads a spoon with his pear dolma and guides it toward my mouth.

I close my lips around the spoon and taste the pinenut halva and salted butter ice-cream. “Mmm.”

Our eyes catch as I lick the last of the ice-cream from my lips, and my heart skips a beat. Henry is looking at me with the same expression—like someone who’s enjoying a wonderful date; like someone who feels a spark.

He leans forward to kiss me. I taste the sweetness of dessert on his lips, along with the rich flavor of Liatiko red wine. We’ve shared a bottle over dinner.

When it’s time to pay the bill and leave, I’m disappointed that it’s over.

“That was wonderful,” I say. “I’m a convert. Take me back there any time.”

Henry grins widely. “It’s not over yet.”

He holds my hand tightly; they swing between us as we walk down the street with a spring in our step. I listen to the sound of my heels echoing against the brickwork and can hear how light my step is.

“Hang on a second,” I say. “I need to check in on Connor.”

Henry waits patiently as I stand under a streetlight to make a call to Connor back home. I want to make sure he’s not wrecking the apartment or getting too high. When I’m reasonably convinced that he’s doing all right without me, I put my cell back in my purse and turn back to Henry with a smile.

He doesn’t say anything about the call, but I can see the frustration in his expression.

The call is soon forgotten, however, when we arrive at the Lizard Lounge on Mass Avenue. We go inside and are seated at a low, round wooden table.

The club is intimate and exciting. The whole place is lit by red lights, making everything seem sensuous. There are more shadows in here. I see them dancing across Henry’s face as he looks across at me and smiles, then takes my hand across the table.

A live band is playing something indie. Accompanied by sleek, vibrant music, the singer has a soulful voice. The whole club seems to vibrate along with the instruments.

Henry orders a Dark and Stormy cocktail—black rum and ginger beer. I have a Mai Tai.

Once again, we sit close to each other at the table; this time so we can hear each other over the sound of the music.

Henry tells me more about his life in the UK. I tell him about my undergraduate degree and some of my best stories from waitressing over the years. Between sharing stories, we share kisses.

By the end of the night, I’m smitten. Despite all my doubts and reservations, Henry is a breath of fresh air in a life that’s been drudgery and hardship for too long. His sense of fun and adventure is addictive. He’s like the light at the end of the long, long tunnel I’ve been walking down.

After our date, we go back to Henry’s apartment. As soon as the door is shut behind us, Henry pushes me against the wall and presses his lips down over mine.

“Here we are again,” I tell him, embarrassed at the awkwardness of the situation.

“Yes, here we are. Can you please wait for me to get into the bedroom before you take advantage of me this time?”

Did he really say that? My mouth drops open, and I glare at him, noticing his humorous smile. “You’re teasing.”

“I am. I was actually hoping you’d start taking your clothes off in the car, but a man can’t have everything, can he?”

“Cute.” I’m trying to relax, but our relationship feels different this time. There is more between us.

“Come here,” he says, taking my hand. He leads me to a different room and turns a knob, illuminating the room with a dim light. The room contains a massage chair and matching table. I watch as he lights a couple of candles and turns another knob, adding colored lighting to the room. He leads me to the middle of the room and offers me the choice of the table or the chair.

“What is all of this?”

“I want to help you relax. May I? I’m pretty good with my hands.”

I feel a warmth on my face, remembering how good he was. I hoist myself up onto the table and lay on my stomach, putting my face into the cushioned hole.

His hands work their magic on my shoulders, kneading my muscles and working down my back. I feel an arousal begin between my legs, but I try to concentrate on relaxing. His touch is intoxicating. He softens his when he massages my legs, sliding his hands up underneath my dress. His hands work their way between my legs, opening them to the sides of the table.

“A little oil,” he says softly.

I swallow hard and turn my head to watch as he turns a bottle of massage oil upside down and douses his hand with a clear liquid. When he touches my legs with it, the feeling is incredible.

He caresses my inner thighs with his fingers as he presses the back of his hand up into my pussy. The pressure causes my muscles to contract and my breath to catch. I feel his fingers slide between my cheeks and down to the table, grazing my pussy through my underwear before he hooks them and pulls them to the side.

I tremble with the anticipation of what is next when his fingers slide into the folds of my pussy, maneuvering up and down, then sliding inside me. I open my legs further as the muscles in my legs tighten. He slips his fingers deep inside me and holds them there, the weight of his body pushing across my back. I feel his warm breath on my ear.

“How does that feel, Melissa?”

“Incredible.” I breathe a heavy breath out. I push myself toward his hand, wanting more.

“Do you want me to continue your massage?”

I want to tell him exactly what I want him to do to me.

“Or do you want me to peel your clothes off and make love to you, right here in this room?”

I look up at him, and he knows. He pulls me up to a sitting position and takes his clothes off in front of me. I admire his physique as I remove my underwear and pull my dress up over my head. He stops me, pulling my dress back down, and lowering the straps over my shoulders and tight around my arms. He lays me down on my back, on the table, my arms partially imprisoned by my own attire. He slides his hands up my legs, taking my dress with him until I’m exposed to him.

“So beautiful,” he says, his eyes devouring my body. He climbs up onto the table and hovers over me like a hungry lion ready to consume his prey. He pulls my breasts out of my dress, his fingers toying with one nipple while he licks the other, teasing me with his teeth as they graze the hard nub.

My legs open for him, silently begging him to fuck me. I push my pelvis up to him, and he pleases me, a hand cupping my pussy. He moves the palm of his hand in circles over my pubic bone until my orgasm brings me to the edge again. Familiar territory, but no easier when he pulls away to admire the frenzy he has created within me.

I look up at him, hungry, but he teases my appetite. I force the air from my lungs and swallow before taking in another ragged breath. I watch him lick his lips, stroke himself, and lower his cock between my legs. Holding my breath, I close my eyes in anticipation and relish the feeling of him sliding into me.

He fucks me deliciously. I quake with an intensity that seizes my entire body.