A brief stroll down the block later and Justin and I were in front of what looked to be a nondescript stairwell. I glanced down it, noting a small pile of fast food wrappers in the corner, along with a steel door sprayed with an artful smattering of graffiti.

“If you wanted to drink wine in a stairwell,” I said with a smirk, “we probably should have bought that duck wine.”

“As fun as that sounds,” he said, “I had something else in mind.”

He trotted down the stairs and gave the door a quick rap. To my surprise, an eye-level slat on the door opened, revealing a rectangle of darkness.

Justin spoke into it. “In vino veritas.”

Now I was confused. But a second later, I heard the thick clunk of a deadbolt unlocking, followed by the door opening.

“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the door, a handsome, mischievous smile on his face.

Beyond curious, I stepped down the stairs. Justin opened the door, letting me enter first.

I was shocked at what I saw.

Past the door was a bar, lit with mellow, soft lighting. Dark colors dominated the interior, along with a long, sweeping bar of brushed steel. Rows and rows of bottles of liquor and wine were behind the bar, bartenders dressed in extremely hip clothing shaking cocktail mixers and pouring drinks. A couple dozen men and women were seated here and there, all of them young, attractive, and well-dressed. A jazz trio played relaxing music from a small stage in the corner.

“What is this place?” I asked as I looked around with wide-eyes.

“A speakeasy,” he said. “Not sure of the name—it changes frequently.”

“A what?” I asked. “You mean one of those bars from back when booze was illegal?”

“Yep,” he said, leading me to a small table in one of the corners. “Though it’s more of a style thing nowadays.”

I glanced around some more, noting to my shock that a few of the patrons were very familiar faces—celebrities.

“Is that—” I asked, my thumb stuck out toward an actor who starred in a recent superhero movie.

Justin raised his palm slightly, stopping me mid-sentence. “Discretion is the name of the game here,” he said. “This is the kind of place where people come to be seen and not be seen, if you know what I mean.”

“So, no asking for autographs?” I asked with a smirk.

He flashed me a grin of his own, one that let me know he understood that I was being silly. “Good call,” he said.

At that moment, an extremely attractive man with a neatly trimmed beard and dark brown hair tied in a small ponytail approached the table.

“Mr. Donovan,” he said to Justin. “Good to see you.”

“Likewise, Brandt,” he said. “Bring us a bottle of something red and delicious.” Then he flashed me another grin. “One with an especially cool label.”

“Of course,” said the waiter before stepping away.

I took another look over the place, still surprised and a little overwhelmed by it all.

“I can’t believe this place is right by my apartment,” I said.

“The best places have a way of staying out of view.”

Another sweep of my eyes over the bar revealed a few more famous faces—one a tech mogul, and another a pair of models whose faces I recognized from the covers of magazines at the grocery store.

It made me wonder—who exactly was this Justin Donovan?

I didn’t pry, though. After all, me prying into the details of his life might lead him to do the same for me, and that’s not what I wanted. Tonight, I wanted to be something other than a mom. As much as I loved my new life with Faye, a night off sounded like exactly what I needed to recharge myself and be ready for the next six months, and then the next.

But for now, some wine.

The waiter returned with a bottle of red. He held it out in front of us, the label displaying an eye-catching design of a beachfront.

“This is a wonderful pinot noir we just got in from the Rhine region,” he said. “And I hope the label is to your satisfaction.”

A small smile played on the server’s face. Then he opened up the bottle, set two glasses down on the table, and poured us both a sample. I took a sip, the delicious, rich, peppery taste filling my mouth.

“Damn,” I said. “That’s some good stuff.”

Justin raised his eyebrows.

“I think that means we have a winner,” he said.

The server poured us more and was off.

Justin raised his glass and I did the same.

“To new friends,” he said.

“I’ll drink to that.”

We tapped the rims of our glasses together, and I allowed a soft smile to play on my lips, one that suggested that I was interested in being more than just friends.

As soon as the thought entered my mind, I was shocked. I’d just met this man, and already I was thinking about what I’d like to do to him—or what I’d like to have him do to me. He was casting a spell on me, but I was happy to go along with it.

“So, Heather,” he said. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Not much to say,” I said, trying to figure out how I could answer the question without mentioning Faye. “I’m an administrative assistant—not really the most exciting thing in the world. And you?”

A strange expression formed on his face, and if I didn’t know better, I would’ve guessed that the look suggested that Justin was hiding something of his own.

The idea that he might be a single father out for a night of fun occurred to me, but I dismissed it. There was something there, though.

“I own my own business,” he said.

Before he could say anything else, a very attractive couple stepped up to the table. When I realized who they were—a famous musician and his equally famous girlfriend—I nearly spit out my wine.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said the man. “But I had to come over to say hi.”

“Of course,” said Justin, setting down his glass and extending his hand toward the two.

“And thank you for helping us out last weekend,” said the musician. “I still can’t believe that you were able to come through for us at the last minute like that—you were a total lifesaver.”

What? Not only did Justin know some of these famous people, but he was helping them out of jams? Who was this guy?

“My pleasure,” he said. “Oh, and this is Heather. Heather, ah—”

“Heather Moore,” I said, sticking out my hand and hoping it didn’t shake from the excitement and nervousness.

The next few moments passed by in a blur. Justin and the couple chatted, and I did my best to not look totally star-struck. When they left, I killed the rest of my wine and tried to catch my breath.

“You doing all right over there?” he asked, picking up the bottle and pouring me another drink.

“I think so,” I said. “Just…not expecting company like that.”

Another look that suggested deceiving appeared on Justin’s face for a brief moment.

“Just a couple of friends I met through work,” he said.

“A ‘couple of friends’?” I asked. “What kind of work—”

I stopped myself, not wanting to pry. As curious as I was, I wanted to keep some of the mystery. Tonight was about stepping away from the day-to-day, not about discussing work—despite the fact that work for Justin evidently involved rubbing elbows with celebrities.

At this point, the wine began to swirl around my head, a pleasant buzz sweeping through me. The mellow jazz relaxed my body, and I felt…calm, for the first time in a while.

“You like the music?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Not really a jazz girl, but this is exactly what I was in the mood for.”

“This trio is fantastic,” he said. “I had a chance to see them in Paris a few years back. And they weren’t playing for an audience of a few dozen, like today—more like a few hundred.”

I glanced over at the performers, watching them work their magic. Even someone like myself, with very little understanding of the genre, could tell that they were something special.

And it led to another question about Justin. Namely, that he was the kind of guy to see live jazz shows in Paris.

“You’ve been to France?” I asked.

“Sure have,” he said. “I travel around here and there for work. I don’t get to actually visit much, but I try to check out some sights when I can. And I love jazz, so seeing some live in Paris was at the top of my list when I was there. What about you?”

“Me?” I asked. “I’ve never even been out of the country. But shoot, I’d love to go sometime.”

I did another pass over Justin, this time noticing what appeared to be a very expensive-looking watch. Trips to Paris, expensive clothes, celebrity friends, and mysterious, exclusive wine bars—it took all I had not to ask him everything about himself.

A few moments later the waiter returned, a pair of plates in his hand.

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Donovan, but when Jonas in the kitchen saw that you were here, he insisted on sending a little something over for you.”

He set the plates down, one with an arrangement of some delicious-looking cheeses, the other with fruit and nuts. As the waiter described the cheeses, all I could think about was how much I wanted to dig in—getting ready for my night out had been such a whirlwind of activity that I realized I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. But I tried to have some decorum and not shove my face right into the food as soon as the waiter left.

“Don’t let me stop you,” said Justin. “Dig in.”

I snatched up one of the slices of cheese—a particularly gooey-looking slice of Brie. I popped it in my mouth, letting the rich flavor linger on my tongue before swallowing it down. Next, I took one of the figs, dipping it into a pool of a savory sauce. It was as good as the cheese.

“That’s…amazing,” I said.

“You know,” said Justin, taking a slice of his own. “I’ve put some serious thought into it, and I’m pretty sure I could live on nothing but cheese.”

“Oh my God,” I said, the words shooting out in a smushed-together blurt. “Me too. It’s pretty much the perfect food.”

“Yep,” he said. “And you’ve got a different cheese for every occasion or mood. Creamy stuff when you’re feeling decadent. The stinky kinds when you’re in an adventurous mood. And American, for when you’re feeling, well American.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” I grinned.

Justin and I smiled at one another, and I could tell that there was something in the air between us. The wine and the food and the music and everything else were working in concert to make me fall for this guy, despite only knowing him for a brief time.

And I was ready to get carried away.

We chatted more, talking about music and food and everything else—avoiding the topic of our personal lives, of course. And as we did, I noticed that our bodies drew closer and closer together. We leaned across the table toward one another, our hands only inches from the other’s.

We finished the bottle and ordered another. By the time we went through that one, I was certain that if he leaned the rest of the way across the table and kissed me, I would happily accept it.

But instead, as we both drained the last bits of our wine, a thoughtful expression crossed his face.

“How do you feel about dancing?” he asked.

“I love it,” I said.

I was ready to have more fun with this guy. And whatever else might happen after…well, I guessed I’d have to wait and see.