“He asked you out on a date? The hot Brit from across the way aka, the new man of your dreams?” Arabella stifles a yawn as she brushes her hair.

My head bounces up and down before I yelp, “Yes. Isn’t it amazing?”

Arabella and I just connected to our daily FaceTime chat, as I get ready for work. I barely slept last night, after my snafu of locking myself out of the building. Mr. Hot Brit not only rescued me, but met me and Truffles at the elevator just in case we were also locked out of the apartment. But I usually leave my door unlocked whenever I scoot out to let Truffles take a whiz. Simon and I chatted for a while, in the hallway, before he asked me in his smooth accent, “Would you care to have a cup of coffee with me tomorrow evening? I’d like to get to know you a bit more.”

My legs practically buckled underneath me before I agreed to the date. And I tossed and turned all night, thinkin about him…me…the possibilities.

Then I overslept, which is so unlike me.

Arabella places her brush on top of the vanity table and stretches. “Sure, it does seem amazing. Make sure you ask him all the things. Where does he work, why he’s in Paris, does he have a girlfriend, you know?”

“Of course, and I will be sure to let you know. Tomorrow. Because when you are up and getting ready for work, I will be out on my date.” I spray a few pumps of hairspray on the cotton candy bun I created since I have no time to blow-dry my hair.” My car should be out there waiting for me in less than ten minutes.

God, I hope he’s not late.

“No worries, hun. Just be careful and please FaceTime me as soon as you crawl outta bed tomorrow morning. Oh”—she darts a sly eye through the screen—“Parker has planned a dinner for us this weekend. Maybe he’ll pop the question.” She fans her face, trying to prevent what I can only assume are tears of joy from leaving her eyes.

“Oh, Arabella, honey, that’s such wonderful news. Gosh, I wish I could hug you right now.”

“Me too, babe,” she says, yanking a tissue out of the box and running it under her eyes. “Maybe I do want to be with him for the rest of my life.”

“Y’all are made for each other, sweetheart.”

Arabella nods and blows a kiss before we say our goodbyes for the day and end our chat session.

I’m happy for Arabella even though I really can’t stand Parker. The two have been together for three years and he hasn’t shown any interest in marrying her. And Arabella has been waiting for the moment to arrive. Every Valentine’s Day, Christmas, New Year’s, she hopes he slides a ring on her finger. But the days come and go with nothing. Sure he’s a busy Investment Banker, traveling all over the world making deals and what not, but either you’re in it for real or not. A ring means you’re for real about the woman you supposedly love. Otherwise, let her go so she can find a man who will.

Truffles prances around in a circle, then races to the door once he sees me spring to my feet, dragging my butt off my vanity bench. I promised him he’d be able to come to work with me today.

“I know, just let me grab my stuff, hun,” I say, giving Truffles my squinty-eye glare.

He sits there, mouth open, panting with one paw up before he lets out an arf that I know means hurry up woman.

I swear, he acts like an impatient teenager.

Whiny. Bossy.

Jules greets me with his usual, “Bonjour,” when Truffles and I step out of the elevator. He is wearing a super-wide grin.

“How did your date go?” I ask, inching closer to the double doors.

“It went quite well and actually we are going out again tonight,” he says, walking alongside me, his arms swinging back and forth.

“Great!” I reply, feeling happy for Jules. He deserves to meet a great woman after the last relationship he had was ruined when the cow decided to sleep with his flatmate.

“I’ve got a sort of date myself tonight,” I confess, and Jules’s eyes light up.

“Oh? Are you giving Jean Clau another chance even though he sent you those flowers?”

“Oh gosh no”—I pause, lowering my voice a notch, looming in closer to him—“I actually got asked out for coffee by the hot new neighbor that moved in across from me.”

Jules’s expression dulls slightly. “Oh, um well, that’s interesting.” He lifts a brow.

“Yes, he’s quite the gentleman. I got locked out last night and he rescued me. Sort of.”

“Locked out?”

I hesitate. “It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in some other time. I’m already feeling like I’m late this morning.”

“Yes, your car is already outside waiting for you. He uh, he seems nice, that Jack. I got a chance to chat with him for a while.”

“Nice? How sweet.”

Moody is more like it. He was all chatty-watty when he picked me up yesterday morning, yet during the entire ride home, he was as quiet as a graveyard.

“Anyway,” Jules says, holding the door open as Truffles and I walk out onto the sidewalk. “Passez une bonne journee.”

“Thanks, Jules. You have a lovely day, too.”

And standing next to the town car, back passenger side wide open, is Jack. Looking all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Well, from what I can tell, anyway. He’s got those damn sunglasses and hat on again, making him look mystery man-ish.

And God, do I hope he doesn’t drive slow. I have an important meeting with a well-known designer in an hour.