“I cannot believe I let Margaux talk me into this,” Nora moaned, staring inside her closet. “I don’t have anything to wear!”

Holly, her roommate and old friend from college, raised an eyebrow. “Sweetie, you have lots to wear.”

“I can’t pick,” Nora said hopelessly. “I should cancel.”

“You are not cancelling.” Holly got up off Nora’s bed, moving her out of the way to examine the contents of the closet. “This is a great way to dip your toes into the dating pool.”

“I made the mistake of googling him,” Nora said, flopping onto the bed, her dark hair fanning out against the purple duvet.

“Why was that a mistake?” Holly asked as she rummaged through the closet. “Where’s he taking you, again?”

“Nello’s,” Nora said, and Holly let out an impressed whistle. “And it was a mistake because this guy gets written about in the society pages. He’s so out of my league.”

“He’s written about in the society pages because he runs a charity,” Holly explained.

“A charity entirely funded by his billions!” Nora said, feeling that spark of nervousness ignite in her chest. “I’m just a nobody from Washington.”

“Your family owns an entire chain of hardware stores,” Holly pointed out.

Nora’s mouth flattened. “My father owns an entire chain of hardware stores,” she corrected and Holly bit her lip, realizing she’d kind of stepped into it.

“Sorry,” she said. “I know he’s a sore subject.”

Nora sighed. “It’s okay,” she said. She knew Holly didn’t mean anything by it, but her relationship with her father was very simple: There wasn’t one. He’d cheated on her mother and thought because he made the money, she’d never leave. But her mother was a strong woman, and she wasn’t going to tolerate infidelity. He had then tried to use his wealth and privilege to get full custody of Nora, more of a punishment than out of a desire to actually care for her. But she’d been twelve, able to express her preferences to the judge, so she’d fought to stay with her mother—and won.

She could still hear Gregory’s cold accusations of her “daddy issues” as one of the reasons he’d cheated on her. You just can’t seem to forgive and forget, Nora, he had sighed, as if it was some sort of giant fault that she believed in holding people accountable for their actions.

Don’t think about Gregory! She ordered herself. Focus on the ridiculously handsome, totally-out-of-your-league Luke instead.

He was quite ridiculously, sinfully handsome. When Nora showed a picture to Holly, she’d swatted her playfully and said, “Why do you get all the hot things?”

“Okay, here,” Holly thrust out a dress. “You can never go wrong with a little black dress.”

Nora took the hanger from her, frowning. The dress was really cute, with leather accents along the hem that gave it a bit of an edge, but it wasn’t hers. She wasn’t sure she owned anything this short.

“This isn’t mine.”

“It’s mine,” Holly said with a sly smile. “What?” she asked when Nora shot her a loving but exasperated look. “You were just telling me how you want to take more fashion risks. As a fashion designer, aren’t I the perfect person to help you with that? This will look amazing on you. And I have the perfect pair of heels for it.”

Which is how Nora found herself crossing the street toward Nello’s restaurant in a mini-dress that made her feel a little dangerous and heels that made her long legs look even longer. Holly had even hooked her up with a snow-white caped blazer that made her feel like she was striding down a catwalk.

Nello’s was a small and incredibly exclusive Italian restaurant in the Pearl. She’d been there only once, for one of Margaux’s birthdays in college. The tiramisu had been to die for, and the handmade pasta unlike anything she’d ever tasted. It made her add Italy to her “Places to Travel” list that always seemed to grow longer without her being able to tick off many of the items.

Someday, she told herself as she reached for the door.

“Allow me,” said a voice.

Prickles raced down her spine at the sound—a deep voice, with a gentleness to it that made her want to melt in a puddle right there. She looked over her shoulder, and there he was.

Lucas Stone’s photos had been hot—but the man himself?

Hoo, boy.

And then he smiled, and she honest-to-God wondered if her knees were going to buckle, because damn! Those dark-as-fancy-chocolate eyes crinkled just so, and she felt it down to the tips of her toes.

“Nora, right?” he asked.

“Yes,” she breathed, knowing she was probably gaping at him like an idiot, but unable to stop staring.

“Looks like our timing’s perfect,” he said. “I’m Luke.”

“Margaux showed me your picture,” she said. “I’m sorry she coerced you into this…”

“No one coerced me,” he interrupted gently. “After Margaux told me about you, I couldn’t help but be curious. Now I’m damn glad she got the idea.”

She blushed, a brilliant, deep scarlet that was her most-hated trait. Compliments unnerved her—and when it was bone-deep sincere like the look in Luke’s eyes? Her cheeks turned red as an apple.

“You’re sweet,” she said, as he pulled the door open and ushered her inside.

The restaurant was small and dark, an intimate space with cozy tables, all filled with couples, candles, good food and even better wine. The host ushered them to their table—a little one in the corner, tucked away from everything else—and Luke pulled out her chair for her. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to her cape-coat. She nodded, trying not to shiver when she felt the light pressure of his fingers against her shoulders as he took the coat off, draping it on the back of her chair.

“Thank you,” she said, trying not to let emotion bloom like a rose in her at the small, gentlemanly gesture. Gregory had always told her she was old-fashioned with her notions. It wasn’t like she couldn’t take her coat off or get the door herself—she was an independent woman and she rocked being one—but she also appreciated little gestures. Thoughtfulness. She was the type of woman who used to leave Post-its on the bathroom mirror with poetry or little love notes. Gregory had always dismissed them as cute, but never did anything like that in return. She had felt pitiful asking for little gestures like hers, so she’d never pressed the issue.

Now, she didn’t know what type of woman she was. Sometimes she felt hollow, as if she’d poured too much of herself into a failed relationship and she wasn’t sure how to get those parts of her back. She wanted to be joyful again. She wanted to believe in love.

This is step one, she told herself as Luke took a seat across from her. This guy may be totally out of your league, but just think about it like Holly said. You’re just dipping your toes in. We’ll probably never have a second date, so you might as well enjoy yourself.

She watched as he ordered a bottle of red wine in perfect Italian to an older man who hurried over when he saw they’d been seated. He beamed at Nora, saying, “You never bring friends here, Lucas!”

“This is Antonio, the owner,” Luke said with a smile. “Antonio, this is Nora. Our best friends are having a baby and were reckless enough to name us godparents. We’ve gotten together to decide how best to corrupt the little tyke.” He shot a sly look at Nora, who couldn’t help but laugh at his joke.

“A baby is such a blessing,” Antonio said. “Just like a beautiful woman.” He smiled at Nora.

“Are you always such a charmer, Antonio?” she asked.

He winked. “Always. I’ll bring you two an antipasto plate to go with the wine.”

“He seems to know you well,” Nora commented, taking her linen napkin and setting it in her lap.

“Antonio has the best Italian food in the city,” Luke said. “I’m not much of a cook, so I do a lot of ordering in.”

“I know how that is,” Nora said. “My mom’s a bit of a tyrant in the kitchen, so I didn’t learn until college. That’s actually how Margaux and I bonded. She taught me to make crepes.”

“Margaux’s crepes are pretty amazing,” Luke said.

“How do you two know each other?” Nora asked as a waiter came by to pour their wine. “Thank you,” she said, when he finished.

“Hunter and I went to boarding school together,” he explained. “He’s one of my oldest friends. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re that Luke,” she said, in recognition. “Hunter told me a story once, about stealing some bust of Edgar Allen Poe from the headmaster’s office?”

His handsome face broke into an abashed grin that made her want to reach out and trace the curve of his cheek. “Oh God, not my finest moment. It was Halloween. We were sixteen. There may have been some smuggled whiskey and a slight obsession with The Raven involved.”

She giggled. “I seem to remember that you took the fall for him.”

“Someone had to save that boy from himself,” Luke said. “He can’t lie worth a damn.”

“So true,” Nora said. “I once tried to use him as my alibi when I was sneaking out to a concert one summer, and my mom saw through him so fast that she showed up at the concert to make me go home. I was mortified. He felt terrible, but I should’ve known better. I’ve won so much off him in poker throughout the years.”

He laughed, holding up his wine glass. “To our wonderful, too-honest-for-his-own-good Hunter.”

“And to Margaux, who can lie her pants off, but won’t because she’s too moral,” Nora added, clinking her glass with his. She took a sip of wine, an expensive full-bodied red that swirled around her tongue like stardust. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she savored the taste.

“I am really excited about being a godparent,” she told Luke. “This is my first close friend who’s having a baby.”

“Me too,” Luke said. “I plan to spoil Baby Oakes rotten.”

“Oh, good, we’re on the same page. All the spoiling!” she said, shooting him a playful grin, which he returned. A little thrill went through her. Her nerves from earlier—how unmoored she’d expected to feel with this man, who had so much—had somehow disappeared. She felt warm and anticipatory, like she was teetering on the edge of a diving board before leaping off.

The waiter appeared with the antipasto plate and asked to take their order. Nora couldn’t resist the rustic vegetable ravioli, and Luke ordered chicken marsala.

“I heard you were a photographer,” he said.

She nodded. “I’m starting a job teaching photography in a few weeks. That’s one of the reasons I moved here from Seattle. It’s all part of my fresh start.”

“Oh? What else does that fresh start involve?”

Baggage I probably shouldn’t get into on a first date, she thought. “I used to be a bit of a head-in-the-clouds sort of person,” she said. “I believed in happily-ever-after and all that. I wasn’t waiting for a prince to come, because I like to rely on myself, but sometimes, I put my heart over my head.”

“And it didn’t serve you well?” he asked.

“It brought about some not-so-great things,” she said tactfully. “So I decided I needed a fresh start. A lot of my friends ended up settling in Portland, so it seemed like a natural move.”

“Well, I’m glad you made it,” he said, with a smile that made her stomach feel like someone was skating around doing figure eights inside it. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here with me.”

She could feel herself turning red again. “I’d love to hear about your work,” she said, taking another sip of wine, which did nothing to help her flushing problem. “You were involved in Margaux’s latest project, the domestic violence shelter, right?”

He nodded. “I helped fund it. That’s really all I do. Fund things. The real people making a difference are the men and women who are running charities like Our Safe Place. But I am really proud of how the new center turned out. I think it’s going to make a difference.”

“It already is,” Nora said. “You should hear some of the stories Margaux tells me. The strength of those women…” she trailed off. “I am in awe of them.”

“Me too,” he said. “I’m so glad I was able to be part of the project. Now that the new center’s built, I’m turning to new projects and different charities and NGOs, but the shelter was a year-long endeavor and I was more involved than usual because of Margaux. I kind of miss the daily updates.”

“I’m sure if you asked her, she’d be happy to keep you in the loop,” Nora assured him.

“I don’t want to bother her,” he started to say.

“You wouldn’t,” Nora said, thinking about how warmly Margaux had spoke of Luke. “She adores you. And as you said, you were part of the project, too. I’m sure they’d love to give you updates—or you could visit and volunteer yourself.”

Something flickered in his warm brown eyes. “You’re someone who’s very hands-on, aren’t you?”

She bit her lip, thinking for a moment. ““I’ve never really thought of it that way, but I guess so.” She shrugged. “It’s probably part of why I’m a photographer.”

“Is there somewhere I can see your work?” he asked, as their food was brought to the table. “A gallery, maybe, that shows your pieces?”

“Oh, this smells amazing,” she said, as the waiter grated fresh Parmesan over her plate. “I know this is going to sound really silly, but I don’t really show my work. My real work. Not the stuff I’ve done for pay.”

“No shows or website or portfolio?” he asked, eyes puzzled. “Why not?”

“My work is… very personal,” she said, not really knowing how else to put it. The last project she’d embarked on was a portrait series of dancers in motion. Nude dancers in motion.

Her work wasn’t just personal. It was intimate.

Erotic.

She had never shown it. She’d turned down the gallery owners’ offers when she got out of school. She’s gone to work at an ad company because that’s what responsible people did.

And she continued to do her In Motion series whenever she could. Over the last six years, she’d taken hundreds of photographs and had winnowed them down to forty for a real gallery showcase. But she could never bring herself to call up those gallery owners whose business cards she still had, tucked away in a box under her bed.

Sometimes, her own insecurity got the better of her. When it came to her art, it always got the better of her.

“I get that,” he said. “Photography is a very intimate art.”

She blinked, a little surprised at how known she felt in that moment. It should’ve scared her. Maybe it did, a little. But any trace of fear was blotted out by a glowing, sparkly feeling in her chest.

It was so nice, to be here, with a man who listened to her. Who saw beyond the short little black dress and the high heels to the woman—the artist—within.

It was a little like that magic she’d told herself to stop believing in.