I’m now in the game. My catering business is now a reality. A paid gig for this kind of money has a way of confirming it’s real.

It’s hard to believe how much my life has changed from a month ago.

I’m close to graduating from college, I have a part-time job with the most chill celebrity chef around, and now I have a business I can call my own. What should I call it? There’s time to pick a name. Whatever I choose, it’ll be perfect, even if it takes me months to get it right.

For sure, it won’t be tonight.

Dylan’s somewhere near the bar in his study making me a drink. He asked what my poison was. I told him white wine or champagne, my two favorites. But his question on which one threw me. I have a good knowledge of the various types and brands. It’s essential for a chef to have a grasp of wine pairings and such. But tonight, I don’t want to think too hard. I told him to surprise me.

As I stand at the glass sliding doors in Dylan’s living room, soaking up the breathtaking view of the city, it feels like there are no limits to what I can make of my life. Grams and Momma would be so proud. It’s been a few years since I wore the locket with their pictures inside. All of our photos. Grams on one side and the silly one with Momma, Joy and me on the other. I couldn’t wear it after Joy fell off the face of the earth. On her birthday, I force myself to look, and on days like today when there’s something big or important in my life.

I head back to the sofa end table where I set down my purse and reach into the side pocket where I keep the locket. My fingers slide along the outer embellishments. Can I bear to look at the ghosts of my past? I want to see Grams, and Momma, so I cup the locket inside my palm and lift it out into the light. A push of one fingernail into the seam snaps it open. I close my eyes, bracing myself. It’s all going to flood back. All three of them. As I do, I notice the sepia color of the two tiny images. That color treatment makes them all look so far away, as though that time in my life was a dream.

Like all the time before tonight, my eyes land on her.

My baby sister.

Where are you, Joy?

I’m so sorry I failed her. I want her to be here now that my future looks so bright. I want to hear her laugh, see her smile, to find out what direction her life took. The world might have given up on her, but somewhere deep down, I still want to believe she’s alive. We’re survivors, even if our entire family is long gone.

The squishy tap of Dylan’s loafers on the granite floor approaches. I close the locket but keep it safely in my palm as I look up.

“I didn’t find a huge selection of champagnes or white wines,” he informs me. “Hopefully you like Cristal?”

“Definitely. Hang on.” I slip the locket back into the side of my purse and take the glass. “Thanks.”

“Whiskey is my drink of choice. There’s a better selection if you’re into the hard stuff.”

“Not really. This is great.”

I sip my champagne and take a seat with him, my eyes darting from my champagne flute to the view ahead of us. He swirls the ice in his glass and takes a sip, then reaches over to me.

“To surpassing expectations and a job well done.”

I clink my flute to his glass. “Cheers to that,” I say, accepting the toast.

“Is exhaustion setting in already?”

“Not really.”

“Something about you is different from just minutes ago.”

“I’m just thinking…appreciating how great the start of my career is going right now. It’s humbling, really.”

“Talent pays off when you work hard at it.”

“True, but there’s also a but of luck thrown in.”

“Yes.”

“I’m blown away by it all.”

“Which is why I’m glad you agreed to drinks this time. It’s important to stop and take notice as milestones happen. Most hardworking people like us, we work and work, and before we know it, we’re hitting the golden years with all the toys, wondering where the time went.”

“There are also hardworking people who struggle and never break out…and those who don’t reap the benefits of their effort…and those who are gone too soon.”

“You’ve lost someone.” Dylan says it as a statement.

“More like everyone,” I admit, and regret saying it the second the words hit the air.

I see the hint of pity in his eyes and face forward again, eyes on that multi-million-dollar view.

“When you say everyone…”

“My grandparents, my mother. I didn’t have a father in the picture to speak of. There weren’t any cousins or aunts and uncles, not that I knew about. And my baby sister, although she might still be out there.”

“That’s… I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.” I do my best to smile. “But let’s not commiserate. It was a long time ago.”

“All right.”

We fall into a comfortable silence for some time. It’s strange that I’m not nervous. Not at all. Not even after telling him about my family. The sullen moment eventually passes. His phone starts buzzing somewhere nearby and he excuses himself to put it on silent. While he’s gone, nearby speakers send easy jazz beats wafting through the air. I don’t know the performer, but the sound is rhythmic and enjoyable without compelling me to get up and dance. He returns with the bottle of Cristal in one hand and Jack in the other.

“Care for a refill?”

I nod and hold out my glass for him to pour. “Thanks.”

“Are you into this kind of music?”

As he sets down the bottle on the coffee table and takes a seat beside me this time, he’s a lot closer. His thigh brushes against mine. That heat between our bodies hit me again, stealing my breath, causing my heart to race. Maybe he felt it too, because he glances over at me.

“You’re good?”

I grip the stem of the flute and down the contents in a few long gulps. “Fine.”

“Another drink?”

“Probably not.” Two glasses of Cristal are my limit. They do their job of tamping down my inhibitions. I’m not inebriated, but I’m liking the way my body has come around to the idea of having Dylan this close.

Close enough to touch.

Close enough to kiss.

Close enough to submit to all the lust that hangs thickly around us, filling me with need, flipping on that switch again. The one he turned on when he first kissed me. The one that wants to find out what happens if he takes things further.

If we go there, I’ll have to tell him I’m a virgin.

Being twenty-three and inexperienced isn’t a big deal to me, but this is Manhattan. It may as well be called the second city of sin. I’ve got friends of friends at college who used their innocence as a commodity, catering to wealthy men, old and young, and boy did they ever profit from it. There’s an allure, a mystery, a prize in one’s virginity, and some men would stop at nothing to have their prizes.

I’m no one’s plaything. That’s not me. I spent too much time obsessing over whether that path was Joy’s eventual demise, or prostitution, drug abuse, homelessness, or worse. I start to wish I hadn’t downed my champagne so quickly or mentioned Joy’s existence. Or admitted that I had no clue about my father’s whereabouts, let alone whether he’s alive or long gone too. More wine, more champagne, that would do the trick, except I’m not at home. I’d have to leave the catering van parked here and take a cab if I have any more alcohol.

Maybe if I stretch my legs around this massive condo unit.

“I think I can handle another,” I announce for Dylan to hear. Getting up, I reach for the bottle and pour myself a refill. To the brim this time. I’ll walk it off. Burn it off somehow before heading out. Flute in hand, I walk over to the glass sliding door again.

“It’s pretty cool and windy out there,” he says from a couple of feet behind me.

Or a couple of inches.

“Is it?” The wall of heat behind me has to be him. My body sways backward as though searching for more or it. More of him.

He doesn’t move right away. Maybe minutes pass, then his large smooth hands run from the tops of my shoulders down to my elbows. “It must be. You’re shivering.”

He turns me to face him, and I meet those eyes again.

I’m aching.

Wanting.

Longing for him.

And before I can open my mouth to say a word, Dylan cups my cheek in his hand.

“You feel that too, don’t you?” I hear myself asking.

He grazes my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “Like a freight train. But don’t worry, Emily. I’ve got you.”

The way he says my name this time causes my heart to pound even harder in my chest. My knees turn to Jell-O.

I know then that my night is just starting, and I’m not about to walk away or go anywhere.