I can see the glow of her giddiness before she reaches us as her eyes catch on our arms looped together.
“Well, this is an intriguing development,” Lily gushes when she reaches us. “Where are you two off to?”
“We’re just grabbing a drink,” Evan answers. “And you knew about this development.” He tilts his head toward mine, turning so his lips brush against my ear, sending chills down my spine as he says, “I told Lily.”
I smile at him, then Lily. “Just drinks.”
She looks at her brother in a way that makes me question what I just said even though it’s pretty straightforward. Drinks are drinks. I think…
She finally says, “Oh, well, that’s nice.”
I glance over at Evan, raising my eyebrows slightly.
He shrugs. “And where have you been?”
“As I’ve told you before, a lady never kisses and tells,” she replies with a wink. “I’ll let you two get to your…drinks.”
She says the words like it’s strange. Like it’s a word Evan never uses.
“Night, Lily,” I reply.
Evan’s forward motion pulls me along with him.
“You know I’ll never hear the end of this,” he says.
“So, are we back to Evan Michaels, the author I know, or Evan Michaels, the cute guy I met on the elevator?” I ask, curious if we’re still playing a game or not.
“Cute guy, huh?” he asks.
I lightly elbow him with my arm looped through his. He pretends to wince, but I know it probably hurt my elbow more than his ribs.
“Who would you prefer?” he asks me.
“Well, the cute guy on the elevator is intriguing…” I pause. “But Evan Michaels, the author, has a lot more of his story to tell, and I can’t quite put that book down.”
He laughs.
“Also, I can't exactly afford one of these date experiences,” I tease.
“Well, technically, it’s dinner with a fan, and last time I checked, you said meeting your favorite author was quite a disappointment. Is that still accurate?”
His walking slows. There’s a line outside a bar that seems discreet, as if you wouldn’t know this is a place to be except for the people hoping to gain entry outside of it.
“I may have judged a book by its cover too quickly,” I say with a slight shrug.
He slides his arm down, taking me by the hand, our fingers entwining so naturally. He pulls me with him toward the front of the line before he quietly says something to the large man at the front wearing an unassuming tight black T-shirt and jeans. The man nods before letting us in.
“Did you call ahead?” I ask, following behind Evan through the crowded bar that is pitch black except for several strategically placed crystal lights.
It kind of feels magical, like a secret society club, where soft jazz should be playing in the background, and women should be wearing flapper dresses and feather boas. I’d love a feather boa.
“I have a few connections,” he replies.
I nod in response.
There’s a small table tucked in the back of the room with two velvet chairs on either side. He drops my hand, pulling a seat out for me. I tuck my skirt behind me as I sit down.
“So, this place is a little…”
