Mia’s face lit up. “Yes! That one. Definitely that one.”
I slipped it on, checking my reflection in the full-length mirror. The dress was flattering without being too revealing—sleeveless with a modest V-neck, the wrap style cinching at the waist before flowing to a midi length. Navy had always been my color—it brought out the blue in my eyes.
“Perfect,” Mia declared. “Wear the strappy sandals. The ones with the low heel.”
“When did you become a stylist?”
“I’ve been watching you work with clients my whole life. I picked up a few things.”
“I’m not a house,” I said, laughing.
She grinned. “Grace and I watch a lot of fashion videos.”
I moved to my vanity to deal with my hair. I’d washed it earlier, and now it fell in soft waves around my shoulders—the result of forty minutes with a round brush and the right amount of product.
“Are you nervous?” Mia asked, watching me apply mascara.
“Terrified.”
“Don’t be. He’s going to love you.”
I met her eyes in the mirror. “Honey, it’s just a first date. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“I’m not getting ahead of anything. I did the research. I read his whole profile like five times. He’s perfect for you, Mom. Trust me.”
I wanted to. God, I wanted to believe that my brilliant, intuitive daughter had somehow found exactly the right person for me in a sea of strangers on the internet.
But I’d believed in perfect once before. And it had shattered me.
“What if he’s not who he seems?” I asked quietly. “What if his profile is all lies?”
Mia came up behind me, placing her hands on my shoulders. “Then you come home and we eat ice cream and watch terrible reality TV and make fun of him. But Mom? I don’t think he’s lying. I think he’s exactly who he says he is.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“My gut.” She squeezed my shoulders. “Just … give him a chance, okay? For me?”
I turned around and pulled her into a hug. “Okay, but maybe check the freezer to make sure we have ice cream?”
“We won’t need it, but I’ve got you covered.”
My throat tightened. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too. Now go. You’re going to be late, and that’s not a good first impression.”
The drive to The Pelican took seven minutes, but it felt like seven hours. My hands were sweating on the steering wheel. My stomach was doing complicated acrobatics. Every red light felt like the universe giving me one more chance to turn around and go home.
But I didn’t turn around. Even if I had to grit my teeth, I was going in there.
I parked in the small lot behind the restaurant, checked my lipstick in the rearview mirror one more time, and forced myself to get out of the car.
You can do this. It’s just dinner. With a stranger. Who might be a serial killer. Or worse, boring.
The Pelican had been a Willet Cove institution for as long as I could remember. It sat right on the harbor, with big windows overlooking the water and a dock where boats tied up during the summer. I’d been here a hundred times with my friends. With Mia. Even, once upon a time, with Carter.
But I’d never been here for a first date. God help me. I smoothed down my dress, took a breath, and walked inside.
The restaurant was busy and loud, almost jarring. Just nerves, I told myself, scanning the room, my heart hammering.
