“Yes, it is.” She pulled back to look at me with those serious brown eyes. “It’s been long enough, Mom. You deserve someone who sees how amazing you are.”
My throat tightened. “What if it’s terrible? What if he’s nothing like his profile? What if?—”
“What if it’s not terrible?” Mia interrupted gently. “What if he’s exactly as great as he seems? What if you have the best time?”
“That might be scarier,” I said, laughing.
“I know.” She kissed my cheek and stood up. “But I believe in you. And I really believe in my matchmaking skills and Robbie’s algorithms.”
“So modest.”
“It’s one of my best qualities.” She grinned. “Now I’m going to bed. But turn your ringer up so you hear it if he messages back.”
“He’s not going to message back tonight. It’s almost eleven.”
“He might. He doesn’t seem like the type to play games.” With that, she disappeared down the hallway, leaving me alone with my wine and my racing thoughts.
I picked up my phone, staring at the sent message. What had I done? This was so unlike me. I didn’t date. I didn’t put myself out there. I’d built a perfectly good life—safe, controlled, predictable. Why was I risking that?
My phone buzzed in my hand.
I nearly dropped it.
A new message from@WanderingHomeward.
He’d responded. Already.
With shaking hands, I opened it.
Dear Lila,
What a pretty name. It suits you. At least from what I can tell from your photos. You’re beautiful, by the way. I forgot to mention that in the first message. I’m free tomorrow as well. Should we meet at The Pelican at seven?
Cheers,Vance
I stared at the message. Read it again. Then once more. His name was Vance. It was a nice name, kind of serious but whimsical at the same time.
You’re beautiful, by the way.
When was the last time a man had called me beautiful? Carter used to, back in the beginning. Before the intern. Before everything shattered. I shook that thought away and typed a response, keeping it simple before I could overthink it.
Hi again.
Yes, tomorrow at seven at The Pelican sounds good. See you then.
Cheers,Lila
I hit send and immediately wanted to take it back. Should I have said more? Been wittier? Added something charming? But it was done. Sent. Out there in the universe. I had a date. Tomorrow night. At seven. With a gorgeous sommelier named Vance who'd lived in Paris and loved to cook and wanted to develop deep roots.
What had I just done?
I drained the rest of my wine and stood, carrying the glass to the kitchen. Through the window above the sink, I could see the street—quiet, empty, lit by a single streetlamp. A car was parked across the way, headlights off. I didn't recognize it, but that didn't mean anything. Probably a neighbor. Still, something made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I rinsed the glass, dried my hands, and went back to the living room. When I glanced out the front window, the car was still there. Just sitting in the dark.
Stop being paranoid. Nobody's watching you.
I pulled the curtain closed and locked the front door, actually double-checking it because I'd already locked it hours ago.
