Priya's grinning at me from across the booth. Liv doesn't look up, but she's smiling into her cappuccino.
"How are things," Nadia continues, voice perfectly even, "now that you can't hide behind work details and actually have to talk about your feelings?"
My face heats. The flush creeps from collarbone to jaw. "Things are good."
"Good." Priya tilts her head. "Good? That's what you're giving us?"
"We went on a date," I say. "Last week."
Liv looks up. "And?"
"He planned the whole thing. Wouldn't tell me where we were going, just said to wear comfortable shoes."
Nadia's eyebrows lift. "You let him surprise you?"
"I know."
Priya leans forward, elbows on the table. "Where'd he take you?"
"Walking tour of Manhattan." I pick up my latte again, just to have something to do with my hands. "At night. To look at how buildings are lit."
The table goes quiet.
Then Priya exhales. "Girl. That's the most romantic thing—for you two, of course—I've ever heard."
Liv's laughing. Nadia's shaking her head, grinning.
I can't help it. I'm smiling too.
"So." Nadia's watching me now, the teasing edge gone from her voice. "Is he the one?"
The booth goes still.
My coffee cup is warm between my palms. I trace the edge of the lid with my thumb, once, twice.
"I..." I start, then stop. I look down at the swirling foam in my cup, my chest tight. "I think he could be."
The reaction is immediate. Priya grabs my hand across the table. Liv grins. Nadia reaches over and squeezes my shoulder.
"Samantha Morgan," Liv says, "admitting someone might be the one. I never thought I'd see the day."
I'm laughing now, trying to wave them off, but Priya's still holding my hand.
"We're still getting to know each other," I say. I press my lips together for a second, then exhale. "But yeah." A small, helpless smile tugs at my mouth. "I think he might be."
Priya leans back, arms crossed. "What does Tom think?"
"I don't know." My thumb's still tracing the coffee lid. I stare at the plastic seam, the reality of it making my heart knock against my ribs. "We haven't said it yet."
"But you feel it," Nadia says.
I meet her eyes. "Yeah. I do."
Margit appears at the edge of the booth, coffeepot in hand. She's wearing her usual apron, the one with the faded Donut logo, and she's looking at me with that knowing expression she gets when she's been eavesdropping from behind the counter.
"I heard celebrating," she says, topping off Nadia's cup. "Did you put it on the wall?"
I blink. "Not yet."
