When my phone buzzed with an incoming text, I hesitated to look at it, knowing there was a good chance whoever it was would make me deal with my current situation. By ignoring it, I could buy more time. So that’s what I did for another five minutes.

The next time my phone buzzed, it was a phone call instead of a text. I peeked at the caller ID. It was Donovan, and I was twenty minutes late. He had been such a nice guy so far. He didn’t deserve me standing him up. Taking a deep breath, I swiped and answered.

“Hello.”

“Valentina? Is everything okay?” His voice was deep and raspy. Really manly and really sexy. Something else I didn’t expect.

“Yes. No. Yes. I mean, no. I’m sorry, Donovan. I’m not going to be able to make it tonight.”

“What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I am. It’s…it’s…I didn’t realize I wasn’t ready until now.” Just then, a horn blared off in the distance. I had my car window cracked open to get fresh air.

“Where are you?”

“I’m…I’m…sort of in the parking lot.”

“Of the restaurant?”

“Yes.” I felt like an idiot admitting it.

“Nervous?”

“You might say that.”

“Want me to come outside?”

“Not really.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry. I know this is ridiculous. I’m acting like a teenager, and I’m so embarrassed.”

“What kind of car do you drive?”

“Please don’t come out and get me. It’ll make my humiliation even worse.”

“I won’t come out unless you want me to. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“I drive a silver Routan. But I’m fine. I just need to sit here for a while.”

“Okay. Stay on the phone with me. Maybe it will help you relax. You shouldn’t drive if you’re nervous anyway.”

Here I am jerking this poor guy around, and he’s offering to keep me company on the phone while I stand him up. “Thank you.”

“So I probably shouldn’t tell you this if you’re already nervous about meeting me, but it’s too odd of a coincidence to keep to myself.”

“What?”

“You need to come inside because an old lady I know had a dream that I met my future wife today.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Mrs. Peabody. It’s a long story, but I sort of have a friend who’s older, and she sometimes has these premonitions and weird dreams. This morning she randomly called me and said she woke up at two in the morning knowing I was going to meet my future wife today.”

“Oh really?” I chuckled. “Did she say anything else?”

“No. Well, except that she smelled cinnamon buns in the oven and then vomited right after.”

“She what?”

“She threw up. But that’s normal. She always throws up after her premonitions.”

I shook my head. “I think you’re right.”

“So you’ll come inside?”

“No…” I laughed. “I meant you shouldn’t have told me, because now I’m afraid you might be a little crazy.”

“We’re all a little crazy, Val. What fun would it be if we only filled our life with normal things?”

That was a question I could answer, since my life had been boring as hell the last few years: no fun at all. Maybe I needed a Mrs. Peabody in my life.

“You’re right.”

“What’s your favorite drink, Val?”

“I usually drink wine, but my favorite mixed drink is a dirty martini.”

Donovan sounded amused. “Not what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Some frou-frou drink.”

“They’re a waste of calories.”

“Well, I’m going to sit at the bar and order two dirty martinis. If you decide to come in, yours will be waiting for you. I’m in no rush. Why don’t you take a few minutes, put your seat back, shut your eyes, and relax. I’ll call back in a bit to check on you.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

A few minutes later, a knock at my window startled me. I nearly froze, expecting it to be Donovan. But it wasn’t. Instead, it was an older man wearing a white dress shirt, black vest, and black slacks—a waiter and not my date. In one hand, he held a dirty martini, and in the other he had an antipasto plate.

I rolled the window down the rest of the way. “Hi.”

“From the gentleman at the bar.”

Smiling, I accepted the delivery, took a healthy gulp of the martini, and hit Call on my phone.

Donovan answered without saying hello. “This counts as a first date now. We’re having a drink together. Mine’s delicious. How’s yours?”

I settled back into my seat. “It’s yummy. Very dirty. I like a lot of olive juice.”

“As long as you brought it up, I like it dirty, too.”

I chuckled. “Is that so?”

“It is. I’m sorry. Hang on a second. I have someone beeping in, and I need to take it.”

“Go right ahead. I’ll just sit here and enjoy my cocktail.” The line went quiet for a moment, and then he came back.

“Sorry about that. I should tell you that there’s another woman in my life, a very demanding one.”

“Oh?”

“She’s a giant pain in the ass, but I can’t seem to figure out how to ignore her calls.”

“Your ex-wife?”

“Worse. Little sister. I’m always afraid it will be that one time something is really wrong and I don’t pick up.”

“Did something happen?”

“She’s upset at the painter who’s working in my apartment at the moment.”

“What did he do?”

“He arrived at 9 a.m. this morning…on a Saturday.”

“Okay…”

“She doesn’t get up until at least one.”

I chuckled.

“By the way, your drink only has one shot of alcohol. It’s mostly olive juice. But maybe you should only drink half, in case you decide not to come in and want to drive in the near future.”

God, this man was so damn thoughtful. The way he made everything easy for me made it harder at the same time. We stayed on the phone talking for another half hour. Considering our current predicament, the conversation focused on bad first dates. Since I hadn’t really had any in twenty years, Donovan did most of the talking. He told me he despised when people ate off of his plate, yet it seemed to be a frequent occurrence. His last three first dates had all ordered salad, drank too much, and then proceeded to pick at his plate of food.

“I wanted to stab my last date’s hand with my fork every time she reached over. I don’t get it. Order your own food if you’re hungry.”

“They’re probably self conscious about ordering a big meal in front of their date.”

“Why?”

“Because almost all women are self-conscious about their weight.”

“Are you?”

“I used to be. But as I came into my thirties, I learned to accept that I was never going to be stick thin, and instead, now I love my curves.”

“I love your curves, too.”

“You haven’t even seen my curves yet.”

Donovan went quiet.

“Did I lose you?”

“Nope. I’m still here.”

Then he was quiet again. We’d never had an awkward moment before, and I wasn’t sure what he was thinking. If he was half as smart as he seemed, he was probably thinking What the hell am I doing talking on the phone with this nutcase?

I spoke quietly. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, Val.”

“That’s not true. But thank you for saying that.”

Again, he went quiet. He was probably regretting the day he messaged me, and I couldn’t blame him.

After a full minute of dead silence, we both went to speak at the same time. Oddly, we said the same words. I said, “Listen, Donovan,” just as he said, “Listen, Val.”

“You go first,” I offered.

“Ladies first.”

“I—” When I opened my mouth to begin to thank him and say goodbye, I noticed the waiter again walking to my car. This time, he was carrying a piece of cake. “The waiter is walking my way with a huge piece of chocolate cake. Is that for me, too?”

“I had to buy you dessert. Can’t have your first date in twenty years suck now, can I?”

The waiter smiled as he approached. I began to roll down my window to accept what looked to be a delicious slice of molten chocolate lava cake, then realized just how insane I was being. “Can you hang on one second?” I asked Donovan.

I pressed mute before getting out of the car. I thanked the waiter and stood outside with my cake in hand. After a minute, I took a deep breath and headed to the restaurant door to have dessert with my date. In person.

Inside, the bar was almost empty. Even though his back was to me, it wasn’t too hard to figure out which man was Donovan. There was an older couple sitting at one end of the bar and two girls who looked barely legal sitting a few stools away from a man holding his phone to his ear.

I unmuted my phone and spoke quietly. “The cake looks delicious. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

My feet felt heavy, like my shoes were made of concrete blocks. Staring at Donovan’s back, I was quiet for a moment as I watched him.

“Listen, Val, I would absolutely love to see you in person. But if you’re not ready, you’re not ready. I don’t want to make things more difficult for you.”

I swallowed. “I think I’m ready.”

“You do?”