“Worcester.” She pronounced it “Wistah,” instead of “Wooster” like everyone else in New England, marking her as someone who’d grown up there. The waiter brought their second round and food. Josh’s drink tasted even better now.

“So what do you do, Cammie?” he asked.

“A little of everything, frankly,” she said. “I’m a hairstylist part-time.”

“Your hair is very pretty,” he said. “So shiny.” Was that a dumb thing to say? Probably.

She beamed. “Thanks!” Maybe not, then. She picked up another piece of cheese and nibbled on it with her perfect teeth. Her lipstick somehow did not smear on the cheese, or her martini glass, for that matter. Women and their magic. Their good smells and lotions and makeup and hair stuff.

He liked women.

Josh realized he was a little drunk. Not necessarily a bad thing in his case, socializing-wise, and he’d walked here, so driving would not be an issue. “What’s your dream job?” he asked, surprising himself. Thanks, alcohol!

“Oh, my God, I can’t believe you asked that. What a great question! Most men are just interested in . . . well. You know.” She straightened up. “I would love to have my own business. A salon, but also a cocktail bar, right? Get this, though. It’s just for women.”

Josh sat back, the better to listen (and not wobble).

“So you come in, see, and you get your nails done or hair cut”—Cammie gestured extravagantly—“and there’d be this makeup bar, like at Sephora? Except not grubby. Super clean. And so you could beautify right there for a small fee after your mani or haircut, with a consultant or not. Your choice. And then—this is the genius part if I do say so myself—you go to the back room, or maybe the front room, and there’s cocktails and a cute bartender!”

“Amazing!” Josh said.

“Right? So you could talk with your friends, make some new acquaintances, maybe, and hang out.” She sat back, pleased by her pitch. “I’m gonna call it Shine, because, like, your nails, your hair and your personality can all shine.”

“What a great idea,” he said sincerely. “I would go there. I mean, if I were a woman.”

“I know! Tell me the truth. Your wife would’ve loved a place like that, wouldn’t she?”

“She definitely would have. And all her friends would’ve, too.”

“See! I just gotta save some more money, and then it’ll happen. Dream big, my ma always says. So in the meantime, I do a little of this and a little of that. I’m saving up.” A big smile.

He did like her. Very much.

They smiled and sipped and chatted, and while there was a pleasant rolling feel to the floor, Josh was actually having a good time.

“Tell me more about your wife,” she said, and he did. He told her about how happy they were, how many fun things they did, the places they’d gone, how even when she was at her sickest, Lauren never stopped being positive and kind and perfect.

Cammie had tears in her eyes. “I hope I meet someone like you someday, Josh,” she said, which was odd, because that day was today, wasn’t it?

“She wrote these letters for me to read every month after she died,” he said, again surprising himself. “She said she wanted to walk me through this first year without her.”

“Oh, my God.” Cammie’s mouth wobbled, and she took a cocktail napkin and carefully wiped under her lashes. “That’s beautiful.”

“I thought so, too.”

“Your guardian angel.”

He hated that term, but . . . “Exactly. And every month in the letter, she gives me something to do, so I’m not just sitting around our apartment, lost.”

“Seriously? What does she tell you to do?”

“Well, the first thing was just go to the grocery store. Then, you know, have people over for dinner. Get a new couch. See a, um . . . a medium.”

“Oh, my God! How was that? Was it amazing? I’m a total believer.”

“It was pretty incredible,” he admitted.

“My cousin? She has flashes like that? Totally random, but it knocks your socks off. Like once? She said my grandmother had made my dress for my first Communion? She’s like, ‘Grandma is showing me the dress she made for your first Communion,’ and I’m like, ‘Oh, my God, I loved that dress.’” She smiled fondly at the memory. “It had pockets. Then my mother said that my cousin would know that because Gran made all the first Communion dresses for her granddaughters, but still. She knew about the pockets, right?”

“Yes,” Josh said, though he wasn’t sure if that was an appropriate response. “This lady was very . . . accurate.”

“Such a gift. God bless her.” She made the sign of the cross, and Josh’s eyes followed her hand up to her shiny hair, then down to her lovely cleavage, then left, then right, and whoo! His eyes were getting a little rebellious, weren’t they? A little maverick, those eyes.

Their second round of drinks was gone, the room was spinning slightly, and Josh decided, what the hell, he’d tell her. “So for this month, my wife wanted me to kiss someone. A woman.”

He probably hadn’t needed to add that last part.

“Seriously? That was her thing for you?”

“Yes.”

Cammie’s brilliant eyes welled again. “I think that’s so . . . kind. So fucking romantic.”

“Me, too,” Josh said, though again, he wasn’t quite sure his answer was appropriate, since he couldn’t exactly remember the last sentence out of Cammie’s mouth. No more drinks for him.

“I don’t usually kiss my clients, but I’m gonna make an exception for you.”