After my waitressing job was over, I went to my locker to check my phone, only to find I had a saving grace: Nia had come through for me with a ballroom dance instructor position! I squealed in joy and excitement.

Dance had been a big thing in my family, especially with my father and his husband. I had been taught to dance when I was a little girl, and while dance had been a huge part of my life, I had gotten to do some dance instruction as I got older. I loved it, but it didn't pay much. Ballroom though… this job would be me paying the studio for the hour, and the people coming to learn would make donations, I got whatever was left over. I'd be able to make ends meet, if I was careful.

After changing out of my work uniform, I was walking back home when I got a text from a number I didn't know.

" Dear Danielle,

Hi, this is Steve from the night club. How are you? It was my pleasure to walk you home, although I had to leave to go on assignment early this morning and plans changed, but my work has me going back this weekend to Washington, DC as of Friday. I know you joked that I owed you a drink, and I certainly do. Earlier on the night that I walked you home, my friends and I went to a restaurant and bar called CIRCA in the Foggy Bottom neighborhood for drinks. The bar was quiet and a nice place to meet, I am uncertain if you've heard of it before, but I'd like to go back there. If you are free, I'd like to take you out. I understand you are a busy lady and I respect that your time is important, so I understand if you are unable to attend. I did feel that you are easy to talk to, and I do want to see you again. I'd like to hear more about your childhood as a military dependent and your studies in psychology, since I am curious about what you do. If you'd like we can have dinner, too. I hope to hear from you, soon.

Sincerely,

Steven Rogers "

Who writes texts like that? I thought, smirking. It was endearing, albeit strange. I had never gotten an eloquent, well-written text message from anybody like that. I had to laugh, though. He said he wasn't good at text messaging, but it looked like he had written the whole letter first (and drafted it a few times) and had then transcribed it onto text or copied and pasted it from an email on his phone.

I couldn't help myself, instead of making him wait, I typed a response, but then stopped.

He had written a well-drafted letter and shown a lot of effort. He could actually write like an intelligent human being, unlike most of the guys I knew and had dated. I couldn't write a quick, " Sure, Steve, let's hang out at CIRCA on Friday, I'm game " response. That would make me look like I didn't care that he had been so respectful of me and my time. Of course, I was working, I had to tell him so. I opened my email and started a letter draft on my phone.

" Hi Steve,

Thanks for sending me a message. It was nice of you to think of me. I have heard of Circa but not had a chance to go. "

I drew a blank as I got to the Metro station to go to George Washington U. On the Metro train, I got my phone back out and worked on my letter back to him. This was not easy. I didn't want to look like a moron who had no writing skills after I had prided myself on being a decent writer and settling for men who didn't care. I was in graduate school! The way he had written to me was impressive. With all the unsolicited dick pics and poorly written, semi-illiterate correspondences from idiots who didn't understand the differences between your and you're I had gotten over the years, I realized how low my standards had become due a sketchy pool of candidates. He had walked me home to make sure I got home safely, and hadn't pressured me into a blow job when we got to my apartment, although he could have forced me to, he was strong enough. He hadn't even hinted that he wanted to come inside. I got this niggling feeling that there was something different about Steve Rogers. Something about him reminded me of my father, in some ways. Maybe it was because he had raised me to expect better from men, but all I ever found was disgusting losers and had settled. They always said you'd never find somebody as good as your daddy. I hoped I wasn't being stupid when I hoped that Steve Rogers was half the man my father was. Maybe I was getting my hopes up.

At school, I opened my laptop up and opened a Word Document, copying and pasting the letter to Steve.

" Hi Steve,

Thanks for sending me a message. It was nice of you to think of me. I have heard of Circa but not had a chance to go. It sounds like fun, I'd like to go. I have seen good reviews from Circa and heard good things about it from my classmates, but I am sorry, I can't accept your invitation. I work weekends, since I am a server. My manager has me scheduled off on Sunday night, though, if you are still in town.

I found out recently that I am going to be teaching ballroom dancing on Tuesday and Thursday nights. This is good news, and I'm looking forward to it. Dance has been a big part of my life, seeing as there were always dance classes on Army bases when I was younger, and when we settled down, I spent high school in a dance studio. I hope you like to dance, because that's what I do the most in what little freetime I have these days. If you aren't a dancer, that's okay, I can teach you.

Dinner sounds nice, I would love to go out with you, but I don't know if I'll have time for it. I need time to read more of my textbooks and the cases we're using for study in class. I'm afraid of falling behind because the work is intense and the classes move quickly. Maybe you can tell me over drinks about where you went on assignment… if you can.

My Thursday evening class is about to start, and I've got to go. I can meet you at CIRCA at nine, if that's good for you. Let me know.

Sincerely,

Danielle Conyers"

I thought better of copy and pasting it directly into the text message, and ran it through grammarly, first. After correcting my letter, I then sent it back to my email, then copied and pasted it into my text message conversation with Steve, sending it. I had to go to class.

It was late when I got out of class and spoke to the professor. Steve had read my message, but hadn't responded.

"Hey, Dani," Alissa said, waiting on me. She and I had become fast friends when we started this cohort a few weeks ago. "Joel and I are having a watch party for Dancing with Stars on Monday at our place."

"That sounds good, I saw the cast line up," I said. "Let me check my schedule, if I can get around to it."

"So how's everything else?" she asked. Joel, her husband, had moved to DC so she could go to grad school, and they had a nicer apartment in Crystal City, whereas I was in a more dangerous area of town.

I shrugged. "Okay."

"Nothing good happening?"

I shrugged. "Nothing big. I got the ballroom dance class on Tuesday and Thursdays," I said. "I'm going to be teaching it."

"That's great! An even better reason for you to come to the watch party!"

I checked my phone: nothing from Steve, yet.

"Hey, when you and Joel met, how did dating him go?"

"Great. So, what do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing. How did you meet?"

"He was in medical school, and I was selling pharmaceuticals at the hospital in Dallas," she said, smiling to herself. "I lived about forty-five minutes away, and he kept on buying me coffee on his breaks so I could take it on the road. And I kind of realized he liked me, and was a good guy, so…"

"So you did the long-distance thing?"

"Kinda," she said. "I mean, forty-five minutes isn't too far away when you're seeing each other."

I fought the urge to check the driving distance between DC and New York City on my phone. Making plans with someone was always the end game. It couldn't have been that far. Maybe the train or a bus. Of course, I wasn't sure how much free time Steve's job allowed him or if even was really interested in me.

"Why are you asking? Did you meet someone on a dating app?"

"No, I just kind of had a nice encounter with a nice guy on Tuesday night."

"Oh," she said, grimacing.

"What's that all about?"

"Nice guys… they're always so boring until you don't do what they want."

"I've kissed my share of frogs, hun."

"No, really. The niceness might be a front. Be careful."

"Why are guys such scum?" I sighed. "And how did you know Joel wasn't trash?"

She chortled. "Oh, it was funny. He always asked me to guess where he going to take me to dinner, and he always took me to my first guess, right? I thought I was so lucky, and then one day, it dawned on me that he did that every time we went out and it was a trick because when we first started going out, I could never decide where I wanted to eat if he just asked me outright, "Liss, where you wanna eat?". I got so mad at him because I knew he was tricking me into figuring out a place to eat without so much fuss, and we got into our first big fight. Then, I realized was a dumbass I was being, because I couldn't decide where to eat, and he had figured out a way to keep both of us happy. I realized he cared about me and how I felt. That's when I knew he wasn't using me."

I nodded, thinking about it.

"Again, I'll ask: did you meet somebody?"

"He's kind of incredible," I admitted. "Like, too good to be true. To start off, he's really good-looking. And he's got a body like… you know."

She snorted. "Girl, what ?!"

"Well, I haven't seen him naked or anything," I said, blushing at myself. "He just… he's so broad shouldered and his biceps were ready to split his t-shirt sleeves."

"Oh, a body like that ? You can tell he's got a good one before he's even naked?"

"Basically, yeah. He was really shy, though, but he insisted on walking me home. He didn't even expect anything out of me for that. So, I gave him my number-"

"Like a lady," she teased.

"Yeah," I agreed. "And then he wrote me a text that was more like a letter."

"Oh yeah? Can I see?"

I blushed, yet considered it. Well, it couldn't hurt. "Okay," I said, getting my phone up and showing her the message.

She read it as we went out into the lobby. "He's really eloquent," she admitted. "You're sure didn't hook up?"

"No, of course not!"

"I was hoping you had. Because him writing a whole letter after hooking up would be a really good sign."

"But since we didn't hook up?"

"It could still work out okay," she said. "I'd say a fifty-fifty chance. If you two get together, he could be a really good one. And you were really nice back. You never text-letters to me like that." She fake-pouted.

I smiled to myself, thinking about. "I'll keep you in the loop."

"Okay, hun," she replied.

I went home and read to keep up with school, while the phone taunted me. Steve hadn't texted me back. In the morning, I woke up and Steve had responded.

" Dear Danielle,

Thanks for writing me back so quickly. I was happy to hear from you. But, I am out of the country on assignment and I won't be in town on Friday, but maybe on Saturday. I'm sorry to keep this text message abrupt, I don't have much time and I won't have my phone on me. You said you were free Sunday, I'll try to keep you apprised on when I get back Stateside. Maybe we can have that drink sooner or later.

Sincerely,

Steve Rogers"

I itched to ask Steve was the assignment was, but I knew I couldn't. Not yet. He was a mystery to me. And using a word like apprised ? Working it into a letter like that, it was a good sign that he was intelligent, but hopefully not a mansplaining know-it-all.

Sunday afternoon, I opened my phone as I was getting into my uniform. Steve said he was just getting on a plane back home, and apologized for the 'abruptness' of the text message (again with the vocabulary), but said that he'd definitely be in town on Monday.

I wasn't sure it was a good idea to take Steve to meet my friends and cohort yet at Alissa and Joel's place. Steve, though… he'd move on a lose interest. I worried that a horde of sexy, glamorous New York Women would descend on him and he'd forget about me. Alissa assured me it would be fine if I said no this time.

I crafted a letter to Steve that I wanted to take him up on going out for drinks.

I fretted over my outfit and makeup, and of course, naturally, I saw a zit forming on my chin. I dabbed some concealer on it, but on the plus side, my hair was smoother than normal and looked good, and there wasn't any wind outside. Lourdes Marie seemed to agree that I looked nice.

There was a knock on the door, and I grabbed my bathrobe, slipping it on over my underwear (of course, both Alissa and Lauren had advised me to wear unsexy Spanx under my dress and to not shave my legs so I'd stop myself if things went too far with him tonight). I peeked through the door frame, and I saw Steve standing there in dark dress trousers and a blue button-up with a tie and a brown leather bomber jacket… with flowers.

Aww, he had brought me flowers?

I cracked the door open and stuck my head out.

"Hi," he said.

"Hey," I replied. "Look, I'm not ready just yet, I just need to get my dress on, if you can just wait a second."

"Of course," he said. "Can I come in and wait?"

"Um… sorry, this is a studio apartment," I admitted, clutching the robe shut. "I'm sorry to make you wait out there. I'll be quick. Promise."

"Wait- these are for you," he said, holding out the flowers.

I found myself smiling as I accepted them.

"Thanks," I said. "They're really beautiful, let me put them in water before we go."

I shut the door and realized I only had a cup from the Nissan Stadium to put the flowers in. But they were gorgeous, three red roses and carnations with baby's breath and greenery. I didn't fawn over them for long, but pulled on the velvet dancing dress from Nanny that she had worn when she was my age (probably younger, because she met Pop-Pop before she was twenty-one) and grabbing my purse and Goodwill Navy peacoat.

"Hi," I said, opening the door. "Thank so much for waiting."

He looked a little stunned. "Uh… Aren't I supposed to wait?" he asked. "You look really beautiful."

"Thank you. You look nice, too," I added, following him down the steps. I saw a motorcycle waiting and he approached it. "You came here on a motorcycle?"

"I left it here," he said. "This is how I get around."

I looked at it, stunned.

"I've never been on a motorcycle before," I admitted. "Do you have a helmet?"

"Yeah, one," he said, picking it up from the seat and holding it out for me.

"Oh," I said, "What about you?"

"I'll be fine," he said, mounting it. I slipped into my coat and stepped up to him.

"Hey, can you help me?" I asked, indicating the straps under my chin.

"I'm really no good with these kinds of things," he said. "My fingers are huge." I reached up to try to feel the buckle and strap myself, but he reached up, sighing. "This is going to be a moment." He struggled with the buckle, and finally got it. I studied his face: a broad jaw, clean shaven, but I saw the smaller signs of exhaustion: circles under his eyes. I saw the shadow of a bruise, and a small cut under his hair that fell over his forehead. Had he been in a fight? In the jungle? I wanted to know. He slid the visor down over my face and it felt like my head was too heavy. I slipped a leg over the back of his bike. "Hold me around the middle. Since this is your first ride, don't let go. And it might be a good idea to tuck your skirt up so it doesn't get caught in the wheel."

"I'm trusting you," I said, tugging my skirt up and adjusted it, although I could feel the evening chill through my thigh-highs. I wrapped my arms around his middle. He didn't have an ounce of fat, I could feel his muscles through his leather jacket.

"You can trust me," he said, zipping up his jacket. "Alright, try to lean into the curves with me and don't let go," he said, turning over the engine. The bike came to life. He turned over the throttle and the bike lurched forward. I watched Arlington, Virginia pass quickly outside us, but I was exposed to the night air. It was different from riding in a car or a bus. I liked getting a different view of the cities I lived in, and I started to see things differently.

And I hoped he was different, that he was the man my father had been. He sure seemed different. Or was he going to put the pressure of me for sex once I started trusting him? I wished I hadn't met him when I was gogo dancing in a night club. Guys always got the wrong idea, like I was easy, or a stripper, when they found out I did dance for a side job. I wasn't any of those things.

At Circa, we left the keys with the valet and insisted on walking me inside, opening the doors. Either he was going really far to impress me or he was the real deal, the kind of guy I had always wished for. He rushed to get my chair pulled out, even though it was only a bar stool. The bar was crowded, so Steve stood beside me.

"What are you having?" I asked.

"I'm going with a double whiskey on the rocks, that's my usual. What do you like?"

"Um… wine in general. I like white wine best."

"Let's see if we can get the bartender's attention. Hey!" he waved at the bartender.

"Yeah?"

"Can I get a double whiskey on the rocks and- what do you have in white wines?" Steve asked, ordering for me.

"Can I get a white wine spritzer?" I asked.

"I can do that. Do you want the top shelf whiskey on that double?"

Steve shook his head and handed over his card to the bartender to start a tab. "Well is fine."

"You never told me what made you join the army," I said. "What unit were you in?"

"I was in the Blue Spades," he said.

"Where was that?" I asked trying to remember the different units Daddy had been around when I was a kid on the Army Bases.

"Uh, they were stationed out of Camp Lehigh."

"We lived there!" I cried.

"You did?" he asked, looking pale.

"Yeah. One of the other wives in the unit taught me ballet and tap in the General and Mrs. Barnes Children's Center! I loved going there, that's all I'd do." Something struck me. "Didn't Lehigh get shut down about fifteen years ago?"

"I'm older than I look," he said. "I went through basic there."

"I bet you knew my Dad, then," I said, trying to imagine a barely-legal baby-faced Steve Rogers with the basic newbie buzz in the blocks of enlisted men and women, training, with a screaming sargent in his face. "What made you enlist?"

"The war," he said.

"Oh, nine-eleven, yeah," I said. "Dad was going to leave the military, but he re-enlisted when that happened. He always tells me it was a huge wake-up call for him and the whole country."

"It was," Steve agreed. "You told me you were from Nashville?"

"Well, being an army brat, you end up following your mom or dad everywhere, but he kept our permanent address in Nashville, which was good. When things got rocky between my parents, they sent us home to my grandparents there, and we got into a good school there. My Dad left the military after he and Mom divorced."

"That must have been tough, living with a divorced mother," he remarked.

"Oh, no, I lived mostly with my father after the divorce," I said.

"Hey," the bartender said, delivering our drinks.

"Thank you," I said, accepting mine. "My momma's not you know… like sane ." I rolled my eyes. "I always got along with my father much better. And besides, she got alimony."

Steve grabbed his whiskey glass and took an eager chug of it. "I'm sorry you went through that."

"Divorce is awful, but things were so much more calm when it was over," I said. I wasn't sure I wanted to tell him about my father's coming out of the closet. "Things worked out for the best. Momma's a lot happier living in Atlanta, she got her realtor's license and remarried. Daddy remarried, too. I've talked enough about myself, though. Let's talk about you."

"Well, there's not much to talk about," he said.

"Was the Army your first choice?" I asked. "Did you go to college?"

"I did," he said. "Didn't finish my degree, though."

"What did you study?"

"Art," he said.

"Art history?"

"I know this sounds stupid, but I wanted to be a book illustrator," he said.

"Like children's books?" I asked. "That's not stupid. You have to be really good to illustrate those. You oughta go back."

"Not just children's books. I also wanted to draw for comic books, industrial artwork, that kind of stuff."

"That's really interesting. I was never very good at art. I never graduated above drawing stick figures."

He chortled. He finally was relaxing.

"I did take a class in photoshop and graphic design for my undergraduate humanities," I said.

"Yeah," he nodded.

"Didn't you study that, too?"

He shook his head reluctantly. "Not really. I mostly worked with graphite pencils and charcoal," he said. "That was my favorite medium."

"Where did you go?"

"Just a small liberal arts college in Brooklyn," he dismissed the question. "I'd rather l talk about you. I bet you've done a lot with your life."

I shrugged. "Sometimes, it feels like I have, but then again, I haven't," I said.

"Why do you say that?"

"I only graduated from college a two years ago," I said. "I spent a year in Nashville working at a call center, and I realized my degree didn't make a difference at all, I was working next to a girl who had gotten her high school diploma and she was making the same as me. I decided to get my Professional Counselor's Masters degree so I could actually make enough money to save."

"You know, it used to be you get your high school diploma, you could get a great job."

"Yeah, my Pop-pop said that. He saw a big change when get got his bachelor's and then he got good-paying work. Now, you have to have a master's. It seems like a waste of time to some people. But I know I'll be better off when I've got something to work at that I love doing."

"Don't you want to get married? One day."

I shrugged. "I'm still young, I've got plenty of time. I'm not ready to settle down. I want to travel more and have a few adventures. See the world. I bet you have in the military."

He shrugged, and gulped down the last of his whiskey. "I have, it's just not all it's cracked up to be when you're fighting a war. You don't get a chance to really stop and appreciate things."

"What rank are you?" I asked.

"I'm a captain." He didn't elaborate on it.

"Did you serve in Afghanistan or Iraq?" I inquired to get him to talk.

He shook his head. "So tell me more about what you did in college?" He pointed at his drink glass and made eye contact with the bartender, nodding.

"I majored in Psychology with a minor in Anthropology because it was fun. I did the sorority thing for two years until it burned me out, and I did baton twirling, it's a dying art. They paid me to do it."

"You go a scholarship for it?"

"Yeah," I said. "I didn't get much, just enough to buy my books. I had to go to events and travel to the football games and smile and pose while sleezy guys groped me in pictures. But I loved baton. It's addictive."

He looked horrified. "Men were… groping you?"

"It's just part of being a woman," I dismissed it. "The moment you walk out in a sequined bathing suit, you're no longer a person, you're a piece."

"A… piece?"

"Piece of ass. People forget you've got feelings and you aren't there for them to use, you become an object."

He considered it while taking a giant sip of his second double. "I never thought of it that way."

"Yeah, I don't like talking about sexual harassment."

He got out his phone and typed into it covertly as I ordered another spritzer.

"Hey, Who are you texting?" I asked.

"My friend Natasha."

My eyebrows almost raised off my head. "What? Another girl?"

"No, uh, I just remembered something I forgot- like- it's work stuff," he said. "Natasha and I work together."

"She's your work wife?" I asked.

"Huh? No! We're not married-"

"Steve, it's a phrase for your best friend at work of the opposite sex," I said. "It's not romantic or sexual. Usually."

"Nat and I don't have a relationship like that. She's like a sister to me, a best friend. That's why she took me out that night when we met."

"What were you doing in a gay bar?" I asked.

"Uh, nothing," he said. "It was more curiosity. Nat wanted to see the show, she dragged us along. It was fun, though."

"That makes sense," I agreed. "Although you looked terrified. You sure you were having fun?"

He laughed. "I had a lot of guys offering to buy me drinks. Nat loved it because she grew up in Russia where there was nothing like that kind of club. Hey, I thought everybody was really gay-friendly these days in America, couldn't I have a fellow for a work husband?"

"Well… maybe," I said, thinking about it. "Are you the office clown?"

"Nope."

"Then don't do it. I bet Nat would have something to say about it if she had competition. She's in the Army, too?"

"No, she's a special contract," he said. "I just don't want to face her wrath when I get back to New York."

"Yeah, she was pretty intense," I agreed. "I could tell she could really tear a person down if they made her mad."

"Oh yeah, she can do a lot more than that."

"I honestly thought she was going to kill me when she came up to me in the bar. So, I want to pick your brain… can you tell me more about what you do in Special Ops?" I asked, gazing up at him under my eyelashes to flirt.

He shook his head, and grinned, embarrassed. "I can't tell you," he said.

"Because then you'd have to kill me, huh?" I purred.

"I wouldn't kill ya, but I'd keep a really close watch on ya. Can you handle that with me? That I can't tell you a lot of things?"

Well, I had tried. "I don't know," I teased. "I tend to get awful jealous, Stevie."

By the time Steve had had three whiskey doubles, I had had three spritzers, and the bartender made the last call, I realized how long Steve and I had been talking. It felt more like I had spoken more about myself, answered his questions. He warmed up to me as he got more alcohol in his system, and my tongue loosened, too. I hadn't realized how early Circa closed on the weekdays.

"You know, you look so pretty," he said. "I love girls in these kinds of dresses. And not a lot of makeup. I like being able to see your face."

"I'm wearing red lipstick," I said. "That's pretty heavy makeup."

"Not anymore," he said, grinning. I glanced down at my wine glass, and there were several semi-circles of crimson lip stains. "It's getting pretty late, why don't I take you home?"

"Why don't we call an Uber? Or a Lyft?" I asked, concerned that we had both been drinking, him more than me.

"I have a fast metabolism," he said. The bartender brought over the tab.

"Steve, let me pay the tip."

"No, I've got it," he said. "How much is the tax in DC?"

"I think it's like six percent, but let me-"

"No, I asked you out, it's traditional for me to pay the bill," he said. "Why don't you go get the bike," he held out the tag from the valet station.

"No, let's not," I said. "Why don't we go for a walk first, and sober up, some? We can go to the National Mall. It's really pretty at night and this time of year, and I haven't been much since I moved here."

"Okay," he agreed. He signed the tab, and picked up my coat to help me into it.

The conversations between us were so easy, now. His guard was down, just a bit and started talking more, whereas I felt like I had dominated the conversation most of the night, mostly because he asked a lot of questions. Things were getting so fluid between us, it felt like I had known him a lot longer than week. Flirting came along without either of us really noticing it. I wished that he was staying for longer. He had to go back to New York in the morning. We walked together down to the National Mall, talking about the best burger we had ever had.

"I stand by the best one I've ever had was at Sam and Andy's in Knoxville," I said. "Perfect, with bacon and barbecue sauce. I think they did something to the beef."

"I don't think barbeque sauce belongs on a burger," Steve said, nose wrinkling

"Oh, that's right, you're from New York," I teased, as if New York was a gross place. "Although there's nothing like a burger with a fried egg and ghost pepper cheese and bacon on it. So good. There was this really good pub in Nashville where I could get one, Rotier's."

"What's ghost pepper?"

"It's a really hot pepper blended into monterey jack cheese," I said. "It's addictive. Hotter than jalapeños."

He frowned to himself. "I'm trying to imagine how that would taste together," he said.

"If you butter the bun right, it's amazing."

"Say that again?"

"If you butter the bun right, it's amazing."

He chortled. "I like your accent."

I blushed. "I'm not that bad," I said, embarrassed. "Hey, we just came out by the Washington Monument!"

The two-tone obelisk was lit up, and there was a group of people in the lights near the flags at the base, taking pictures.

"It's really amazing they were able to built this in the 1800s. They didn't skyscrapers with steel bone technology when they started this, but they built it anyway. I can't imagine a feat that was."

"Me too," I admitted.

"I hope I'm not boring you."

"You're not! I love history, Daddy made it interesting for us, so I love talking about it!"

"Didn't they have to pause construction during the Civil War?" he asked. "That's why it's two tones, they had to change the quarry they got the marble from?"

"They did," I said. "I first saw this on a class field trip when I was in eighth grade."

"I didn't get to see this until… until I was twenty-three."

"Hey, the World War II memorial is open," I said. "Wanna go?"

"You know… uh..."

I grabbed his hand, "the fountain is still on," I said, tugging on him. He didn't move. "Come on, we can make a wish!"

"I don't think I really want to go," he said, but didn't let go of my hand. I realized were holding hands in the dark, and a shiver ran down my spine. "I'd like to say right here with you."

"There's a bench, if you want to sit down," I offered.

He and I walked over to a bench and watched the National Mall in the dark. It was surprisingly busy. "I feel like I've done all the talking, tonight," I said. "I don't think I know as much about as you probably know about me."

"I'd tell you there's not much to me, but there actually is. I was serious when I told you there's a lot I can't tell you."

"Like how much?"

"A lot."

"You're kidding, right? You can tell me a little more?"

"I'm sorry, I don't have clearance."

"Here I've been talking about myself all night, and waiting on you to tell me about yourself."

"I'm not that interesting. I work. And I work. And I work some more."

"I'm like that, too," I admitted. "I work fulltime and I go to school full time. I hate it, it's the worst."

His thigh was pressed against mine, I could feel the heat from it and it was nice. "Why don't I take you home, Dani?"

"It feels like we just got here!" I cried, my eyes flying open.

"You seem pretty tired."

"I was just resting my eyes."

"You were snoring."

"I was not!"

"I hardly think sleeping on a date is a good thing."

"Insert inappropriate joke here."

"The exhaustion of the last three days is getting to me, too," he said. "I just want to rest my head for a few hours."

He stood up, still holding my hand and helped me up. He kissed the back of my palm, and we started back toward Circa. It had felt natural, normal… right.

Steve took me home on his motorcycle, and as we approached the door to my apartment, I took his hand up the stairs. His hand was warm and large against the cold night air against my own, that was probably turning blue. I wish I had remembered gloves tonight. But he kept me just warm enough.

"I had a really good time," I admitted as my stomach growled. "I wish I had taken you up on dinner."

"Alright, so let's go out to dinner next time I'm in town," he said.

"When are you in town next?" I asked.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "My schedule's a little up in the air right now. But Danielle, really… tonight was really special."

I was surprised to hear him say that. "It was," I agreed, getting out my keys.

I wondered if he was only saying that to see if I'd invite him into my apartment.

While I wished for someone who wanted a serious relationship, not sex, a part of me toyed with the idea of inviting him in myself. My inner slut that I made sure not to let out often was the devil on my shoulder telling me it was a great idea, I could climb him like a tree. My inner prude on my other shoulder was telling me to not risk his opinion of me, and not to do it, that if I did do it with him tonight, he wouldn't want to see me again.

"Danielle, I wanted to ask you something," he said cautiously.

Well crap on a cracker, he was beating me to it. "Okay?"

"Can we write letters? Like, actual letters that go through the post office?" he asked. "I'm just used to that. I don't really like emails and text messages and that Face Place thing. What do you think?"

"Write letters?" I repeated. How romantic and old fashioned, I thought. We would sit down and write our thoughts and really work on the penmanship and the structure of our thoughts. It was so old-fashioned. "I think that's a really good idea."

"Okay," he said. "I'll call you."

Soon, I hope, I thought. "Okay," I whispered, and unlocked the door. "Steve?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for taking me out. Good night." I stood on my toes to kiss him on the cheek.

"Good night," he said, a relieved grin crossing his face. He went down the stairs with that.

And with that, I went into my apartment on Cloud 9.

I felt like a lady.