A/N: STOP! Before you start reading this chapter, please go back and re-read chapter 16. After struggling because things didn't quite feel right, I ended up adding an additional scene from Erik's POV and made small changes to some of the narrative that fleshes out chapter 16 a bit more, and what happens there has an impact on this chapter. It's worth it, I promise :)

Chapter 17

Maddie called a few days later.

"Great news!" she blurted as soon as I answered the phone, launching right into the conversation and skipping any sort of civilized greeting that a person would normally use. "I found the perfect guy for you, and…you guessed it! He's free this weekend!"

Ugh. My stomach slid into my shoes. "You didn't."

I'd been so upset by Maddie's exuberance over Ben's marriage that I had completely forgotten about that particularly dreadful part of our conversation.

"It's all set up. We'll meet at O'Malley's on Saturday at seven o'clock."

"Maddie," I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose with my free hand. "I know you mean well and everything, but I already told you: I'm not ready to date anyone right now. New boots or not," I added when I heard her take a deep breath to argue.

"Then just think of it as a fun night out with friends."

"Uh-huh, 'cause blind dates are so much fun and not at all creepy and awkward."

"Well, it's kinda too late to back out now," she snapped back at me. "This guy had to rearrange his whole schedule for you, and it would be very rude and inconsiderate of you to cancel on him now after all everything he did to make Saturday work."

I pulled the phone away from my ear and scowled at the screen. Was she serious?

"I know you're nervous," Maddie continued in a more placating tone, apparently sensing the look of death I was currently giving her contact picture. "It's just dinner. I'm not asking you to make a commitment to this guy. I just want you to get out of the house, you know. Have some fun, get your mind off Ben, blow off some steam. I'm worried about you. I'm just trying to be a good friend."

I sighed again. Maybe I was being a tad bit unreasonable. Worst case scenario this guy and I didn't hit it off and we didn't go out again. No big deal. At least then I could say I tried and that might get Maddie off my back for a while.

"Fine," I grudgingly agreed. "I'll see you Saturday."

XXX

Saturday arrived much sooner than I would have liked. Usually the week crawled by at a snail's pace and it seemed like the weekend took forever to get here. It figured that the one time I was counting on the week to go by slow, time decided to be an asshole and pulled a one-eighty on me, doing the exact opposite.

That morning I woke up with a sense of dread pooling in the pit of my stomach. It lingered all through breakfast and my morning coffee, and by the time lunch rolled around I was a fidgety mess.

It's just jitters, I told myself. I'm sure every divorcée went through something similar when they first started dating again. It was normal. Nothing to get all worked up about.

I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to keep my thoughts and my hands occupied. Thankfully, the solution to that problem presented itself in the form of the gaping window in my dining room. The downside to breaking in—well, aside from being strangled by an overprotective, slightly vengeful spirit—was that I had smashed the plywood into several different pieces when I kicked it in to gain entry into the house. I'd done my best to puzzle it back together, but the spidery cracks running through the middle were evident, especially at night or anytime the wind picked up.

Unfortunately, I wasn't really in the position to lug another large piece of plywood home, and even if I did somehow manage it, I couldn't call the one person I knew who could help me hang it up.

Just thinking about Ben made me bristle with rage.

How could he do that to me? Honestly, who freaking called their ex to tell them they had just married someone else? Assholes, that's who. And then, just to twist the knife and add insult to injury, he had the nerve to imply that I was needy and called him too much.

"Dick," I muttered to myself as I rummaged through the shelves in my tool shed.

I could have sworn I'd stashed a leftover roll of plastic sheeting that I had used as a drop cloth when I painted the kitchen. If I could find it, then it might just be big enough to staple over the plywood and seal off the cracks.

I wasn't needy. Just because I wanted him to know that I was still here if he ever pulls his head out of his ass and decides to come back didn't mean that I was needy.

Gripping the edge of the shelf, I sighed and let my head drop. "Except that he's not coming back now, is he? He made his choice."

Not for the first time, I wondered what Carly had that I didn't. What made her so special?

Ugh. This line of thinking was getting me nowhere. And sulking about it in my tool shed wasn't going to undo what he did and bring him back. It was only going to put me in a bad mood, and I didn't need that on top of already being anxious about my blind date.

Fighting back a wave of self-loathing because I allowed my ex-husband to once again consume my thoughts, I yanked the plastic sheeting off the shelf, grabbed the staple gun, and stomped back to the house.

How did I get myself into this mess? I thought as I tossed the rolled up end of the plastic onto the floor in the dining room and pulled back on the loose end until I had enough length to get a proper measurement.

The past year had been nothing but a rollercoaster of emotions, with more downs than ups. Every time I felt like I finally had a handle on life and was starting to make some decent headway towards being happy again, the cart would crest the peak and send me crashing back to the bottom, holding on for dear life as I went. Ben cheating on me. The divorce. Having to sell the home we were supposed to grow old together in. Being haunted by a ghost because I stole his ring. Now Ben getting married. Somebody needed to tell the rollercoaster operator to stop because I wanted to get the hell off this ride.

All right, it wasn't entirely fair to lump Erik in with the rest of the bad shit that had happened. He and I may have gotten off to a shaky start, but things were much better between us now.

I paused, the tip of my pencil hovering next to the hatch mark on the measuring tape, a small smile spreading across my lips. Much, much better, actually. It was hard to believe that I used to dread coming home because I knew he was here. The house used to pulsate with his angry energy and now…now I think he looked forward to seeing me almost as much as I looked forward to spending time with him. I couldn't think of one day over the past week where we didn't talk or interact with each other in some fashion.

His disappearing acts were becoming more and more infrequent as well. He still vanished every now and again, but I think it was more to allow both of us some privacy than it was out of a desire to distance himself from me.

I never thought it would be possible to have such a deep, meaningful friendship with a ghost, let alone the infamous Opera Ghost. Every time I managed to chip away a piece of his stony exterior, I was rewarded with a glimpse of the real man hiding behind the mask. Underneath that aloof and sometimes sour disposition he was intelligent, quick-witted, and surprisingly worldly despite having been dead for so long. His knowledge far surpassed mine on most of the subjects we talked about, but it was our shared passion for construction and physical labor that drew us together time and time again. Carpentry, masonry, architectural design…I had learned that there was very little he couldn't do, and I found myself settling into the role of his eager student whenever he chose to impart some of his wisdom with me.

I couldn't help imagining how those graceful, yet powerful hands of his would look working with wood and stone, his meticulous fingers shaping those plain, inanimate objects into something magnificent, in much the same way I imagined him delicately coaxing beautiful music from an otherwise lifeless instrument. Music infused his every movement. A wave of heat travelled through the center of my body at the thought of his fingers running up and down the fretboard of a violin or expertly working their way through the scales on a piano. Then, without warning, I recalled the way those very same fingers had tenderly grazed my neck and jawline as he examined my throat, and that rush of heat turned into a raging inferno.

I shook my head, blinking away the memory. Where had that come from? I shook my head again, harder this time, laughing at how quickly those thoughts had gone from seemingly benign and innocent to weird and borderline ridiculous. Forcing my focus back to my work, I finished measuring the length of plastic I needed and made the first cut. Once it was free from the roll, I unfolded it and marked the rest of the measurements needed to trim it so that it fit over the plywood.

After that was done, I gathered the plastic, the staple gun, and the step stool and made my way over to the window. Climbing up the steps, I attempted to slide the corner of the plastic into place. But the heavy sheeting was cumbersome, and I had trouble trying to keep it from folding in on itself and falling to the floor. And unfortunately, using my forearm to hold it up while juggling the staple gun in my other hand wasn't working out so well.

Just as frustration threatened to overwhelm me, I felt the subtle shift in the atmosphere. Something black flashed in my peripheral vision, and seconds later Erik's hands appeared on either side of my forearm. His fingers, the very objects of my obsession moments earlier, spread across the plastic, pulling it taut so that I could staple it to the plywood.

My cheeks grew hot as I stared at those hands, suddenly aware that my little fantasy about watching him work was about to become a reality. I was still adjusting to the idea that he could interact with things in the physical world, and I hadn't given much thought as to what that really meant until now. To be honest, a part of me still thought I had dreamed the whole thing, that his touching me had just been a product of my lonely, sex-deprived imagination. Of course, that notion was silly considering the very real ligature mark around my neck, but still…was I so desperate for physical attention that I had resorted to fantasizing about a dangerous dead man?

This was absurd. I wasn't physically attracted to Erik. I couldn't be. First, because normal, living, breathing, well-adjusted girls didn't go around fantasizing about ghosts. And second, they especially didn't find mysterious, disfigured, deadly opera ghosts attractive.

Shoving those thoughts to the farthest reaches of my mind, I leaned forward and slapped the stapler against the plastic and squeezed the handle. There was a loud ca-chunk as the metal staple went in halfway and stopped. Unprepared for the sudden resistance, the stapler bounced off the staple and slid sideways, and the unexpected jolt nearly knocked it out of my hand.

I glanced back sheepishly, hoping like hell that he couldn't see how bad my hands were shaking. Erik's gaze shifted to me questioningly, his eyes glistening like gold nuggets against smooth black sand.

"It's old," I told him.

Liar! You bought it a year and a half ago!

"It's actually been doing this a lot lately. This year I'm asking Santa for a pancake air compressor and pneumatic staple gun, I swear to god. One that shoots brad nails, too. And…you have no idea what I'm talking about."

He smiled and at least half a dozen butterflies took flight inside my stomach.

"I'm afraid not," he said. "Although, I assume you are referring to tools of some kind, that would be like me trying to explain the significance Wagner's Tristan und Isolde to you."

"Wagner's what-now?"

He laughed. "Precisely."

I bit back the urge to giggle and turned back to the window, thoroughly enjoying the warm tingling feeling that radiated through my chest. Sensing my intention, Erik tightened his grip on the plastic so that I could try again. Thankfully, this time the staples seated correctly.

"So, ummm…that Wagner thing," I said as I shifted my weight on the stool and prepared to anchor the other side. "What is it? I mean, what's the significance?"

"An opera," Erik replied, his voice like fine silk as he moved behind me and repeated the action. "Wagner deviated from operatic norms when he composed Tristan und Isolde. Rather than follow the more traditional tonal harmony of the time, Wagner used dissonant chords and unfinished cadences to create musical tension."

"What kind of tension?" Having finished stapling the top, I set the staple gun down on the computer desk and twisted around on the stool to give him my full attention.

"Physical tension. The Tristan chord was designed to inspire desire within the listener so that, by the time the conflict was resolved in the third act, the audience wanted a release almost as much as the opera's characters."

"Wait. So, when you told me to feel the music, you weren't only talking about feeling it in my heart. You meant physically feel it as well, didn't you?"

"Yes." Erik held out his hands to help me down from the stool. "Suspense, longing, the swell of the crescendo and the resolution that follows the climax…music can be just as powerful as any other emotion—even more so, because it is often used to express hidden desires that we, as bumbling, inadequate human beings, are incapable of expressing otherwise."

Now only inches apart, I stared up at him. His eyes locked with mine, shimmering in the artificial light. I bit my lip. His intense passion for music was palpable, almost hypnotic, and I found that I could not—did not—want to look away.

He was still talking about the music, wasn't he?

I never got the chance to ask.

The shrill sound of my alarm vibrated through the air around us. I jumped, wrenching my hands out of his grasp, and pulled my phone out of my back pocket. With fumbling fingers, I swiped the alarm off, effectively silencing the intrusive noise.

"What was that?" Erik asked, as he eyed the phone in my hand warily. His neck and shoulders were visibly tense, and he had angled away from me like he was preparing to run away.

I heaved a deep sigh. "My five o'clock alarm. I'm going out with some friends tonight, and this…," I held up my phone and wiggled it back and forth, "is telling me it's time to get ready."

"Ah." He relaxed a little bit, letting his arms fall back down to his sides. "You must go, then?"

I nodded.

An awkward silence descended upon us, and the moment, whatever it had been between us, vanished.

Rubbing my hand up and down my other arm, I flicked my eyes toward the window. "Thanks for your help."

"You're welcome," he replied. He appeared hesitant for a moment, and then added, "It has been so long since I've been able to work with my hands—to be able to touch something again…. Truly, I should be thanking you."

I tried to bite back a smile but failed miserably.

"Careful," I warned him, playfully pointing my finger at him. "You keep talking like that and I'll have you help me on my other projects."

Erik's eyes darted back and forth between mine, narrowing slightly. "If that is an invitation, then I'd like that very much."

My chest constricted so hard and so fast that it pushed all the air from my lungs.

"R-really?" I stammered. "I'd love your help. We'll…uh…we'll talk more about it when I get back, I guess. But right now I should, uh…," I jerked my thumb toward the staircase. "I need to get ready."

"Of course." He bowed his head. "Enjoy your night, Christine."

I flashed him the most confident smile I could muster and then turned and ran up the stairs to my bedroom. It was only after I had shut and locked my door that I remembered how to breathe.

XXX

The parking lot was already packed with cars when I pulled into O'Malley's an hour later. Because it was a pub with a reputation for serving killer food, the place usually filled up around dinnertime and pretty much stayed that way until last call. I finally found an open spot at the tail-end of the parking lot behind the building and managed to squeeze my boxy Jeep Cherokee into the small space by jumping the curb on the driver's side. I exactly wasn't thrilled at the prospect of having to walk from the back forty in heels, but it's not like I had any other choice. I certainly hadn't wanted to hitch a ride with Maddie and Eddie, although I'm sure they would have been willing to pick me up if I'd asked. But I liked the idea of having my own way home. Especially if this date royally sucked and I needed to, say, make a quick escape through the bathroom window when he wasn't looking.

A rush of warm air greeted me as soon as I pulled open the heavy wooden door and I let out a small sigh of relief, grateful to be inside and out of the bitter cold. Rubbing my hands together to get the blood flowing again, I craned my neck and looked around to see if I could pick Maddie out from the rest of the crowd.

All of the booths against the opposite wall and nearly all of the tables in the center were taken. As usual, several large groups of people gathered around the pool tables in the back, while others milled around the bar or loitered by those seated at the tables. Upbeat rock music was currently blaring from the old jukebox in the corner. I smiled. I had no doubt we'd run the gamut of genres, from country to pop to rap and back again before the night was through. O'Malley's attracted all types, which was one thing I really loved about the bar. Everyone felt welcome.

A flash of familiar looking honey-blonde hair caught my attention as I scanned the room and I stopped, flicking my eyes back to the table where I first noticed it. To my horror, there, seated to the right of a guy wearing a blue and white flannel, tan beanie, and eyeglasses with thick, dark frames was Dr. Stevenson.

Oh, that's just fantastic! I thought acerbically. My boss is here at the same time I am. Which means, at some point, he's going to see me. On a blind date. As if this night wasn't already awkward enough.

Why did I have to tell him about O'Malley's?

A high-pitched squeal rose above the chatter, effectively putting an end to my mental rant.

"Chrissstiiiiine!"

Seconds later Maddie barreled into me with the full force of a freight train, throwing her arms around my neck as she squealed, "You're here! You're here! I'm so happy you came!"

"Yeah," I replied with a nervous laugh. I gave her a weak hug and then tried to extricate myself from her smothering embrace. "I'm here."

She straightened up and stepped back, pulling my coat open enough to get a look at my outfit. "And you look so cute!"

"Thanks."

I'd had a moment of panic when I went upstairs to change. I'd been out of the dating scene for so long that I hadn't known what to wear. The little black dress I wore to the symphony seemed like overkill for a first date, but at the same time, wearing something too relaxed and casual might send the message that I couldn't be bothered by making an effort to dress up for a night out. It was extremely hard finding the right balance between appearing completely desperate and not giving a shit.

To complicate matters even more, I still had to worry about the ligature mark around my neck. The bruise had faded considerably over the course of the week but was still noticeable enough to grab someone's attention, and I wasn't ready to deflect the questions that would inevitably follow. So, in the end, I had settled for a black and white horizontal striped turtleneck and light blue skinny jeans that were cuffed at the ankle. To class up the outfit, I added a tan blazer with black buttons and a pair of black pumps.

I may have looked cute, but Maddie was absolutely stunning. Despite the fact that it was colder than shit outside, she was wearing a maroon knife-pleated mini skirt with brown faux-suede boots that went clear to her thighs. Only Maddie was gorgeous enough to pull off thigh-high boots and make it look chic instead of trashy. Her blouse was a mixture of brown, maroon, and orange swirls that perfectly complemented the fall weather, and her long platinum blonde hair had been swept up into a messy bun. Loose tendrils framed her face and cascaded down the back of her neck.

She hooked her hand around my elbow and pulled me away from the door. "Let's go! They're waiting!"

"He's already here?" My stomach did a somersault.

"Of course! He and Eddie went to grab us a table while I waited for you. C'mon!"

Reluctantly, I let her lead me into the throng of people. As we wove our way through the bodies, my eyes anxiously scanned ahead, trying to guess where we were going and who my date would end up being. What did he look like? Was he tall or short? Good looking or homely? Was he excited to meet me, or was he nervous and dreading it just as much as I was? Maybe Eddie was having the same sort of pep talk with him as Maddie had had with me. That thought made me smile and I relaxed a bit. We were both out of our element. At least we had that in common.

However, the smile slid off my face seconds later when Maddie directed me to the table where Dr. Stevenson and the guy in the beanie were sitting at.

Maybe she's just stopping by to say hi, I told myself as a wave of panic crept into my throat and threatened to cut off my air supply. I mean, it would be pretty rude to just pass by and ignore him. No. No, wait! She doesn't know what he looks like. I never showed her a picture of him. Because I don't have a picture of him! Because he's my boss! Oh, fuck.

Any hope I had about this just being a horrible, horrible coincidence completely evaporated when the eyes of the man sitting next to Jake lit up as Maddie approached the table. The look of love and adoration in them was as blatant as it was unmistakable. This had to be Eddie. Which meant that Dr. Stevenson was my blind date.

"Eddie!" Maddie said, practically bursting at the seams with excitement. "This is my one of very my best friends, Chris. Chris, this is Eddie."

"A pleasure."

Eddie barely managed to get the greeting out before she swept her hand over to my boss. "And this…is Jake!" she squealed.

"Christine," Dr. Stevenson said as he smiled warmly and stood up, extending his hand toward me.

For several long, tense seconds, all I could do was stare at him. Then, remembering my manners, I clasped his hand in what was probably the weakest handshake of all time.

"Hi."

Jake briefly laid the palm of his other hand over mine before letting go to pull out the chair next to him.

"Thanks." I slipped off my coat and draped it over the back of the chair. Readjusting my purse on my shoulder, I said, "Would you excuse me for a moment? I'm going to get me something to drink."

"I can get that for you," he hastily volunteered.

"That's okay." I seized Maddie's upper arm. "Maddie can help me. We'll be right back."

Without waiting for Maddie to answer, I yanked her away from the table and dragged her toward the bar.

"I know what you're going to say…," she said once we had put enough distance between us and the guys that they wouldn't be able to see or hear us.

I spun on her. "Are you fucking serious? He's my boss!"

"Shhhh!" she whispered through clenched teeth. "You're making a scene!"

"I don't care!" I yelled back at her, making no effort whatsoever to lower the volume of my voice. "How could you do this to me? I told you I didn't want to get involved with someone I worked with. Jesus Christ, Maddie, this is my life! It's not a goddamn game!"

Maddie managed to look hurt as she folded her arms across her chest defensively. "Well, excuse me for caring so much. I was just trying to get you out of your rut."

"I'm not in a rut! Ugh! Stop thinking you need to fix me!"

She gave me a pointed glare. "When was the last time you went on a date? Or talked about anybody other than Ben?"

"That's not the point—"

"That's exactly my point! You can't keep shutting yourself away. It isn't healthy!"

"I'm not shutting myself away," I muttered sullenly.

In fact, I talked to a guy almost every night, she just didn't know about it. A guy who, at this moment, was home all by himself because I was stupid enough to trust Maddie's good intentions and come out here.

I'd replayed that conversation between me and Erik a thousand times in my head on my way over here. I couldn't stop thinking about the way his eyes burned as he talked about music. Or about how my heart skipped a beat when he turned that smoldering gaze upon me. Or how soft his leather gloves had been against my skin. I knew Erik well enough now to know that he usually avoided physical contact. But he'd offered me his hands without a second thought. It may have just been a gentlemanly reflex, but the significance of it all wasn't lost on me.

Not to mention that he felt so real!

And suddenly, all I wanted was to go home and be with him.

If people really knew what I was thinking, they'd probably lock me up in a loony bin and throw away the key.

Was I crazy?

Maddie seemed to sense my inner turmoil, and although she wasn't aware of the root cause of it, she reached out to me and squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. Pulling me far enough away from the bar that we could spy on the guys, she nodded her head in Jake's direction. "Look at him." When he turned his head and caught us staring at him, he waved, another big smile spreading over his face. "He's genuinely interested in you. Can't you at least give him a chance?"

I exhaled, defeat settling across my shoulders. While I didn't agree with how she went about it, she was right. As much as I enjoyed Erik's company, as much as I wanted to spend every moment of free time with him, he was dead. There was nothing in this world that was going to change that. I needed to get out and socialize with people decidedly more…alive.

I sighed again and silently nodded.

"Good," Maddie said. "Now actually order a drink so it looks like we came over here for a reason."

We ordered glasses sangria for us and another round of Guinness for the guys and headed back to our table.

"Thank you," Jake said when I handed him his glass and slid into the seat next to him.

"You're welcome."

"So…Jake," Eddie drawled. "Maddie tells me you're a doctor."

"Yes, that's right. I'm a psychologist."

Eddie's eyebrows quirked up slightly. "A psychologist, huh? Is that a fact? Do you…uh…you know, you ever have trouble turning that off?"

The corner of Dr. Stevenson's mouth twitched. "You mean, do I sit and psychoanalyze everybody all the time?"

"Uh…well, uh…yeah," Eddie replied.

Jake shrugged. "I suppose it's like any other profession. If it's something you're good at it, it becomes so ingrained that you don't realize you're doing it. I do find that I pick up on small details and subtle nuances faster than the average person. The tone of voice, their body language…that sort of thing."

Eddie laughed and rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"But as far as your question goes, no. If I constantly analyzed everyone around me, I'd go crazy, or at the very least wear myself out. Part of what makes a psychologist good at their job is their ability to compartmentalize and keep work separate from their personal life."

"Do you ever get the opposite?" I asked. "Where people you know want you to diagnose and treat them as a favor?"

"You mean, like the proverbial mechanic whose family only calls when their car breaks down? Yeah. All the time. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind helping where I can, but I've got to draw the line somewhere. It goes back to leaving work at work, you know. I swear, it seems like my family only calls really late at night, and nine out of ten times it's my mom with these weird questions, like 'Your aunty Mildred suddenly hates the color green,'" he said in a mock high-pitched, nasally voice. "'Do you think that's a bad sign? Why would someone suddenly hate a color? I think she's on the verge of a mental breakdown. Jacob Stevenson, you call her right now and talk her away from the edge!'"

Everyone at the table laughed.

"Your mom sounds cute," Maddie said.

"Oh, she's adorable. And I love her to death. But she loves to gossip," he chuckled. "Which makes for some very interesting late-night phone calls."

"Is that a fact?" Eddie quipped.

I leaned back in my chair and smiled, thoroughly enjoying the rare glimpse Jake was giving us into his personal life. I'd never seen him so laid back before. He had always maintained an air of professionalism, even on that day we ran into each other at the bistro. Even his clothing choices had changed. Instead of wearing his usual button-down collared shirt and pressed slacks, he had on a pair of dark blue relaxed-fit jeans, a gray V-neck shirt, and a black blazer. I couldn't help wondering if he was this relaxed all the time when he was away from work, and a not-so-small piece of me really wanted to find out.

The thought made me blush and I looked down, trying to conceal the redness in my cheeks by taking a large gulp of my drink.

What was with me today? First Erik and now Jake. My hormones were seriously out of control.

"So, what is it that you do?" Jake asked.

"Who me?" Eddie pointed his finger at his chest.

He nodded.

"Oh. Uh…I write code. For a software company."

"Not just any software company," Maddie interjected. "Eddie works for IntraTech Management Solutions, or as they like to call it, ITMS. They're going to be the next Adobe," she added, beaming with pride.

"That's quite impressive," Jake said. "So, to keep things fair, I gotta ask: do you ever get people asking you to fix their computers?"

"Dude. All the time. Some people," he said, casting a wry sidelong glance at Maddie, "think the IT in ITMS means I can repair their laptops when they crash."

"What?" Maddie exclaimed. "I had a virus. You work with computers. It was only natural of me to think you could help."

Eddie gestured at his girlfriend in a way that said see what I have to deal with?

We all laughed again.

A shadow fell over the table.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry I didn't get here earlier. Tonight has been totes crazy!"

I peered up at the young waitress who was currently holding a round drink tray in one hand and a notepad in the other, both pressed against her chest apologetically.

"My name's Gretchen and I'll be your server. Can I get you anything? Food? Another round of drinks?"

"Finally. We'll both have the vegan cobb salad," Maddie said, waving her hand between herself and Eddie.

Gretchen pulled a pencil riddled with bite marks out of her lopsided blonde ponytail and, using her tray for leverage, scribbled a few notes on her pad. "Okay. And for you two?"

"I'll do the six-ounce rib-eye, medium, with the garlic mashed potatoes and corn-on-the-cob," I replied.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jake nod approvingly.

"And you, sir?"

"I would like the whiskey glazed bleu cheese burger," he told her.

"Excellent choice. Do you want that with or without caramelized onions?"

"Without. And the steak fries, please."

He shot a quick glance at me and something in my stomach fluttered. Did he hold off on the onions because he planned to kiss me later?

"Oooookay. Got it," Gretchen said, sticking the half-chewed pencil back in her hair. "I will try to have these out to you as soon as possible, but just so you know we're pretty backed up in the kitchen. It's been taking about forty-five minutes. Is that all right?"

We assured her that was fine, thanked her, and watched as she scurried off to take the next table's order.

Jake sat forward in his chair and leaned into me.

"Looks like we have some time. What do you say, you up for a game?" he asked, tilting his head in the direction of a pool table that had miraculously just emptied.

I glanced back at Maddie, who shooed me away with her hand.

"Sure."

I went to grab a pool cue while Jake collected and racked the billiard balls.

"I've gotta warn you," I said after he removed the wooden triangle and stepped back from the table. "I haven't played this game in years. But I have it on good authority that I used to be pretty good."

"Is that a fact?" Jake said.

I laughed at his use of what was probably Eddie's favorite phrase. "That's a fact."

"Okay, hot shot. Why don't you put your money where your mouth is?"

As it turned out, we were both pretty evenly matched, which made for a fairly intense game. Jake liked to go for the challenging shots that required tons of finesse and strategy and would do a little strut around the table every time he pulled off a particularly impressive move. I couldn't help giggling at his exaggerated antics.

However, his confident smile faded a few moments later when I ended up sinking my last two balls on the same turn, leaving nothing between me and victory but the eight ball.

I did my own self-satisfied little shuffle around the table, flashing him a smug, triumphant smile as I pointed my cue stick at the upper left pocket. "Eight ball, corner pocket."

Jake wrapped his hands around his pool cue and used it as leverage to lean closer to the pocket I had just called. "No way you can pull this off."

"No? Well you'd better not blink, then, 'cause you're about to witness a miracle."

Of course, I was mostly all talk. I couldn't have been fortunate enough to have both the cue ball and the eight ball line up exactly, so I was going to have to put a slight spin on the cue ball in order to have it hit the eight ball in just the right spot to send it into the pocket. Feigning way more confidence than I actually felt, I leaned over the table, aimed the tip of my stick on the right side of the cue ball, pulled back, and let it fly.

The cue ball sailed effortlessly across the table and smashed into the eight ball with a resounding crack, sending it up and over the rail. I watched helplessly as the eight ball launched itself into the air, and time slowed down to a crawl as it flew towards Jake and smacked him right in the face. He let out a surprised yelp and fell over backwards.

Oh my god. I just killed my date!

"Jake!" I ran over to him and dropped to my knees. "Jake! Are you all right? Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Do you need some ice? Somebody get us some ice!"

"Ughhhh," he groaned, cradling his face in his palms. "I'm all right." He moved his fingers and peered up at me through the open slit he'd just made. "Was that the eight ball?"

"Yes. It was an accident! I didn't mean to hit you."

"You know what that means, right?"

"That this is probably the worst date you've had in the history of all time?"

Jake pulled his hands away from his face and pushed himself up, leaning back on his elbows. "You just jumped the eight ball off the table." He plastered me with a cheesy grin, his eyes sparkling with victory. "That means I win by default."

I playfully slugged him in the shoulder and then helped him to his feet.

The rest of the night flew by and before I knew it the bartender was announcing last call. It was funny: I'd started out the day dreading this date, and now I didn't want it to end.

Jake helped me into my coat and waited while I gave Maddie a quick hug. Then he opened the door and ushered me into the cold night air.

At some point during the night a dense fog had rolled in and a thick blanket of white mist had settled over all the cars in the parking lot, making the world us around seem smaller, quieter, more intimate. Our footsteps echoed loudly around us as we fell into step together, our shoulders occasionally brushing against one another as we silently walked across the back parking lot to where my Cherokee was parked.

"I had a great time," I said softly when we got there.

The phrase was corny and cliched, but at the same time, I absolutely meant it. I hadn't expected to have any fun tonight. I had come here prepared to muster through it for the sake of trying, all the while counting the minutes until the night was over.

"Me too," Jake replied.

"Even though I gave you a black eye?"

A deep violet bruise was starting to form across the bridge of his nose and around the socket of his left eye. I grimaced. What a date this turned out to be.

He laughed. "Yes. And now I have something to remember this night. At least for a couple of days, anyway."

I bit my lip and looked up. Our eyes locked and he held my gaze for what seemed like the longest time before he leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on my cheek.

"Good night, Christine. Please drive safe going home in this."

"I will. You too," I whispered.

He waited until I had started my car and pulled out of the space, and I watched him wave to me in the rearview mirror as I drove out of the parking lot.

My mind was racing almost as fast as my heart.

What in the hell had just happened? Was I relieved that all he did was kiss me on the cheek, or were my hands shaking this hard because I was disappointed that he hadn't done more?

A small bead of trepidation ran down the length of my spine, turning the hot blood pumping through my veins to ice water. What would I say to him come Monday morning? How was I supposed to act? And what would Jake do? Would he acknowledge me with the same friendly informality I saw tonight, or would we go back to being distant and professional? Could we hide the fact that we went out on a date together or would our eyes betray us in front of Alejandra?

I could have killed Maddie for what she did tonight. She had no right to go meddling in my affairs, playing matchmaker just because she thought she knew what was best for me. It didn't matter that I was attracted to him. It didn't matter that he was funny and down to earth and ugh…so goddamn good looking! He was my boss. My boss! What would people think? What would Alejandra think if she found out? What would his patients think if they knew he was dating one of his receptionists?

Then, there was the other nagging feeling I couldn't seem to get rid of. Were these sudden feelings genuine or was it simply because he was the first person to show interest in me since my divorce.

Was Jake just a rebound?

"This isn't a good idea, Chris," I muttered to myself as I pulled into my driveway and turned off the car. "You had a great night and he's a great guy. But you need to leave it at that. It's not worth things getting awkward at work when this ultimately doesn't work out."

But at the same time, it felt so good to be wanted again. Was it so wrong to want to be needed and desired? To feel that dizzying rush that came along with knowing that someone cared. It had been so long since I'd been on the receiving end of that kind of attention. And now that I'd had a taste of it, I wasn't sure I could let it go.