This time Tom showed up first, in another light blue Brooks Brothers button-down to bring out the blue in his eyes. I spotted him from outside, before he spotted me, sitting in the corner of the dimly lit restaurant, a bottle of champagne already cooling on the table. I took a breath before fully entering and watched him all alone. He wasn’t fiddling with his phone or checking his watch. Instead, he was staring straight ahead, eyes alert and focused. But it was hard to read what he was looking at, besides the wood paneling of the bar.

I finally walked in and he found me instantly, before I even had time to pull my back straight, make my presence known in the room. He stood up when I got to the table and gave me a hug, his arms compressing me tightly against his chest, almost restrictive.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, his lips quivering into a smile as we both sat down. I took a sip of the champagne sitting in front of me and smiled back. It was funny seeing his face again, a face I had seen and touched, but had already become a sort of blotted mirage in my memory. It seemed more off-kilter this time, less proportionate. I noticed the tiny twist at the end of his nose, the way his upper lip puffed out and overlapped his bottom lip. The tiny shaving nick below his left ear.

“I’m excited for this show. I’d never heard of Ryden before,” he said, taking a drink from his own glass. “But I looked up his stuff. Kind of weird, isn’t it? Wouldn’t have pegged you as a devotée of weird neo-surrealism.”

I blinked, the champagne bubbles watering my eyes. “That sounds quite dismissive, doesn’t it?” I gazed at him over the rim, watched him squirm.

“No, no. I mean. I’m excited! You’re just full of surprises, Vera. That’s all.” We continued to drink, trying to decide if we should order food or not. I asked him about his workweek; he said a few things that I barely listened to. He asked about mine and I gave the bare minimum answer. The champagne bottle was emptied. No food was ordered, and I found myself, for the second time, tipsier than I would have liked in front of this man I barely knew, who I wasn’t even sure I liked.

“Nice exit the other night, by the way. Made me feel like I was in college again.” He poured me the last of the champagne and I watched it fizz down into a mere drop. “I looked for you in the morning. I roamed the halls of the house, saying your name. It was very ghostly, very Victorian gothic. Vera echoes nicely in large Brooklyn brownstones, by the way.”