He laughed, and she frowned. She must have thought he was laughing at her, which he most decidedly was not. He was merely amused by how quickly and decisively she had answered. By the answer itself, too. He had pegged her more as a Shakespeare in the Park type, not a “get dolled up for the ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy’” type. Though suddenly he wanted to see this dress she spoke of. “That is a surprisingly specific answer.”

“It just popped into my mind.”

“You’re a ballet fan?”

“Not particularly, but my mom used to take me to The Nutcracker every year when I was a kid. She’d pick me up on the last day of school and we’d have dinner together in the city, without my dad and my sister. I used to love it.”

“Why don’t you do it anymore?”

“I don’t know. I went away for college and grad school, and we never picked it up when I came back.” She sounded wistful. “I actually suggested it to Vince a few years ago, but he vetoed it. He said it was childish and that if I wanted to go to the ballet, I should aim higher.” She curled her lip in disgust, but only for a moment before she turned thoughtful. “Hmm. Maybe I should have put that on the list. ‘Not not go to the ballet’? Ha. That’s a double negative.”

“What list?”

“It’s not important.”

He wanted to press her about this list, but their food arrived. “This is delicious,” he said after a few minutes of silence.

“Max,” she said suddenly, with an urgency that made his stomach flop. She turned her body a full ninety degrees on her stool so she was facing him.

He put his fork down as his pulse kicked up. “Yes?”

“Would you think me a terrible lush if I ordered a third negroni?”

He laughed. “No, but I will not be joining you. I’ve hit my limit. And I will insist on taking you home.”

“You are . . .” She narrowed her eyes at him. “A nice man.”

He laughed some more. He got called a lot of things, but nice didn’t tend to be one of them. “Don’t tell anyone.”

An hour later they were preparing to depart and she set down a credit card.

He pushed it back toward her. “Already taken care of.” He’d slipped the bartender his card when she’d gone to the restroom.

“You can’t just buy me dinner. And a million negronis.”

“I can. I did.” She was ramping up to argue. He held up a hand. “I insist. To celebrate your last day of work for a while. We have already established that I’m very undiscriminating in terms of occasions I consider worth celebrating, have we not? Indulge me.”