When Rebekah glanced at the pile of novels on the table up front, Tessa felt vaguely guilty that she hadn’t purchased her book here. She started an apology: “I guess I shouldn’t have brought this in. I should’ve bought one from you.”

Rebekah waved that off. “Totally fine.”

Tessa found a seat in the back and waited for Timothy Sabian to come in.

++++

Timothy emerged from the subway tunnel.

Do not scratch your arm, he reminded himself. Just read a little bit about Emily, sign the books, and get back home.

Social anxiety. Brain fog. Scattered thinking. All of it. It’s happening to you. It’s permanent.

“No,” he told the voice. “We have a choice. We always have a choice. We can fight it. We can win.”

From here, it was less than a five-minute walk to the bookstore.

++++

When Christie stepped out of the taxi, she took my breath away.

She wore an elegant black evening gown with a slit that revealed just enough of her willowy leg to be a distraction to me but yet still remain appropriate for a good conservative Baptist girl to wear in public.

Well, okay, maybe not that last part.

When she saw me walking out to meet her, she smiled demurely.

“You look stunning,” I told her. “Every guy in this restaurant is going to be jealous of me.”

She blushed. Shy with a touch of sly. “You look quite fetching yourself, Dr. Bowers.”

“Thank you.”

I took her hand to lead her inside.

“I told you I’d come up with a tongue twister for tonight,” she said.

“Okay, do you have one?”

“Check test texts. Try it. Five times fast.”

I started but fumbled after just two attempts. “That’s a good one. You go.”

She did it. No hesitation. Amazing.

“You’ve been practicing,” I said.

“Maybe,” she told me elusively.

I made a valiant attempt at the “extinct insects” twister I’d shared with her earlier in the day but managed to flub it up epically.

“You’ll get there,” she said.

Inside the restaurant, our server directed us to a table near the back, in a secluded corner away from the main dining area. Candlelight. Linen napkins. Elegant wine flutes. Way too many pieces of silverware for me to be able to use in a single meal. The whole deal.

I pulled the chair out for Christie, and she took a seat. “Was it hard to get a table here?” she asked.

“Not when you know the right people.”

“Impressive. Mr. Connected.”

“Just one of my many fine talents.”

“Hmm. And is another one of them being humble?”

“Absolutely.”

When the server brought the wine list, I wondered at first if they’d accidentally printed an extra zero after each of the prices. I said to Christie, “Whatever you want tonight, go for it. Let’s make this special.”