Jade Castle is a mediocre Chinese restaurant with one of the few liquor licenses in this formerly Puritan dry town. My family never came here; we always preferred to eat at Ming’s House—not that I could ever have anything besides the steamed chicken and broccoli—because Jade Castle has always attracted a less family-friendly crowd. When I arrive at seven thirty tonight, I spot the father of one of my middle school classmates sitting at the bar with a girl half his age, and a large round table crowded with boys in matching lacrosse team jackets, probably using an expired ID swiped from an older brother. I take an empty bar stool; I’m not sure if Lucas intended for us to eat or not. When a bartender asks if she can get me a drink, I awkwardly decline. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been on a first date, and it feels like the muscle has atrophied. I felt optimistic setting up the date on the app, but now my confidence has evaporated.

Lucas walks in at seven forty, when I’m on the verge of losing my nerve and leaving.

“Avery?” he asks, tilting his baseball cap up to reveal a baby face and a smattering of freckles. He has a narrower frame than I expected; a Boston Red Sox jersey hangs from his shoulders.

“Hi,” I say, unsure whether to rise and hug him.

I make an attempt to stand, but my feet get tangled behind the leg of the bar stool. He slouches onto the seat next to me instead and leaves his phone faceup on the bar.

“You want a beer?” he asks, not quite making eye contact.

“Uh, sure,” I offer.

When the bartender glances our way, he holds up two fingers, and mouths, “Two.” I get the distinct sense that he’s been here on plenty of dates. He drums his fingers on the bar in a staccato rhythm, then visibly relaxes once he sees her returning with our drinks.

“So, LA, huh?” he asks finally.

“Yeah.”

“Why’d you move back?”

The question makes me frantic. “Uh, I just needed a change.”

“Must be wicked nice out there,” he comments. “Warm. Beautiful. You go to the beach a lot?”

I feel stupid telling him I spent six years in LA and can count my number of beach days on one hand because I wasn’t confident enough to wear a bathing suit.

“Yeah, all the time,” I lie.

It’s obvious that this date is not off to a strong start. And what’s worse, it’s not a stretch to imagine my future as a string of evenings just like this one, probably at this exact bar, probably while Lucas conducts a similar string of dates a few bar stools down.

“So, you teach? What are the kids like?” I ask, turning the conversation to him.