As we walk out of the umpteenth shop, Richard asks, “How much time do you need to get ready for tonight?”

“An hour, an hour and a half tops. Why? Should we already head back?”

Richard looks at his watch and sighs. “No, we’re good for another two hours or so.”

“Then what do you say we do something non-shopping related?”

The relief on his face is humorous.

“What did you have in mind?”

“A quick trip to Griffith Observatory. Everyone agrees it’s the one view in LA you can’t miss.”

“Will we have time? With traffic and everything.”

I check my phone. “The map app authority says it’s half an hour to get there and half an hour to get back to Santa Monica, even in traffic.”

“And how long from Santa Monica to downtown?”

I swap addresses. “Half an hour.”

Everything seems to be spaced half an hour away in LA.

“Then we’re good.”

Richard calls an Uber, and we ask the driver to wait for us as we do a quick tour of the observatory.

After taking a couple—okay, an unhealthy number—of pictures of the Hollywood sign, we make our way along the promenade that wraps around the main dome. We stop under an arch to admire the Los Angeles skyline. The day is clear, and the view stretches far into the distance.

“This city is ginormous,” I say. “I could never live here.”

“Because of the long drives?”

“No, the weather. Too hot.”

“I thought you’d enjoy the warmth.”

“Why?”

“You’re like fire.”

I stare up at him and find him gazing intensely at me.

“Let me guess, the hair? I get that a lot.”

“Yeah.” He nods, looking almost relieved. “The hair.”

Being this close to Richard, his scent fills my nostrils. Pine cones and rain. Even in sunny California, the boss still manages to smell like a cold winter day.

“Anyway, I prefer winter…” and before I can shut my stupid mouth, I blab the next thought that pops into my head, “Your aftershave smells like a snowy forest, you know?”

No time to add anything to justify my silly, and totally inappropriate comment before his jaw tightens and his eyes harden.

“We should probably go,” Richard says, looking away. “The meter is running.”

“Sure.”

I follow him around the dome and back to the car with a large, inexplicable lump in my throat.

***

The wistfulness of the observatory visit dissipates as I take advantage of every minute I have to get ready. I scrub and pamper myself until I’m the best beauty products can make me. Tablet connected to the hotel Wi-Fi, I experiment with two of Tracy’s tutorials to style my hair in a loose hairdo, and contour my cheekbones so they’d make Katharine Hepburn burn with shame.

At the designated hour, I make my way down to the lobby and, for once, Richard’s eyes don’t wander straight to my shoes but linger on my plunging neckline. I take a deep breath and try not to blush.