Well, the cool-girl thing had been nice while it lasted. It was good to remember that deep down she was still the kind of gal who would choke on her own spit in public.

“Can I get you a water?”

Her eyes were watering too much to make out the server who had heroically appeared. At least it wasn’t Bubbly Arabella.

“Two waters, Sean,” Silas said.

“And a bourbon porter,” she managed to gasp between coughs.

“Make it two,” Silas said.

Lungs finally spittle-free, Maggie dabbed at her eyes with her sleeves. “So, come here often?” She sounded as if she’d just escaped a serial strangler.

He was watching her in that curious, appreciative way of his that had probably been turning women into active members of the Silas Wright Fan Club for decades. “You’re quite a woman, Maggie,” he said.

Their drinks arrived, and while Silas ordered the mystical finger steaks, Maggie—carefully—sucked down some water to soothe her throat. When the teenage server left, she pointed an accusatory finger at her dinner date. “See. That right there is exactly why Bubbly Arabella actually believed you’d call her.”

“Now, hang on a second,” he said, looking wounded. “Just because I am charming and manly and a sensitive ally of the fairer sex doesn’t mean I want to…”

“Let’s go with ‘date,’” she suggested, switching to her beer. It was awesome.

“Date,” he agreed. “Just because I pay attention to another human being doesn’t necessarily mean that I want to date them.”

“That’s a fair point,” she conceded. “However, shouldn’t it be a charming, manly, sensitive ally’s job to read the room and understand that some recipients might take the attention more seriously than others?”

He leaned forward and linked his fingers through hers. She pretended not to notice the “wheeeee” her stomach squealed from its front-row seat on the roller coaster that was Silas Wright’s attention.

“Mags, I think you’re under the misconception that I’m a serial flirt.”

It was her turn to laugh. “What part of that is a misconception? I bet you wink at baristas and that you’ve told at least four of those little old ladies at the table over there that you wished you were twenty years older.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the table of ladies wearing matching Kinship Senior Bowling League shirts. “I think what you’re trying to say is that you don’t believe my intentions.”

“I think that’s exactly what I’m saying,” she said. “You flirt like it’s your first language.”

“You don’t take me seriously,” he said, sounding surprised.

“But Arabella does.”

“Bella takes nonexistent clues to feelings that definitely do not exist and cobbles them into false proof of attraction,” he argued.

“I don’t think she needs to pretend that people find her attractive. She’s stunning and young, and did I mention bubbly?”