I watch from my seat along the opposite door as Georgia moves her long, slender legs to the side and scoots down the smooth leather upholstery in my direction. She doesn’t scoot all the way over, but I knew she wouldn’t. I moved over here so she would have her own space.

There should be no problem finding adequate space in a stretch limo with just the two of us inside, but rooms have a tendency to shrink anytime Georgia and I find ourselves alone in one.

When she leaves work this late, I like to give her a ride home. I don’t like the idea of her hailing a cab—or worse, taking the subway—and being seen walking to her apartment alone. I usually find some reason to text her once enough time has passed. I might ask if she sent so-and-so that email before she left the office, but really, I just needed to know she made it home.

Right now she flashes a bright smile at my driver and thanks him as he closes the door.

Sighing happily, she settles her purse in her lap. Then she reconsiders, looking at all the space on the seat on both sides of her, and moves it to the seat beside her. That draws my attention back to her legs, and I allow myself a leisurely once-over to appreciate them.

I know I’ve been caught when my gaze returns to her face and her cheeks are rosy. It could be from the chilly December air outside, but I can tell by the way she avoids my gaze, it isn’t.

In an attempt to direct us back into more business-appropriate waters, I stop watching her and draw out my cell phone.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, are you free this weekend?”

“Yes, I believe so,” she says, pulling her phone out to check.

“I’m attending a Christmas ball in Bishop’s Landing. I’d like you to go with me.”

Not that long ago, I wouldn’t have dared ask Georgia to accompany me on something that sounded like it could be a date. After Tess left, I found other women to go with—businesswomen, socialites, maybe even tactful social climbers looking to make contacts.

Once I decided maybe I would start dating again. There was a woman named Stacie who worked at my bank. A nice woman, someone I enjoyed interacting with. She seemed like a good choice to dip my toe back in the dating pool with.

Georgia knew Stacie made a habit of flirting with me. When I was married, Georgia supposedly didn’t like her because she blatantly flirted with a man she knew was married. Then I got divorced, and she still didn’t like her.

I didn’t think it was a serious thing, though, until I was going over my schedule with Georgia and I told her Stacie was accompanying me to the gala.