Her nose is narrow and straight, her eyes big and brown, and I would recognize that heart-shaped mouth in a heartbeat.

I should know; I was kissing those lips not ten days ago.

My pulse races, and I can’t help the huge smile that tears at my cheeks.

“Here’s your table, Mr. Ewing,” the hostess says. “A server will be with you soon.”

The hostess is already turning to go welcome some other guests when my date looks up.

And I love that I had a few seconds’ advantage on her. Vivian’s eyes widen, while her jaw positively drops.

I greet her with a charming, “Good evening, Miss Pocahontas. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long?”

Her shock is quickly replaced with suspicion. “What are you doing here?” she demands.

“I believe I’m your date for the night.”

“There must be a mistake.”

Taking a risk, I lean down and kiss her on the cheek, then quickly retreat to my half of the table before she can protest. “You’re right,” I say, “it might be a mistake. I’m here to meet Miss Pocahontas. Ever heard of her?”

Vivian narrows her eyes. “So you’re Mr. Ewing?”

“That’s right.” I shrug. “Some algorithm somewhere must’ve decided we’re a match.”

I sure won’t tell her my dating specialist sent me on an “outside the box opposites attract” kind of date. Makes me wonder how Vivian answered her questionnaire. Wish I could get my hands on a copy.

“And about time,” I continue, taking a seat. “I was convinced this whole dating agency thing had been a total rip-off. I agreed to a date with Miss Pocahontas only to make sure they’d give me a refund.”

“So all I am to you is a refund?” Vivian snaps, focusing on the one negative thing I said and taking it out of context. “If that’s the case, we can get up right now and, when the agency calls on Monday, I can let them know what an ass—”

“Calm down.” I raise my hands in an attempt to stop the tirade. “I said that I went out with Miss Pocahontas to get a refund. But right now, I’d be happy if the agency charged me double because there’s no other place I’d rather be than on a date with you, Vivian Hessington the Divorce Lawyer.”

A little smile tugs at her lips. “Is that what you call me inside your head?”

“Among other things.”

“Such as?”

No point in dragging my feet. If Vivian wants to know, she’ll get it out of me eventually. So, I confess, “I might have referred to you as The Wicked Witch of the West Office…”

Her mouth contracts in the cutest outraged O shape for a second, but then the smile is back, and she says, “Fair enough.”