On Saturday afternoon, I whistle happily as I moonwalk into my bedroom to get changed for my date with Vivian. Old Time Rock & Roll by Bob Seger is playing on my phone, and I do a silly dance a la Tom Cruise in Risky Business as I yank clothes off the hangers in my closet. Today has been a stellar day. I ran 10k this morning, ate a healthy salad for lunch, and took a power nap. But I’m hoping tonight will be even better.

For our second date, I’ve vowed to get to the restaurant on time—ahead, even—and I want to have enough of a buffer to pick up flowers on the way.

Too much?

Nah, Vivian deserves roses by the dozens.

I’m about to pull off my sweatshirt when my phone rings. I’m half-tempted to let the call go unanswered but check the caller ID just in case.

My heart stops. It’s the one person in the world I can’t hang up on.

Twenty-nine

Vivian

Fifteen past eight, and still no sign of Lucas.

For someone who takes pride in being such a good-mannered gentleman, he sure has a knack for showing up late to dates.

When, another ten minutes later, a server comes asking for the third time if I’m doing okay and if I would like to order something to drink, I ask for a glass of white and check my phone—dead, out of battery.

How long has it been this way? Has Lucas tried to call me?

Impatient, I get up and go to the bathroom, where I discretely plug in the charger to a socket near the sinks and wait for the phone to power up.

The moment the screen comes to life, a million notifications pop up—all from Lucas.

I read the first text.

Sorry, something came up, a work emergency. I’m going to be a little late

At once, my bullshit radar goes off. A work emergency? On a Saturday night? Lucas is a couples’ therapist—I don’t see any circumstance that would require him to meet with clients on a weekend. What did he have to do? Stop a plates-throwing fight between spouses in the name of saving fine china?

I don’t think so. Makes no sense.

The second text is even worse.

This will take longer than expected, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to make it at all

The time stamp of this last message reads 7:30.

Did Lucas cancel our date by text thirty minutes before we were supposed to meet?

So much for good manners. I wouldn’t show so little respect, not even for Roger’s mother.

After a steadying breath, I read the rest.

I’m so sorry, I was really looking forward to spending tonight with you

I promise I’ll make it up to you