Ryan wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed his chair back. Immediately the server and hostess were at his side, thanking him, packing up the three unfinished bottles of wine he’d had served, and discreetly acknowledging his account would be billed.

On their way to the convertible, which they found waiting with the ignition running and a valet on either side, each holding a door open, Ryan’s hand brushed against Lucy’s arm.

“Goose bumps,” he said. “I get them too when something this exciting is about to happen.”

Lucy groaned inwardly and rubbed her upper arm before putting on her jacket. She hugged it closed, tightly against her chest, as she sat in the passenger seat, wondering what bizarre universe she’d entered.

They drove down the Embarcadero, the long avenue that bordered the water, where restaurants brimming with people intermingled with working ports and, eventually, tourist attractions like the sea lions at Pier 39, the aquarium and wax museum at Fisherman’s Wharf, and the shops at Ghirardelli Square. She kept her head turned, trying to at least appreciate the view. And then Ryan started talking. Again.

“It was my mother who inspired Pulse,” he said. “Not directly, of course, as she was a librarian and even now can barely log in to her Pulse account without help.” He snickered, and Lucy recoiled in her seat. “But she always wanted this, to live by the water, so much that she made it my goal as well. Fortunately I had an excellent role model in my father.”

The extended silence meant Lucy had to say something in response. The notebook in her lap wouldn’t help—she’d not come across anything about Ryan’s father in her research. Finally she said, “He was in tech?”

Ryan grimaced. “He wanted to be. My dad was a serial entrepreneur, tossing spaghetti to the wall, trying to find something that would stick. Nothing ever did, and his failures sent us from crappy neighborhood to shitty neighborhood until we were out of the city and in Oakland with my mom commuting for hours each day and me changing schools in eighth grade. Not fun.” He faced Lucy with a half smile before turning back to the road. “She never forgave him for not just getting a damn job. Even at his funeral, all she could say was what a waste his life had been. He never accomplished anything.” Ryan ran his hands along the sides of the steering wheel, gripping it tight. “But she was wrong. Because everything I learned, I learned from him. My life is the opposite of his. My life is this.”

Ryan flicked on the blinker.

Lucy swiveled her head and realized where they were. The Marina District. On the other side of the city from where they needed to be to get back to Mountain View.