Sherri was glad that Jerry was gone. She liked having Arthur all to herself, and she was grateful to delay her return to her old apartment. She wasn’t sure she was ready for all the emotions that would slap her when she walked through the door. Sherri looked with longing at all the food spread out in front of Arthur, the cheese melting on top of the eggs, buttery slices of bread, and the giant, golden pancakes hanging off the edge of his second dish. From that day forward she would always associate Arthur with feelings of insatiable hunger. “Want me to order you something?” he asked. “My treat.”

She shook her head. “I’m good.”

“But I feel funny eating in front of you on our first date.”

“This isn’t a date.”

“Whatever you say.” He smiled. At the resort, Arthur had looked like a scruffy imposter who cared more about how the corners of the ceiling came together than the backsides of the Bunnies who walked by. In East Troy, he seemed smarter than every other person in the room, more interesting and alive, an entire force field twitching with energy. He even ate differently, holding his fork with his left hand, the tines facing down, gently pushing his eggs with his knife.

It was easy to strike up a conversation at the resort, but she struggled now that she was sitting across from Arthur, eye to eye instead of standing in front of him, no longer emboldened by her costume or distracted by Jerry’s bravado. “Where’s your family?”

“Nearby,” he said.

“Nearby where?”

“The Chicago suburbs. Lake Forest.”

She knew that Lake Forest was a wealthy community from the movie Ordinary People, which had come out a year earlier. She pictured Arthur’s family living in a classy Tudor with a circular driveway and winding staircase.

“You don’t seem like a flatlander.”

“Is that what you call people from Illinois?”

“I was just being nice. We usually call you FIBs. Fucking Illinois bastards. This town swarms with them in the summer, just watch. But you seem different.”

“Different how?”

“You aren’t a big show-off, that’s how. How old are you, anyway?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Why would a young guy like you want to live out there in the cottage all by yourself?”

“I’d love some company. Come join me.” He winked at her and she giggled. Men flirted with her all the time now. It seemed harmless when she was wearing her Bunny costume—how odd that an outfit so revealing could also feel like armor. But in that moment, she was plain old Sherri, and she wasn’t sure how to respond.