As for his friendship with the woman . . .

Joy.

He loved her name. Simple, yet full of light. Lyrical.

He had zero interest in any sort of relationship other than friendship with her, yet he couldn’t get her out of his head last night. He’d hardly slept. Then he didn’t want to sleep at all and miss her before she’d checked out. He’d made up his mind last night when she’d said goodbye that it wasn’t goodbye for him—just a damn good night. He’d expected a shitty performance. It turned out to be spectacular, relatively speaking.

She’d come to watch him sing.

Joy was pretty in a fresh I-love-to-be-out-in-the-sun way. Her style was too conservative for his own tastes. And she wasn’t anything like the women he’d take out for dinner and a lay, or escort down the red carpet at an awards show Chase forced him to attend. Because that was as long as Dylan would spend with any woman. One night only.

But Joy . . .

He’d had a good time during their drive yesterday. And when she’d dropped him off at his gig he felt . . . disappointed. Their lives had intersected for less than the length of an ad space on the episode of life. He kind of wanted more time with her. But she hadn’t asked for his cell number. Women always asked if they could text him.

Joy hadn’t. She probably thought he didn’t have a phone.

He thought he’d never see her again.

Then there she was, sitting alone at a small table against the wall. She was there to see him.

After getting through what had been one of the worst panic attacks he’d experienced in years, the last thing Dylan had wanted to do was walk up on that shoebox of a stage and perform. His throat had atrophied. He couldn’t push out the lyrics or get his hands under control. They shook like he was jacked on heroin. He couldn’t nail the chords. But he’d looked out into a sea of unfamiliar faces and he’d found her. She’d smiled and waved, and suddenly everything was right. Their eyes locked and the nerves shocking his system settled.

Good thing she was engaged. That sparkler on her finger kept him in check. He’d been sorely tempted to kiss more of her than the soft indentation of her temple. But he suspected Joy wouldn’t be down for a one-nighter, and he didn’t need extra baggage he’d have to check when she dropped him off at JFK in nine days.

“Do you mind if I put the top down? It’s not atrociously hot yet,” she said.