“So, what do you think?” she asks.

“It’s going okay.”

“You hate him.”

“I don’t hate him,” I clarify. “He’s very nice.”

“Calling a guy nice on the first date is the kiss of death. Did he offer you money to touch your feet? Does he train seventeen cageless parakeets on the weekend?”

“I don’t think so.” I chuckle.

“Lucky. Kyle does.”

“Does he really?”

“No, but he did tell me he has a waterbed, and that’s a deal-breaker for me.”

“Really? I bet you’d get your sea legs after a week or two.”

“It’s possible but it’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Devastatingly so,” she agrees, picking up her wineglass. “At least you have your actual dream man back at your apartment. The only thing waiting at my place is bitterness and old age.”

“That’s not true. You see your dream man multiple times a year.”

“The Phantom of the Opera doesn’t count. Though he should count, since we’re obviously in love, but the fact that I have to buy a ticket to see him every few months makes me feel dirty.”

“Well, Ryan doesn’t count either. So once again, it’s just you and me.”

“I’m good with that.”

“Me, too.” I lift my bay breeze and we tap our glasses together, smirking and taking a sip. I turn to look towards the jukebox where the guys are still searching through songs when I notice a lone figure sauntering into the bar from out of the corner of my eye. My breath catches in my chest and I have to fight back an ear-to-ear smile.

Ryan stands by the door for a few seconds until he spots me. His eyes lock on mine and he flashes me that sexy grin that makes me feel like a cavewoman. He’s wearing worn-in jeans, a plain white T-shirt and a Carolina Hurricanes baseball cap. Needless to say, Momma likes.

“Crap,” I mumble under my breath.

“What?” Maggie asks, following my gaze to the door. She stares at Ryan for a solid amount of time until she looks back at me. “Stop. Is that Ryan? Is that him?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

Maggie gasps and turns back. “I honestly don’t know what I was expecting but he looks like a modern American version of the prince from Beauty and the Beast.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“He fully does.”

I manage to put a lid on my escalating giddiness as he makes his way towards us through the minor crowd. Maggie, on the other hand, does not.

“Sweet lord, he’s walking over. What should I do? Should I sing?”

“Please don’t sing.”

“Whenever two people are about to admit their love for each other in a musical, they always sing. I should set the mood for you guys.”

“Don’t you dare.”