You glanced back at the house, where the party raged. There was a man on the porch with a blonde. The couple was laughing. You frowned.

“What’s with Captain America?” I asked.

“Captain Asshole.” You drew in a breath. “A drink would be nice.”

I didn’t know who the guy was, but I owed him my thanks. “O’Malley’s?”

“Sure. I’ll follow you.”

“Great.”

“What’s your name?”

You hesitated and then smiled. “Marisa.”

“Good to meet you. I’m Jeff.” I’d defaulted to a name that wasn’t mine because I already suspected how it was going to go between us.

As I drove to the bar, I kept a sharp eye on your headlights, fearful you’d peel off. But you stayed the course. I parked in the restaurant’s lot and watched as you pulled in beside me. We were already working as a team.

I was bold enough to press my hand in the small of your back. Your muscles tensed only slightly and then relaxed. I opened the door for you. As we got a booth in the back, you rubbed your cold hands together, using friction to speed up circulation.

You were a good-looking woman, and the dark jeans skimmed your long legs. There was a slight edge to you, but you didn’t strike me as the tattoo type. If there were permanent markings on your body, they were discreet and carried the weight of lasting emotion. A significant date, a name, a small heart with a crack in the center. Hell, but you looked young.

You were likely wondering why you were here. You’d already surmised that I wasn’t your type, but what the heck, right? I’d already guessed you didn’t warm up to people quickly. That was good. Still, you were here now, and that sent a message that you liked me: you wanted to get to know me better.

“Did you take pictures at the party?” I asked. “Any images jump out?”

You pulled a small digital camera from your pocket. “Nothing too fascinating. Everyone was too drunk, and they looked kind of sad.”

The waitress arrived. I ordered nachos and a beer, and you ordered a wine. Waitress ID’d you, and you passed the test, though I suspected the card was fake. No way you were twenty-one.

As my head turned, I heard two clicks of the camera. I stayed cool. I’d done nothing wrong, and what’s a picture?

While we waited for the drinks, we chatted about the area, and I talked around the details about myself as much as I could. Our conversation was easy, relaxed, as if two old friends had met up after years of being separated. Christ, was it possible to really find a soul mate? The nachos arrived. We ate.

You glanced at the time on your phone. “Almost three hours.”

“Time flies.”