“I’m not looking at him in any way,” Natalie protested. “Or, if I am, it’s just that there’s more to him than meets the eye. He’s read every book, and he’s like a walking encyclopedia.”

Tess shrugged. “Ah, well. On to the next big adventure.”

“Yeah, about that.” Natalie hesitated, then showed her friend the text message from Trevor that had come in during their meeting.

Tess leaned back with a Cheshire Cat smile. “Well, well, well. I’m assuming this one is single?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Then the coast is clear. He wants to take you out on a date tonight. Imagine that, a date with a world-famous author who is single and even better looking than his book jacket photo.”

“I’m tempted,” Natalie admitted, feeling a thrum of excitement. He was almost too good to be true. “But I still feel weird about Rick—Hey!”

Before Natalie could snatch her phone back, Tess tapped a reply.

“Oh my God.” Natalie grabbed her phone. “What did you do?”

She looked at the screen. Tess had answered Trevor’s text with a smiling emoji and Sure. What did you have in mind?

The phone rang seconds after Tess sent the text. Natalie recoiled when Trevor’s name appeared on the screen.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you did that!” She glared at her friend.

“Pick up,” Tess said unapologetically. “Don’t let it go to voice mail.”

“I always let it go to voice mail.”

“He knows you’re by the phone, because you just sent him a text.”

“You sent the text.”

“He doesn’t know that. Now, pick up, or I’ll do it for you. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.”

Bursting with nervousness, she swiped the screen. “This is Natalie.”

“What do you like?” asked Trevor.

“I … what do I like?” She glared again at Tess.

“On a date,” he said. “Drinks? Dinner? Dancing? Theater? Opera? Live music?”

“Um, I … Thanks for asking. I like drinks. And snacks.” She sounded like a total dork. Tess rolled her eyes.

“Then we have something in common.” Trevor chuckled, his voice deep and smooth in her ear.

Tess carefully gathered her things, logging the movement of the vase on her phone app, and blew Natalie a kiss. “I’ll be in touch,” she whispered and stepped out.

“We could go to the French Laundry, or Auberge du Soleil. Or Rendez-Vous—they just got their second Michelin star.”

It was almost impossible to get a table at the famous wine-country restaurants. Maybe not for Trevor Dashwood, though. “They’re a long way from the city,” she said. “What if we get halfway there and run out of things to talk about?”

“Good point,” he said. “I like the way you think—or overthink.”

“Sorry, I tend to do that.”