I hear a piano playing and wonder if there are speakers in the waiting area, but no. To my left there’s a Piano Bar and a man in a tuxedo is playing ‘Close to You’ by the Carpenters. The hostess comes my way with a tray with two glasses of wine—red and white. I take a step back to make room for her to pass, but she stops in front of me.

“Would you like something to drink, miss?”

I nod nervously and grab the red wine.

“On the house,” the woman says with a sleek smile as if sensing my worry about how much all this is going to cost me. “Your table will be ready in a few minutes,” she adds, which is quite surprising given how busy it is.

The hostess keeps her word. Shortly after, she returns and leads me to a window table.

“Our restaurant offers the most spectacular views on the Monterey Peninsula. Those are the Santa Lucia Mountains in the distance and that is Point Lobos,” she explains with a smile.

I nod and smile back. “Beautiful,” I say in a low voice.

A waiter comes by before I even get the chance to properly look at the menu. When I ask what he recommends, he kindly gives me five options but mentions the filet mignon twice.

“Filet mignon in red wine and roasted shallot glaze, seasonal vegetable, potato gratin,” he adds. “The chef’s specialty.”

“Filet mignon it is,” I agree.

“Have you been here before, miss?” he asks, holding a fishbowl filled with folded notes.

“No, it’s my first time. What is that?” I ask, pointing at the bowl.

“It’s something special we do for our customers,” he says and hands it to me. “You need to pick one. It’s your fortune, miss.”

I’ve only experienced this with Chinese restaurants, but I’m not complaining; I like fortunes.

“They’re said to be true, these ones,” he says, before leaving.

Love, because it is the only true adventure.

I can’t help but smile. Not that I believe in fortune cookies, Asian or American, but this time, I want to think this is some sort of sign. Just this once.

Did you get your fortune? he texts me a bit later.

I did.

Was it a good one?

An unexpectedly good one, I text. Just like today.

You know so many details about Carmel. Do you spend a lot of time here? I ask.

I know it’s a personal question; it’s just, he’s like a bona fide guide.

Everyone who lives in the Bay Area knows Carmel. I’ll let you enjoy dinner and not bug you with messages, he says.

Who am I going to play the game with then? Maybe I should ask someone here. See if they’d want to, I tease.

Am I flirting with him? My cheeks are hot again, so I must be.

No, don’t do that, he responds in seconds.

Give me a number. It’s your turn.

Number 44.

I type and send. Do you have a secret you’ve never shared with anyone?