“No.” I shake my head to punctuate how very much I am not thinking about dating her. “Of course not. That would be...confusing.”

She makes a sour face like she’s disappointed.

“I’m just saying we should celebrate. Right? Why not tomorrow since we’re closed on Mondays. We have nowhere to be.”

“Can’t,” she says, absently. I’m certain that she’s already polished this table based on the high shine of the wood. “I have plans.”

“What are you doing?”

“Going to a drag show with my brother and a couple of our friends.”

“Cool,” I say into the silence, where she most definitely did not invite me to tag along. Not that she should. She’s allowed to have her own life. And plans. And people. And I don’t want to be one of them. Not at all. “Well, maybe I’ll pop a mini bottle of champagne or something.”

I leave before I can say anything more, like beg to be invited or ask her if it’s just me or if she’s being rude. I toss my chef’s whites in the restaurant linens bin and pull on my coat. Our commercial landlord has sprinkled salt and sand on the pavement out here, but I still pick my way carefully to my car, frowning at each new foothold but not really seeing them. Instead, I’m trying to decipher what that face meant when I said I wasn’t asking her on a date or the one she made before she assured me that she was excited.

I throw myself into my car and turn on the engine, letting it warm up and closing my eyes, and jump seconds later at the sound of three sharp taps on my window. Amy stands at my car, the back door of the restaurant open and spilling a perfect rectangle of yellow light onto ice and snow. “Open,” she says, muted through the glass.

“Bossy,” I mutter, but push down the button for the power window. “Please?” I ask for her.

She smirks. “You want to come tomorrow?” she asks. “To the drag show?”

Yes. “No. I’m fine.”

“Come on, Hollywood. Sorry I was being cold in there. I’m just...” She shrugs. “Thinking.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “Thinking about what?”

“You. Me. My brother and his girlfriend. Like eight of our closest friends. And the most gorgeous drag queens you’ll ever meet. I’ll buy our first bottle of champagne.” She holds the door, her fingers curling over the edge of the window, and I want to curl them around my own fingers and bring them to my lips. Her breaths and mine mingle in a cloud between us.

This is for the best.

“Fine,” I say. “Since you’re begging me.”

Her smile turns real and wide. “Cool. I’ll send you the details tonight.”

“Great.”

She hovers there, her mouth a few inches away, the open door beckoning behind her.

“Great,” she repeats and it’s probably wishful thinking that she leans closer. I adjust the heat on the seat warmers, turning away from her to focus on the dashboard, instead of embarrassing myself by closing the gap between us.