“I know.” He jerks his head in the direction of the bar. “That gentleman over there asked me to bring you a glass of pinot noir.”

I glance over at the bar, where a man with blond hair raises a glass and winks in our direction. He’s got a cocky smile and he’s wearing a gray business suit. Brooks Brothers—I’m pretty sure.

Shelley giggles. “Looks like you’ve got another suitor, Abby.”

I push the glass away from me. “It’s probably for you.”

“No,” the waiter, a baby-faced young man, insists. “The man said it was for the woman with black hair in the white dress. He said he hoped you would join him after your lunch.”

Shelley laughs harder. “I told you you’ve got a suitor.”

My cheeks burn as I push the glass more firmly away from me. “I’ve also got a husband. Please remove the drink.”

“And her husband is very hot,” Shelley informs the waiter, who I’m sure really cares.

As awkward as that encounter was, I can’t say it wasn’t a boost to my self-esteem. Sometimes I think Sam just gets more attractive as he gets older while my own looks slide away. I don’t get hit on nearly as much as I used to. It’s nice to know a handsome stranger at a Mexican restaurant saw me across the room and found me desirable.

I look down at my watch, cursing the fact that I didn’t make the waiter take our order while he was here. Shelley raises her eyebrows at me. “What time is that meeting you need to be back for?”

“It’s at one-thirty. But it’s fine. Monica is getting everything set up.”

Shelley nods in approval. “Nice. She’s really efficient.”

“Actually, she’s amazing. I really like her.”

“Me too.”

“I like her so much,” I say, watching my best friend’s face, “I’m asking her to be a surrogate so Sam and I can have a baby.”

Shelley laughs. She thinks I’m joking. I told her after the failed adoption attempt that Sam and I would be trying for an older child. This sounds like a joke. And admittedly, even as the words were leaving my mouth, they sounded comical. Who asks their assistant to carry a fetus for them in her womb? Last month, we got a memo saying we weren’t allowed to have our assistants do laundry for us.

I clear my throat. “That wasn’t a joke.”

“Yeah, right,” she snickers.

I don’t say anything.

Shelley’s mouth falls open. “Wait. Are you serious?”

“I am.”

She stares at me, shaking her head. “I… I don’t understand…”

Briefly, I outline everything that’s happened so far. Monica’s offer. The terms of what our contract would be. Sam’s reluctant agreement to “think about it.”