An hour later, we’re walking hand-in-hand back to the Toyota. He’s removed the apron, and he looks really handsome in his dress shirt and slacks. He only had one small glass of wine because he’s driving, but I’ve had two, and somehow it’s enough to make me tipsy. What can I say—I’m a lightweight. So holding hands quickly degenerates into me hanging onto his arm, and then he’s got his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to him as we walk.

I stumble over a crack in the pavement, which is more a symptom of my high heels than the amount I’ve had to drink, but Sam thinks it’s hilarious. “Are you drunk on two glasses of wine, Abby?”

“No.”

“You kind of seem like you are.”

“Listen, Mister.” I grab him by the arm. Ooh, nice biceps. Thanks, Gym Membership. “You be nice.”

We stop walking and just stare at each other for a moment. He leans forward until I can smell the wine and paella on his breath. He almost certainly would have kissed me except a voice from my left-hand side calls out, “Abby!”

Damn.

I swivel my head to the side. I’m shocked to see none other than Monica Johnson standing only a few feet away from us. We’re nowhere in the vicinity of work. What is she doing here?

“Um, hi, Monica,” I say as I back away from Sam, who on his part looks properly disappointed.

She doesn’t seem at all cognizant of having interrupted us as she clutches her purse to her chest and steps closer to us. “I’m so surprised to see you two here!”

Sam barely acknowledges her, glancing down at his watch then at a streetlamp. He’s not the most social guy in the world under the best of circumstances, but he’s made no secret of how uncomfortable this situation makes him. Monica is pregnant with a child who has half his DNA. It’s an odd situation.

“It’s our anniversary,” I explain. “We were just having dinner.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” She clasps her hands together. She’s still wearing the same blouse she had on at work this morning, and I can’t help but notice that while her stomach hasn’t gotten any bigger, her boobs definitely have. She had fairly unremarkable breasts before, but now she’s stacked.

I glance at Sam to see if he’s noticing, but he’s got his hands shoved into his pockets and is looking everywhere but at Monica. At least he hasn’t taken out his phone.

“What are you up to?” I ask.

“Just dinner with some old friends.” She shrugs. “And now, you know, trying to snag a taxi on a Friday night. I’ve heard it helps to show a little leg, but it’s not working.”