Harris laughed, the kind of laugh that took over his entire body. Everything about the way he moved seemed effortless. Even for a girl who had sworn off men, it was intoxicating. “Just the town car.”

“Um,” I said. “If we’re going somewhere fancy, I’m not sure I’m black-tie-ready.”

“Check your bed,” Martin said coyly.

I put my hand on my heart. “I retract my previous statement. You can read my mind.”

I gasped when I saw it, recognizing the dress right off the bat: a vintage straight sheath Chanel gown in a vivid emerald green. I had seen it on Martin’s grandmother in the photo of her on our end table, and it was effortlessly stunning. I’d had no idea he even had it. It was very me. Well, me if I had ever been able to afford Chanel. Which I could not. I slipped it on, Martin zipped, and it was official: I felt like a princess.

“So, where are we going, exactly?” I asked Harris.

“That’s for me to know.”

“Do you think I’m safe with him?” I mock-whispered to Martin, realizing the martini had made this all quite a bit more fun.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered back. “I put a dime in your purse in case you have to call me from a pay phone.” He winked.

We made our way down Fifth Avenue, and stopped in front of the Viceroy. For a moment, I was nervous that he was taking me to a hotel room, which would be about the seediest thing that could happen. But when the elevator opened, he pushed the button that would take us to the Roof, which was, in my very limited opinion, New York’s best rooftop bar. Martin must have filled him in on that.

As Harris opened a door, I could already picture how crowded it would be, but, instead of the throngs of people I was expecting, the Roof was completely empty, save one table, two chairs, and a ton of candles.

“Am I on The Bachelor?”

Harris took my hand. “It’s a new concept. A cross between Survivor and Bachelor Pad.”

“Harris, honestly, this is a hair extravagant.”

He nodded. “Oh, I know. Next date is pizza and boxed wine.” He grinned as he popped the cork of a bottle of Veuve.

I didn’t think of myself as a girl who was swept up in romance. In fact, I could hear myself speaking with disdain about this very thing. But I couldn’t help but be. Here I was with this man I really liked, on a stunning rooftop with a peerless view of Manhattan, in a vintage gown, holding a glass of champagne.

Harris raised his glass and said, “Here’s to diving headfirst into the great unknown.” He paused and added, “Again.”

We both laughed and clinked glasses. And I had to hope that my second foray into the great unknown this year would turn out a little bit better than my first.