Dan Tana’s was completely dark inside; my eyes had to adjust before I could take in the room. I had heard how great the restaurant was but had never eaten there before. The maître d’ greeted Troy as if he were a visiting dignitary, and we were swiftly escorted to a prime back booth. As I sank into the rich leather, I glanced around. “Being here makes me think of that Phil Spector shooting.”

Troy regarded me blankly. “Why?”

“You know, this is where he had dinner that night . . . the night he allegedly shot that woman. He had dinner here and left a $500 tip on his credit card. Then Spector headed over to the House of Blues, where he picked up this waitress Lana and took her back home to his house in Alhambra or someplace. Hours passed, and he called the police to say she’d shot herself, that it was a suicide.”

I was really into telling the story now. “Investigators carefully examined all the forensic evidence and found through the gunshot residue and various skull fragments around the room that she didn’t pull the trigger. That she was murdered.”

He stared at me. “Wow, that’s a lot to take in.”

His dry response made me laugh. “I am very into this stuff.”

I ran to the ladies’ room, and when I returned he was furiously texting someone on his BlackBerry. “It’s just a buddy of mine . . . this thing is a lifesaver. I don’t know what I’d do without it. Do you have a BlackBerry?”

“Yeah, but I’m kind of technically challenged. I don’t use it much,” I replied. Truthfully, except for the occasional e-mail from Lauren and Ina, I really didn’t have anyone to correspond with now that Dave was out of the picture. No little messages signed “xo D” during the day.

“Well, I’ll give you my instant-message account and you can e-mail me whenever you want.”

“Okay.” I beamed. Troy didn’t catch my glow. I watched him cast his eyes down to text his friend. This was a first. His fingers flew across the keys, tapping out something that must have been pretty hysterical, judging by his pleased expression.

Troy broke away from his Crackberry when our food finally arrived. As our plates landed on the table, I realized my shrimp scampi was swimming in garlic. There would definitely be no make-out sessions tonight. But maybe that would be a good thing with Troy; maybe we should take it slow.

When Troy pulled up in front of my house, I had no idea what to think. I began my “It was really fun, got to go, see ya soon” good-bye. But he jumped out of the car and came around to open my door. “There’s no way I’m not walking you in, like a proper gentleman.”