Page 19

Mila: I set you up on a blind date next week. Now, before you kill me, just hear me out.

My stomach clenched.

Lillah: Mila, No.

Mila: Just hear me out. He's a financial advisor. His name is Hank, and he is nice, stable, and boring, but in the best way possible. He isn't an athlete or an artist, so I should get points there. He is a normal guy with a normal job who would like to take a woman to dinner.

I stared at my screen, my mind racing through a million scenarios of how this was going to go.

Lillah: Fine, but if he ends up being boring, I am leaving.

Mila: Fair enough. If that happens, you leave and I'll meet you somewhere, and we will go out and eat tacos.

Lillah: I swear, I hate you plus you know I won't turn down tacos.

Mila: Love you too.

Saturday came faster than I'd expected. I had spent most of the day finishing up the Henderson's mood board. I added final touches, swapped out a couple of hardware options that weren't working, and made my presentation notes. Early Saturday morning I took Cooper for a long walk through some of the community trails. The paths wound behind the houses, in a small patch of preserved woodland, and Cooper adored walking through them.

Once we were back from our walk, I started getting ready. I took a long, hot shower, letting the bathroom fill with steam. I shaved my legs, even though no one would see them, which was something Dr. Chen had encouraged me to do. I needed to do more small acts of self-care, to build my confidence and to learn that not everything needed to be done for someone else's pleasure.

I stood in my closet wrapped in a towel as water dripped from my hair, trying to figure out what to wear. This was the part I feared the most. I'd stand in front of a closet and mirror for hours wondering what he would want. What's safe? What won't start a conversation that will end in a fight? It had been close to a year, and I was still learning how to dress myself.

I settled on a simple, sleeveless black dress that hit above the knee. Nothing flashy or sexy. Enough to make me feel like the person I was trying to be, confident and independent.

I sat at my vanity, curling the last section of my hair. It was always the same piece that never cooperated and fell flat no matter what I did to it when I glanced out the window.

Marshall was in his driveway, leaning against his truck. He wore dark jeans and a fitted shirt that did nothing to hide the width of his shoulders or the way his chest filled out the fabric. He likely had returned from practice, and he stood there, phone in one hand, the other in the pocket of his jeans. His hair was still damp, and his gym bag was on the ground by the rear tire when he looked up from his phone. For a moment I was sure he was looking at the sky, then I realized he was looking at my bedroom window.

I leaned back, my heart hammering. There was no way he was looking at me, I thought. He was probably checking the weather, or admiring a tree, or doing something else that a person does when they stand in their driveway on a Saturday evening.

I leaned forward and looked out again and noticed his eyes were still on my window. I backed away and looked out again, my skin prickling when I caught the look on his face. He stood there, steady and unhurried, his body relaxed as if he had all the time in the world. That was when I realized he wanted me to notice him watching.

My heart thudded. I closed the blinds and finished getting ready without another thought to Marshall. I put on concealer, mascara, and swiped on a lip color that Mila had given me.

Mila picked me up a little past seven looking gorgeous as usual. She wore a red dress, strappy heels, and her dark, curly hair bounced around her shoulders. She took one look at me and smiled, "You look hot, let's go out tonight and make some bad decisions."

I giggled.

"I'm making no decisions tonight. Good or bad. I'm drinking a couple of glasses of wine and coming home."

"We'll see about that." She winked, patting Cooper on the head as we left the house.

The rooftop bar Mila had chosen was everything she'd promised. The open-air deck was on the tenth floor of a hotel facing the Boston skyline, and the harbor shimmered below. We ordered wine, a Malbec for me, a Sauvignon Blanc for Mila, and we settled into a table near the railing.

"So," Mila said, leaning forward with the expression of a woman who'd been waiting to have this conversation for days. "Tell me about the hockey player."

"There's nothing to tell."

"There's always something to tell. You've mentioned him in three separate conversations this month, and the other night on video chat your face did that thing."

"My face wasn't doing anything," I said, ignoring her.

"It was. It's doing it right now." She pointed at me with her wineglass. "First your jaw tightens and your eyes do this little shift, like you're trying not to look at something that's right in front of you. I've known you for twelve years. I know your tells. You can't lie to me."

I took a long sip of my wine. "He's my neighbor, Mila. He accused poor Cooper of shitting in his yard, and he spilled coffee on me, ruining that silk blouse I probably shouldn't have bought. Also, he threw a loud party on a weeknight. He's nothing but trouble, end of story."

Mila raised an eyebrow. That single eyebrow raise was her most dangerous weapon. "End of story."