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He leans across the table. “The thing is, I’ve been here before. With that same waitress. And she still fucking carded me.” He takes out his wallet. “Do you want to card me, too? Or do you want to roll the dice that the state of Tennessee got me completely wrong?”

I feel like my cheeks are about to catch fire. “I’ll take your word for it. For now.”

“So, then…” He tips his chin at me. “How about finishing the day with me, too?”

“Isn’t that defeating the purpose of this lunch? Strangers sharing an enjoyable time with no expectations?”

“I didn’t say there were expectations,” he says. “Just hopes. I mean, you have your mischievous smile on.”

“I don’t have a mischievous smile.”

He makes a high-pitched sound of disagreement. “For the record, it turns me on.”

I laugh at him. “That’s exactly what I mean. Save your energy, Romeo. Someday, I think you’re going to get your epic love affair, but it’s not today, and it’s not me.”

“We can meet halfway.” He leans back. His body language is open, and he’s staring at me. “I want to continue enjoying your company. There don’t have to be conditions around it. No strings attached.”

“Are you sure that’s not the mimosa talking?”

“I had three sips of it. I have to drive. I’m stone cold sober. So, what do you say, Bastien?”

I chew my lip and try to hide my smile, glancing guiltily out at the restaurant. The couple walking by me are dressed nicely, like they are on a real date. I feel like I’m on the verge of a momentous, and perhaps, stupid, decision, but right now, it doesn’t feel that bad. Everything in my life has been planned, measured, considered from all angles, and where has that gotten me? Sitting in an arctic conference room with my career hanging by a thread despite doing everything “right.” Soon, I’ll be in Fairhaven starting my new life, and he’ll be wherever he ends up. A built-in expiration date to make it safe. I take a deep breath.

“You’re considering something,” Levi observes.

“And how would you know that?” I ask.

“Lucky guess.”

“I think lucky is the right word for it.”

Levi smiles invitingly at me. It makes my stomach feel warm. “I’m listening.” I’m not sure why he’s smiling like this, but it does something to me. I’m not sure if this would necessarily qualify as keeping my nose clean according to the review board, but this area of my life is absolutely out of anybody’s jurisdiction. He’s not a study participant, not a student, and not even military. He’s the perfect distraction, and there is absolutely nothing standing between us.

I smile at him. “I like you. You’re interesting, intelligent, and sexy. So, if you were going to walk me back to my hotel room, I would be glad to invite you up. If you’d like that. Since you covered lunch, I can spring for room service if you get hungry.”

He smiles, his blue eyes sparkling with delight. “I would absolutely like that.”

“Anything I need to know beforehand?”

“I’m healthy. I’m single.” He pauses long enough that I know he’s deciding. “And I’m a total top.”

My mouth has gone dry. “Okay.”

“Okay, as in, you heard me, or okay, I’m in?”

“Okay, let’s do this.”

“And I really like you.” He says it in the same tone as the other three, like it belongs on the same list, which it does not, and I have no idea what to do with my face. I’m pretty sure I’m the dopiest person he’s ever met just from smiling.

Levi smiles, stands up, and extends his hand to me.

The second I put my hand in his, everything seems to slow down, and I forget everything else. The decision to take him back to my hotel room doesn’t seem enormous. It seems natural. I let him guide me out of the restaurant and I don’t think I register anything but the warmth of his hand in mine. The air outside is warm and humid, and the sidewalk still smells like wet stone from the afternoon rain. He doesn’t drop my hand, even when we’re on the streets. It’s a novel feeling for me. I’ve never in my life walked hand-in-hand with a man. Brice wasn’t the type, and before him, I never wanted to badly enough. But Levi just does it, like it’s nothing, and while I’m expecting to see people do double takes and scowls, the few people whose eyes I catch are mostly looking amused. He pulls me into the stairwell of a parking garage, where the air turns cool and sour with exhaust and damp concrete, and up to his floor. And then I stop dead and stare at what’s in the parking space he’s angling toward.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I mutter under my breath.

“What?” He looks up.

I stare at the motorcycle in front of me. It is, according to the name printed on the side of it, a Royal Enfield. There’s a lot of chrome, a round headlamp, spoked wheels, a fat teardrop tank, and an engine wearing all its parts on the outside where a person can count them. There is nothing between a rider and the asphalt. No airbags, no seatbelts, no crumple zones—just skin and bone against concrete if anything goes wrong. I see my brother Michel’s face, pale against hospital sheets, tubes running everywhere. My mother crying in the hallway after the long drive to Toronto. It took months for Michel to walk normally.