Page 49 of 32 Days in May

The bartender catches my eye as I’m creeping up behind Marco, and the ignoramus foils my plan by giving me the famous White People Smile (no lips, no teeth, lots of eyebrow) and saying something to Marco that sounds like “I think she’s here.”

He turns in slow motion. No, not slow motion—regular motion. But I swear to God, everything goes flat except for Marco. Have I ever really looked at him before? Maybe not. Maybe I’d always kept my eyes downcast for this exact reason.

He leans back, pulling himself up to his full height. “Nadia.” He says my name like he’s exhaling a heavy breath.

His fingertips find my waist and then we’re hugging. Briefly. His palms slide to the flat of my back and around the smallest part of my waist, sending an ache through my hips and crashing into my knees. If that’s what a palm to my spine can do, I’m worried what will happen if he ever actually touches me.

We separate before I pass out.

“I made it,” I say, situating myself on the stool, carefully navigating the high chair in my even higher heels.

“You . . .” He gestures toward the stool swiveling underneath me. “You need help?”

“I got it.” I laugh. “This place looks incredible.”

“You look . . . ” He pauses briefly to furrow his brow at me, but the bartender is back with a heavy-bottomed tumbler filled with a dark liquid.

I look between Marco and the glass. “Is that alcohol?”

“No. God. I promise.” Marco’s fingertips are still resting on my waist, a gentle throb of heat at my side, but when the bartender says, “Cheers,” he pulls away. “Dan, this is Nadia. Nadia, this is my very good friend Dan.”

Dan flashes me a sweet smile as he garnishes Marco’s glass with sprig of rosemary. “This is an Old Classic—my spin on an Old Fashioned. Homemade bitters with a sassafras-infused, nonalcoholic Italian aperitif, topped with caramelized herbs.” He finishes his explanation by lifting a mini torch from his apron pocket and setting the rosemary briefly ablaze.

“Well, Dan. What an introduction.” I deeply regret calling him an ignoramus. He has a kind baby face and sweet blue eyes.

Dan gestures at Marco’s glass. “Give it a taste.”

Marco lifts the tumbler to my lips and I sip back the mocktail. “Wow. I don’t know how to tell you this . . .” They’re both watching me, rapt. “This tastes exactly like Dr Pepper.”

Marco lets out a huge laugh as Dan drops his head, shoulders slumping. “Goddamnit. It keeps happening.”

“What? That’s a compliment!” I assure him.

“Not when you’re soft-launching your mocktail business,” Marco leans in and says to me, not-so-sotto voce.

“Ah.” I pat my lips with a cocktail napkin. “Then I take it back. This sophisticated, groundbreaking beverage tastes nothing like Dr Pepper.”

Dan gives me a wry look before turning to Marco and quipping, “Your girlfriend’s a liar.” There’s something about the way he says it—smooth, unflinching—that sets my insides on fire. Tonight there are no parameters; we just are. Then, Dan gets pulled away to make more drinks and Marco turns his everything on me.

“No one kidnapped you,” he remarks, swiveling on his barstool to face me, drinking in my entire body with a slow, smooth look.

“Was that a possibility?” I ask, cheeks heating under his focus.

He shrugs, lifting his glass to his lips. “Cute woman on a regional bus route.”

“Cute?” I raise an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

Marco pauses, drink suspended at his lips. “If I tell you you’re sexy, will you make fun of me?”

“Of course.” I smirk. “But I thought you liked that.”

After a round of nonalcoholic drinks, the hostess comes back and taps Marco gently on the shoulder. “Sir, your table’s ready.”

“Oh?” I remark, as soon as she’s out of earshot. “Very impressive. Celeb treatment.”

Marco shrugs me off and for the first time, I wonder if he’s actually gone ahead and pulled some strings. We say goodbye to Dan and make our way back to the hostess stand, where the previously disinterested woman perks up significantly, leading us to a set of steps beneath an enormous, glistening chandelier.

“Hey.” Marco slides his hand into mine and gently pulls me back, until his lips are a hair away from my ear. “You look unbelievable,” he whispers.