I nod, feeling suddenly out of my depth.

“I don’t date often either,” he adds.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know—it’s a lot of hassle.”

“Here you are.” The waitress puts our drinks on the table, interrupting us.

“Thank you.”

She leaves us alone, and we both pick up our drinks, and I hold mine up for a toast. He holds his to mine and waits.

“To smooth hassles,” I say.

He gives me a slow sexy smile. “I never said it was going to be smooth.”

The air between us is electric.

“I like some bumps.” I smile, feeling a little braver.

“Something tells me this date is going to be anything but a hassle.”

“Until I turn into a psychopath tomorrow.”

He throws his head back and laughs out loud, and I smile goofily over at him.

He thinks I’m funny.

A million margaritas and laughs later.

The restaurant has gone quiet. Everyone cleared out. But our conversation is still running hot.

Henley James is funny and charming, not to mention utterly gorgeous. I find myself hanging on his every word.

“So . . .” He sits back in his chair as he acts serious. “How do you rate our date so far?”

“So far?”

He smiles mischievously into his drink.

“So far . . .” I narrow my eyes as I pretend to think hard. “Like a two.”

“A two?” he gasps. “This date is not a two.”

“I know.” I laugh. “It’s a ten.”

He gives me that look, the one he does so well. “Twenty.”

“Twenty?” I raise my eyebrows: it’s like he’s reading my mind. “That’s a high score.”

He twirls his glass on the table. “I think this is my best first date ever.”

Your last first date.

“What’s so good about it?” I smile as I play along.

“Well . . . the scenery.” He gestures to me.

I giggle and lick the salt from my glass.

“That.” He points to me with my tongue hanging out. “That is a definite high point. Every time you do it, I feel it in my loins.”

I burst out laughing, and he does too.

“Loin or groin?” I ask.

“Both.”

We laugh again. I’m sure the waitstaff all hate us by now—nothing is this funny.

“I love that you’re understated,” he says.

I flick my hair around and bat my eyelashes.

“Your wanting-to-renovate-a-house thing is a little concerning, though. Don’t know if I would trust you with a nail gun.”

I giggle. He is so fun.

“I love that you’re a nurse.”

“Have you lost somebody?” I ask.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well.” I shrug. “Most people who appreciate nurses have spent a lot of time in a hospital.”

“My mother.”

We fall serious.

“I’m sorry. Recently?”

“No.” He sips his drink. “When I was fifteen.”

I watch him, unsure what to say next.

He looks out over the restaurant as if miles away. “It was a catastrophic event in my life.”

Oh . . .

I hold my hand out over the table to him, and he places his in mine. I rub my thumb over his fingers. “She would be very proud of you.”

His eyes meet mine, and he rolls his lips as if annoyed. I instantly know that I’ve overstepped.

“But she said you better up your game because this date is definitely slipping down to a two.”

He smirks and picks up his drink. “Really?”

“Yes.” I nod, acting serious. “She said you should walk me out to my car and kiss me good night if you want to raise the score tally.”

“Oh, she did, did she?”

“Yep.” I smile into my drink, feeling proud of my crisis-management-while-being-flirty skills.

We stare at each other as the air between us swirls with an energy that I haven’t felt before.

“Can I see you tomorrow night?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Grocery shopping will do.”

He bursts out laughing and sets us both off again.

“I’m sorry, we are closing the restaurant,” the waiter says as he places the check wallet onto the table.

“Yes, of course.”

I go to grab it, but Henley snaps it up. “I’m paying.”

“No, you’re not. We will go halves.”

“Shut up.”

“No.”

“You can pay tomorrow night,” he offers.

“When we go to buy my groceries?”

He laughs and sets us off again, and the waiter rolls his eyes from the corner.

“Stop it.” Henley tries to act serious as he gets his wallet out. “The waiter hates us.”

“Because we’re funnier than him.”

“This is true,” he agrees. “We are.”

He pays the bill and takes my hand in his. Electricity shoots up my arm, and as if he feels it, too, he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it as we stare at each other.

What’s happening right now?

We walk out through the front doors, and suddenly the pressure is on again.

Do I be a good girl, or do we go home together?

“Did you drive?” I ask.

“No, Uber.”

“Me too.”

He stares down at me, and I know the very same questions are rolling around in his head. Be a gentleman or throw me across a park bench and have his wicked way with me?

I’m voting for option two.

“Cab?” he asks.

“Sure.”

Damn it, he’s going for option one.

Gentleman.

He puts his arm around me as we walk and pulls me close, and there’s a familiarity between us. This feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“I had a good time tonight,” he says as we walk.

“Me too.” I smile goofily. “I’m already excited about going grocery shopping tomorrow.”

He arrives at a busy corner and stops at the traffic lights, and he turns me toward him.

“Is this where you kiss me?” I ask.

“I don’t know, is it?”

I nod. “Probably.”

Right here, in the middle of everyone, he takes my face in his hands. His lips softly brush against mine, and my feet float off the ground. We kiss again and again, and it’s like a wave of perfection comes crashing over us.

The lights change. People are rushing . . . but it’s the two of us lost in the moment. It’s not awkward, like a first kiss should be. It’s intimate and tender, something more.

He smiles against my lips and pulls me close, and we stand in each other’s arms for a moment.

“Henley.”

“Yeah.” He kisses my forehead.

“This is my best first date.”

“Until the next one.”