Amy paced across the bedroom.

Seventeen steps to the window, pivot, fifteen steps back to the mirror. Her new sundress swished around her knees – impulse purchase, one size too optimistic. Twenty-seven minutes until he arrived. Twenty-six, actually. The clock on her microwave was fast.

“You are a grown woman,” she told her reflection, which stared back with unconvinced eyes. “You’ve been on dates before.”

“Why am I so nervous?” she asked herself in the mirror. “It’s just ...