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“He asked me out,” I mumbled.
    Kris was suddenly grinning. “Like, on a date?”
    “I don’t know. I thought so. But he hasn’t called.”
    Kris had her mouth open to respond when my cell phone, which was lying on my desk, began to vibrate. We exchanged glances
     and looked down at the screen. The call was coming from an unfamiliar 212 number.
    “Did you give him your cell number?” Kris asked.
    “Yes.”
    “That has to be him, calling from the restaurant!” she said. “Answer it!”
    I paused. It vibrated again.
    “Answer it!” Kris repeated more urgently. When I still didn’t move, she reached down, pushed the SEND key, and handed me the phone. Now I had no choice.
    “Hello?” I said.
    “Cat?” I recognized Michael’s voice immediately. “It’s Michael. From Saturday night? I’m so sorry I didn’t call yesterday.
     It just turned into a crazy day, and by the time I was done, it was eleven, and I thought that might be too late to try you.”
    “No problem,” I said as breezily as possible. I mouthed to Kris that it was him, and she did a little happy dance. I put my
     hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh.
    “So, um, are you still interested in grabbing a bite to eat tonight?” he asked. “I know it’s kind of last-minute, but there’s
     a great little fondue place a few blocks from my restaurant that I’ve been meaning to check out, if you’re up for it.”
    I grinned. “That sounds great,” I said as casually as possible.
    “Good.” He sounded relieved. “I’m so out of practice with this.”
    I wanted to ask what he meant. Had he just gotten out of a relationship? Did he not have time to date? But I didn’t want to
     have that conversation on the phone. So instead, I told him I could meet him at eight at his restaurant, and that fondue sounded
     great.
    We hung up, and I looked sheepishly at Kris, who was still standing at the entrance to my cubicle, grinning down at me.
    “Fondue, eh?” she asked. “Sounds romantic.”
    I smiled. “Yeah, it does.” I took a deep breath. “I know this sounds dumb, but I have a really good feeling about this guy.”
    Kris winked at me. “I know. I can tell. I haven’t seen your face this shade of red since you collided with that waiter at
     the company party and spilled a whole tray full of wine on Mr. Hamlin.”
    I laughed. “You know, I think I actually have butterflies in my stomach. Is that crazy?”
    “No,” Kris said. “That’s a good thing. That’s how it’s supposed to feel.”
    “Yeah,” I said. I smiled and looked at Michael’s face, smiling back at me from my computer monitor. “It is, isn’t it?”
    I took a cab across the park from my one-bedroom walk-up on East Seventy-Sixth and arrived at Adriano’s five minutes before
     eight. I couldn’t believe how nervous I was; I was normally cool, calm, and collected before a date, but then again, my dates
     were usually setups from well-intentioned friends, or guys I’d met through work and had to talk myself into being excited
     about.
    I walked into the restaurant and asked the hostess for Michael. She looked me up and down, pursed her lips, and sauntered
     off to find him. He appeared a moment later, smiling widely.
    “So this is what you look like when you’re not crouching in my kitchen,” he said, looking me up and down in amusement.
    I could feel myself blushing. “And?” I asked, looking self-consciously down at my khaki skirt and pale pink tissue-weight
     tee.
    “I think you’re the most beautiful woman to have ever graced an olive oil barrel,” he said.
    I laughed. “Okay. I’ll take that.”
    “And I want you to know, I don’t go around saying that to all the women I meet in my kitchen,” he added seriously.
    “Well, good,” I deadpanned. “I was worried for a minute.”
    He stood there rubbing his hands together and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. I had the sudden feeling he
     was a little nervous.
    “Shall we?” he asked,