The next day, she slept in, shopped for groceries, which now rot in her refrigerator, and worked the closing shift. Had she known it was her last full day of freedom, she would have spent it in a more productive manner: visiting with friends, enjoying a crowd at the mall, or calling her sister. Claire wondered if Anthony returned to the bar that day. She didn’t think so, but she remembered his call.

March 17, about a week ago . . .

Claire’s shift ended at six, which was good. She wanted out before the holiday crowd hit the Red Wing. Green beer anxiously awaited the Irish patrons, who on St. Patrick’s Day were everyone.

The day before when Anthony Rawlings called the Red Wing, Claire was shocked. She truly never expected to hear from him again. The call came as the seats at the bar were beginning to fill. Her boss didn’t appreciate personal calls at slow times of the day, much less at busy times. “Hello, this is Claire. May I help you?”

“Good evening, Claire.” Her heart skipped a beat, immediately recognizing the deep husky voice that accompanied the handsome dark-haired, dark-eyed man.

“Anthony?”

First a chuckle, then, “I am impressed. You have a wonderful memory for voices.”

Well,yeah,whentheyaccompanypeoplelikeyou. “Thank you, I talk with people for a living. I am surprised you called. Did you forget something or leave something?”

“Well, yes and no.” The manager walked toward her. She covered the phone and whispered, “Customer from yesterday looking for something.” He turned away and walked to the kitchen.

“Okay, if you let me know what it is, I can look around and call you back. First let me get your number.”

“Oh, you definitely have my number. First I think you should know what I left.” Claire waited impatiently. He sounded mysterious, but there were people waiting. Finally, he said, “You, Claire . . .”

Her cheeks flushed. “Excuse me?”

“I have been thinking about you and would be honored if you would agree to accompany me to dinner.”

Claire’s mind scrambled. She tried to think, but the bar was filling with patrons all looking to her for service. Anthony was waiting for her to respond. Last night, he was so handsome and charming. The prospect of someone like him, older and successful, taking the time to call her after a few hours of chatting was flattering. She worked to sound resilient. “I am sorry, I work until close. That is too late for dinner.”

“Someone named Crystal who answered the telephone earlier said you work the early shift tomorrow. Or will you turn me down again and send me home heartbroken?”

Claire sighed. This was outside her comfort zone, but then again, she didn’t want to be responsible for sending some poor successful gorgeous businessman home heartbroken. “I am supposed to get off tomorrow at six, but if you recall from last night, it isn’t always prompt. I could be ready by seven, if that isn’t too late for you?”

His tone was lighter and quicker. “Wonderful. Should I pick you up at the Red Wing or your place?”

Oh god, she wasn’t ready for him to know where she lived. “I can meet you—”

He cut her off. “I am sure you can, but let me pick you up in style. I will see you at seven at the Red Wing, and we are going to Chez Czar. Until tomorrow, Claire.” The telephone disconnected.

For the next sixty to seventy minutes, the barrage of orders and customers needing pacification kept her mind from fully registering her actions. She’d accepted an invitation to one of the top dining spots in Atlanta with someone she barely knew. She broke her “no dating a customer” rule and her “no going in the same car on a first date” rule. But maybe the first date was in the booth at the Red Wing. Then this will officially be the second date, which is totally acceptable. Oh my, what would she wear?

At six fifteen, she officially clocked out, her register balanced. In the back of the bar, there was a small locker room where the female employees kept their purses, coats, and extra clothes. Claire knew her Red Wing T-shirt and jeans wouldn’t make the Chez Czar cut. Besides, the last time she saw Anthony, he was wearing a very nice suit.

Opening her locker, she pulled out a black dress. She hadn’t had much time this morning, but after shaving her legs, she decided to run to Greenbriar Mall and see if Macy’s had anything in her price range. It turned out there was nothing for free, but she did find a simple black dress on its second markdown. It was shorter than she normally wore, but it fit, and she didn’t have time to be picky. After a quick run through Burlington’s, a pair of simple black heeled sandals was purchased. She had a black cotton half sweater that complemented the dress well and would be perfect for a cool spring evening.

After changing her clothes and stuffing her T-shirt and jeans back into the locker, she looked at herself in the mirror. She immediately felt silly. This wasn’t her. She was jeans, T-shirts, and tennis shoes.

Some eyeliner, mascara, and lipgloss accompanied by a quick brush through her hair were as good as it would get. Judging by the hoots from both sides of the bar when she entered the front of the Red Wing, she did all right. “Check you out, hot stuff. Where are you going all dolled up?” Claire’s manager had a variety of voices in his repertoire. This was his flirting one.

Feeling playful, she decided to throw it back to him and respond all Southern belle, “Why, sir”—the syllables drawn-out—“I don’t know what you mean.” He raised his eyebrows and stared. “Well, goodness gracious, I do have a little ‘ole date with a tall dark, handsome stranger.”

A few minutes later, Claire saw a shiny black Porsche pull up to the front of the bar. “See y’all later. Don’t wait up.” The coworkers behind the bar did some more hoot’n and holler’n. Claire smiled as the voices faded into the sounds of the night on the other side of the door.

Anthony got out of the driver’s side. Immediately, she was pleased that she decided to find a dress. His light-colored Armani suit was perfectly tailored. His greeting was polite as he once again kissed her hand and escorted her around to the passenger’s door. The simple act seemed elegant.

Being a four-star authentic Italian restaurant in the heart of Atlanta, everyone knew Chez Czar had a reputation for being a difficult place to get reservations for. However, the hostess immediately guided them to one of their best tables.

When the waiter arrived with menus, Anthony immediately asked for their best bottle of Batasiolo Barolo. After the waiter departed, Claire began to look at the menu. She couldn’t help notice there were no prices. What did that mean? When she looked up from behind the large leather-bound folder, Anthony was looking at her, not his menu. Once again, Claire felt her cheeks flush. “Do you already know what you want?” she asked.

“I believe I do.” He reached for her menu. Claire released it, although she hadn’t had a chance to really see her choices. The whole “no price” thing had her a little be muffled. “And I can’t see you behind that big menu.” Claire smiled. She’d never met a man like Anthony. She felt like she had his full attention, and it was nice but unsettling. When the waiter returned with the wine, he poured a small amount into a glass. Anthony tasted the liquid and replied, “Ahh, yes.” The waiter poured two glasses.

Claire wondered if this was what people talked about on a cruise ship with amazing service. Goodness knows no one was treated like this at the Red Wing or Applebee’s for that matter. Before she realized what happened, Anthony ordered dinner. “Well, thank you.” Her tone was tentative.

“Do you not like Caesar salad and shrimp linguine?” he asked, dismayed.