“I’m definitely intrigued. I’m also tempted to ask you some questions, but I think I’d rather wait until dinner. Keep the mystery going a little longer.”

“Oh, good. No pressure at all.”

“I hope not. It seems like an excellent way to meet. My expectation is to have a nice meal with pleasant conversation. If anything more happens, that’s a bonus.”

“I can work with that,” she said. “How about seven o’clock at Lviv? That’s in the Bowery, if that’s all right?”

He’d heard of it, but never been. He lived near several eastern European restaurants, although they weren’t very high on his list. “Sounds great. You’ll have to find me, because I have no idea what you look like.”

“And that doesn’t make you nervous?”

“Nope. Excited.”

“You’re very brave.”

“Only sometimes. Tell me, what really made you pick my card?”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and then it all came out in a rush. “I liked what you had to say. What you’re looking for. But I really have to go now, so I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I look forward to it.”

“Aside from being scared out of my wits, me, too,” she said. Then she was gone.

Who was this woman? He could tell she was shy, which was appealingly uncommon for the girls he dated. He’d never actually been on a blind date, which this essentially was. Not once. He’d only lied a little bit when he told her his expectations. Especially given her last, rushed explanation for choosing him, he fully expected to end the evening back at her place. Hell, even if they didn’t particularly click, it was only for one night. Whoever had thought up the trading-card idea deserved a Nobel Prize. Prevetted men with all their cards on the table, pun most definitely intended. Natalie would be the first of many, he assumed, a veritable feast of women who also wanted no-strings-attached one-night stands.

He settled back in the taxi, feeling a hell of a lot better than when he’d left his loft.

* * *

“WHAT DO YOU THINK?”

Fred gave Natalie a long, slow assessment from the ground up. “You can do better.”

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at herself in her full-length mirror. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just prefer your red dress.”

“Why?” She knew it sounded as if she didn’t trust him. He was never anything less than completely honest with her, even when a white lie wouldn’t have hurt anyone.

“It makes your boobs look bigger.”

Turning all the way to face him, she gave him her WTF stare. “This date isn’t about my boobs. We’re getting to know each other. That’s all.”

“It’s always about boobs. Look, if you want better advice, I suggest you find someone who cares more about fashion. I have work to do. Aside from the boob issue, you look gorgeous. Like always. But if you want to make him swoon, go with the red dress and your black heels. And don’t forget to put on the lip gloss, not just the lipstick.” He shook his head. “We’ve been living in the same house too long. Why do I even know what lip gloss does for you? Where’s Denise? I thought she was going to bring wine and you two were going to giggle and speculate until it was time for your date.”

“She’s at her cousin’s bridal shower. In California. On vacation. And we don’t giggle.”

“I was being polite. Your friend sounds like an asthmatic horse when she laughs.”

“She does not.”

He sighed. “She doesn’t in the same way that it’s not about boobs.” He stopped at Natalie’s bedroom door. “Now have fun. If nothing else, at least you don’t have to go to Oliver’s mother’s Shabbat dinner.”

“She makes a great brisket.”

He nodded. “That she does. But not good enough for you to stay with that schlub.”

“Get out,” she said, although she completely agreed with him. “I’m going to change into my red dress.”

Fred, with his skinny black jeans, two-tone shoes and argyle sweater, walked down the hall. She didn’t know anyone more fashion conscious than him. Damn hipster. If she didn’t love him like a brother, he’d be impossible to put up with. The sound of the fridge door slamming told her the rat had stolen one of her expensive pale ales. He’d pay for that.

She pulled out her red dress even though she wanted badly to believe tonight’s date wasn’t about breasts. Yes, she wanted Max to think she was attractive and for the two of them to connect, but she didn’t do casual hookups and she didn’t like it when men assumed it was a done deal after a woman had spoken more than five words to them.

Pausing at her purse, she took out Max’s trading card again. A man who played online role-playing games like World of Warcraft had to understand the value of patience.

* * *

THE BOWERY WAS close enough to Max’s loft in NoHo to walk there easily. The clear, crisp May night invigorated him. As did the prospect of dinner and what might follow.

Not knowing Natalie’s last name had removed the temptation of looking her up on Google. He liked that. There were far too few real surprises left in life. It was the age of spoilers—everything from movies to novels to credit scores were searchable. He liked to receive first impressions in person whenever possible. With a clean slate. Just hearing her voice had been enough to conjure images that were bound to be way off.

Lviv was down a flight of stairs. On the patio was a small grouping of outdoor tables, all occupied. It wasn’t a jeans-and-T-shirts crowd, even though the weather was great, but not suits, either. Inside at the small bar, there was a big age range and a relaxed atmosphere. He assumed she’d chosen a place that was both familiar and comfortable, because she sure hadn’t chosen it for a high-ticket meal.

He’d timed his entrance perfectly, but when a couple of minutes ticked by and no one approached, he turned back to the patio.

As he moved aside for a departing couple, he realized a lot of the people behind him at the bar weren’t speaking English. It sounded Russian, but was probably, in this part of town, Ukrainian, which he understood was close.

The voices receded as his gaze caught on a great pair of legs coming down the stairs. The heels were black and high, almost stilettos, and one step later he got a glimpse of a red dress swinging against shapely knees. He waited in anticipation as the rest of her came into his line of sight.

She was curvier than a lot of women he knew, and he liked that. He didn’t mind a thin body in his arms, although he preferred a softer experience. The red dress was tight around the middle, and the neckline showed off what appeared to be a hell of a nice rack. Dark hair bounced on her shoulders, soft curls that moved with her, and he only got a side view, but so far, he really hoped it was Natalie.

Dammit, now he’d done it. She’d probably walk into another man’s arms and Natalie herself would disappoint him. Aw, hell. What was he thinking? There were a lot of beautiful women in the world, in this city, on this block. All different kinds. For all he knew, she could already be here, scoping him out.

Turning back to the bar, he didn’t notice anyone craning to see the door. Behind him, a soft throat clearing made him smile.

It was the woman in red, and head-on she was...attractive. Not as stunning as some, but he wouldn’t mind looking at her during dinner or across a mattress. “Natalie, I hope?”

She nodded. Held out her hand.

He shook it, glad for the few seconds’ grace to adjust to the real woman. “Nice to meet you in person. I can’t wait to learn more about you.”

“I do have the advantage,” she said, gripping her purse once she had her hand back.

“Not for long.”

“Uh-oh. I guess fair is fair.” She led the way to the hostess, who smiled brightly at Natalie and gave her a hug.

“I have a table ready. The best one,” the hostess said, her accent strong. The woman pulled out a couple of menus, but before they moved, Natalie introduced them. The hostess was Mrs. Hanna Evanko—she owned the restaurant, along with her husband.

They were seated in a quiet corner where they wouldn’t be bothered much. A simple round table with white linens. He held Natalie’s chair, which earned him an approving nod from Mrs. Evanko before she slipped away.

He’d been given one of their large menus, but he put it aside for the moment. “Would you like wine with dinner?”

“I would,” she said.

“Anything you recommend?”

“It’s not a big selection, but everything is decent. My preference is red, although I’m flexible.”

His brows rose, but only for a second. Certainly the double entendre was unintentional.

Natalie blushed like a nice rosé, confirming his supposition.

A younger woman wearing the simple black-and-white attire of the staff came to the table with a couple of candles. She looked as if she might be related to the owners. After she lit the candles, she looked at Max and said, “More romantic,” in that same accent.

He caught the end of a sigh coming from Natalie. “Don’t worry,” she said. “They think being single is a disease. But they mean well.”

“I have an aunt Ellen who’s like that, although she’s pretty much given up on me.”

Natalie’s eyes widened, but just for a second. Then she was looking at the menu. “Have you had much eastern European food?”

“No. I don’t know why. What I have had, I’ve liked.”

“If you have any questions, ask away.”

“Am I the first trading-card guy you’ve gone out with?”

Startled, Natalie opened her mouth, but didn’t speak right away. “Yes,” she said, finally, but he got the feeling she wanted to say more.

He leaned forward, as if to tell her a secret, but he was actually checking out the dilation of her pupils, the way her breath caught on an inhale. “I’ll make sure this evening lives up to your expectations.” Then he sat back, picked up the menu he’d set aside and said, “Studenetz?”

Natalie blinked twice as she moved her gaze. She touched her lower lip with her index finger and looked at him again with a smile that might have been wicked if it hadn’t vanished so quickly. “Fish in aspic.”

“Ah. Sounds like that might be an acquired taste.”

“You’re right,” she said, her voice reserved, almost formal. But that blush of hers hadn’t disappeared yet. “I usually recommend the verenyky. Dumplings seem to be popular in every culture.”

“I’ll try those first.”

She nodded. “Good. You can also try my borscht if you’re daring.”

“Oh, I’m daring, all right.” This time he really was talking about food, but watching her swallow gave him a clue where her mind had gone. Then the tip of her tongue swiped that same spot on her lower lip and he wanted to sample that instead.

“I see,” she said. “Brave and daring. That’s quite a combination, and we’ve just gotten started.”

He shifted his gaze to his water glass, but a second later he was drawn back to her lips. He liked their shape. It was easy to imagine how they’d fit against his mouth. “Your turn,” he said, just before he cleared his throat.

“To do what?”

“Tell me about yourself.”

She glanced at him, then away. “The first thing you should know is that this isn’t easy for me.”

“What do you mean?”

After taking a deep breath, she met his gaze again and didn’t waver. “The trading-card thing is an enormous stretch. I’m not what you’d call a social butterfly.”

“What would you call yourself?” he asked, wishing the waitress had brought wine instead of a candle.

“I’m something of an introvert.”

“Really?”

“It’s not that I’m too shy to socialize or go places, but big crowds can be intimidating and sometimes I need time to recharge on my own. The reason we’re at this restaurant is because I felt it would be easier to be around familiar people.”

“That makes perfect sense. Including the part where this is a stretch for you...”

“You have no idea,” she said, with a laugh. “So if it’s all right with you, I’ll start with the easiest question for me to answer. I’m passionate about film.”

Max put his white napkin on his lap and watched her do the same. “Film? I would have guessed books, but film is more intriguing.”

“I do love books, but film caught my attention when I was young and never let go. Old ones. Black-and-white movies from the twenties, thirties and forties. Fritz Lang, Preston Sturges, Frank Capra, Michael Curtiz. I work at Omnibus. It’s an art-film house and conservation center.”

“I’ve been there.”

She smiled, and it was as if he’d said the magic words that allowed her to relax completely. It was a good look on her. “Oh, nice. What did you see?”

“Um, it’s been awhile. The last three years I haven’t gotten out much. Napoleon. The Abel Gance silent film. I’ve been to a couple of short-film festivals, too, and a Buster Keaton retrospective.”

“I was there. For all of those. I help run the programs.”

“You’re a fund-raiser?” He wanted more of this Natalie. She’d been smart to start out with something she cared about so deeply. The light in her eyes and the excitement in her voice were compelling. He could imagine her letting go, getting swept away in his arms. She wouldn’t be quick about it, though, or easy. But she’d be worth the effort.

“That’s only a part of what I do. I’m the librarian but also an archivist. I even teach film restoration and conduct tours of the facility. I’m a jill-of-all-trades, which means my schedule is insane, but I’m very happy. It’s expensive to restore films, to keep the vaults at the right temperatures, buy the equipment. You should become a member.”

He laughed at that. Couldn’t help it. It made sense that she helped with fund-raising. No one would be able to resist her.

“Sorry.” Her cheeks blossomed with a flush that had a slightly different hue. Softer, somehow. “I crossed a line there. You don’t have to buy anything.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can tell you’re great at what you do. They’re lucky to have you.”

She fluttered her lashes, but it was more a sign of being flustered, he thought, than a flirtatious gesture. “Okay, now it’s my turn, because I’ve been dying to know. How have we not met before? I thought I knew every librarian in New York.”

“Excuse me?”

“My friend thought you might work at a think tank. Or maybe that you’d just transferred here.”

Max wasn’t sure what was going on. “I work at a law firm.”

“Oh. Okay. I imagine big firms have large libraries.”

“Natalie, I’m not a librarian. I’m a lawyer.”

“Wait. What? You’re...not—” She put her purse on the table and pulled out his card. He only got a glimpse, but that was definitely his picture. “—Max Zimm?”

He slowly shook his head, feeling as confused as she looked. “Max Dorset.”

“Oh,” she said, and sank back in her chair. “But...” She studied the card and when she looked at him again she was clearly mortified. She’d tensed like a watch spring and averted her gaze. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. I mean, obviously that’s my picture, but not my name.”

“I—I don’t even know what to say. Except I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, some of the confusion beginning to lift. “Clearly someone at the printing company messed up. What else does the back of the card say?”

Her lips parted with a distressed gasp. “This whole trading-card thing. I never should’ve—” She shook her head and cleared her throat. “Look, it’s still early.” She calmly put her napkin on the table and stood. “I hope you can salvage the rest of the evening. I really do. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

Before he could even make sense of what was going on, Natalie was halfway across the room.

SHE SHOULD HAVE known he was too good to be true. Stupid, stupid. So much for her brave new life. If she had any brains at all, she’d go running back to Oliver. He might be dull as dishwater but he was steady and she’d never have to worry about competition for him.

Hanna called out to her, but Natalie kept going, darting around acquaintances she didn’t want to see, damning her high heels. She should take them off, run away as quickly as possible.

“Natalie, wait.”

God, it was Max. Max Dorset. An attorney so out of her reach it made her blush to her toes. Why hadn’t she said his last name when she’d called him? That would have saved them both this humiliation.

She’d made it through the patio to the base of the stairs when his hand on her arm stopped her.

“Wait, please,” he said. “Please.”

She couldn’t simply shake him off. None of this was his fault. But facing him felt like torture. “I should be getting home,” she said. “I can’t say how very sorry I am for the mix-up.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Still, I can’t imagine that you were looking for someone like me when you filled out your trading card.”

“How do you know?”

She met his gaze finally and instead of seeing mockery in his green-blue eyes, she recognized honest confusion. “You don’t play World of Warcraft, for one.”

“You’re right,” he said. “But I have played a hell of a lot of Legend of Zelda and Mortal Kombat.”

“Recently?”

“No.”

His gentle smile made it possible for her to take a deep breath without bursting into flames. “Something tells me you also aren’t looking to get married.”

“Not at the moment, no. But I was looking for a nice time with a fascinating woman, and I got that. What I don’t understand is why it needs to end so quickly.”

Natalie couldn’t speak for a second. She hadn’t been prepared for this, and she wasn’t sure if his being great about the mistake wasn’t the best reason of all for her to walk away and not look back. “We both know I’m not your kind of woman, but thank you for being so nice about it.”

“I’m not sure I have a type,” he said, and despite his smile, she didn’t believe that. “If I wasn’t enjoying myself, I would have made an excuse to take off like a shot. Now, why don’t we go back inside? I’d still like to hear the rest of your answers. And find out what you found so appealing about this Max Zimm.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Natalie saw a white shirt, a white chef’s hat and a very large, angry man walking with purpose. Behind him, half the staff followed.

“Oh, crap. I probably should have mentioned that Hanna is my aunt.” She spoke quickly, intending to head off the disaster. “In fact, everyone who works here is related to me in some way.”

“Why, ‘oh, crap’?” he asked, turning to look. His body stiffened and for a second she thought he was going to bolt.

“Uncle Victor,” she said, stepping out in front of Max. “Stop, please.” Holding out her hands slowed the oncoming horde. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. Max has been a complete gentleman. We’ve just had a misunderstanding.”

The army stopped advancing, although Uncle Victor didn’t look very mollified. “What kind misunderstanding?”

“There was a mix-up. I thought he was someone else and I was embarrassed. So if you could all go back inside, that would be good.”

Five pairs of eyes, not including Natalie’s, stared at Max as if they wanted him to swear a blood oath that every word she’d said was true. To his credit, his smile almost seemed real.

“Go on,” she said, herding them back. “Someone’s probably stealing all the spoons. I’ll report in later.”

“You come back in,” Hanna said. “Victor will cook something special, okay?”

“No, thank you, Titka. I don’t want to go back now. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Vī pevnі?” Hanna asked.

Natalie widened her smile. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Her aunt leaned closer, and in a whisper that could have been heard in Times Square, said, “He’s very handsome.”

“I know he is, but someone’s waiting to pay for their meal,” Natalie said, then watched until the whole lot of them were inside.

Max cleared his throat. “I suggest we get the hell out of here before they change their minds.”

“Excellent idea.”

Halfway up the stairs, he touched her arm again. It was sweet. He was being sweet. It made her nervous and a little more excited than was wise.

Once on the street, he tugged her near the store behind them. “I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’m hungry enough to eat my shoe. Let’s try this again. Start fresh. Eat. Have a drink. Talk?”

She should say no. It was utterly unlike her to even consider doing otherwise.

“Come on. We’ve already been through maximum discomfort, right?”

She didn’t argue, although she could think of half a dozen ways things could get worse. However, Max being such a mensch had her renewing her vow to never, ever go back to Oliver. Which meant getting back on the horse. No more running away like a child. “All right. But only under two conditions.”

His eyes narrowed and, damn, suspicion looked good on him. “What would those be?”

“You pick the restaurant. And when we talk, we don’t mention the cards at all.”

“Deal,” he said, his grin crooked and fine. “I know just the place.” Taking her hand in his, he walked her to the curb and hailed a taxi. He held the door for her, then gave the cabbie an address in the West Village.

* * *

THE LAST PIECE of pizza margherita was tempting, but Max let it go. He didn’t want to be too full, not for the night he had planned. Coming to Trattoria Spaghetto had been just the thing. It was an old-school restaurant—good food and decent house wine that had been served quickly.

“I still don’t know what kind of law you practice,” she said. “All we’ve talked about is movies.” She dotted her lips with her napkin and sipped her Chianti.

She’d been right to ban the mention of the cards. Not that he didn’t want to know things about her, aside from what she looked like out of that dress. The conversation had been easy once they’d settled in, and Natalie really was interesting. She could write a book about old films and restoration, a topic he’d never considered worth his time, but he’d read it cover to cover. Now that it was his turn to talk about work, he didn’t want to. Surprising, since he’d been basking in the praise from his victorious precedent-setting case.

“I’ve liked discussing movies,” he said. “It’s a lot more interesting than tort law.”

“I don’t know much about that. I mean, I know that tort is civil law, like personal injury or class-action suits, but I have no idea what you actually do.”

“Infrequently, I’m in court, which can be interesting and tense, although compared to trials in films, real court is long and plodding. It’s a great remedy for insomnia.”

“More frequently?”

“It’s a lot like having homework every day of your life. Looking up precedents, and not just recent ones. One time I actually used something from the ancient Greeks to help hone a point.”

“Huh,” she said. “That’s what librarians do.”

“Yeah, but they don’t get to bill for the hours.”

“And more’s the pity.” She pushed her hair back over her shoulder, turning her head to look at the neighboring table.

He took the opportunity to look down at the soft roundness of her breasts, the contrast between the scarlet of the dress and her pale skin. For the last forty minutes, he’d hardly looked away from her eyes. They were brown, not a particularly memorable shade, but with their passion and subtle drama they’d held him captive.

Jesus, the longer he was with her, the more he wanted her. Although he couldn’t help wondering if this level of attraction would have been there if he hadn’t been living like a monk for such a long time.

“I’m full,” she said, facing him again. “And glad we did this.”

“You’re not throwing in the towel yet, are you? It’s still early.”

“Maybe for you. But I’m very dull. By ten most nights I’m already in my PJs watching TV.”

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