“Is this a bad time?” he asked when she didn’t say anything else.
“No, it’s good,” Chloe said, but suddenly something didn’t sound right. And it didn’t feel so good anymore either. “Who is this?”
“Dan Henderson. I told you I’d call you about dinner.”
Yeah, but I was really hoping you were your partner. “Yes, I’m sorry I . . . didn’t recognize your voice.” That sweet tingling down her spine faded to disappointment.
“You have that many men calling you?” he teased.
“Right,” she teased back, but her heart pounded with the decision she was about to make. Did she agree to dinner with a guy who didn’t make her skin tingle? A man who her best friend had a crush on?
Or did she run home, pull out Bob—her only expected company—set him on her dinner table, and pretend she wasn’t alone? She could throw a frozen dinner into the microwave and pretend she didn’t want more out of life.
“So . . . how about tomorrow night? I know a great little Italian place,” Dan said.
“Italian, huh?” she managed to say.
“Yeah. Their Chicken Marsala and Tiramisu are to die for.”
She’d already died once this week and wasn’t really up to doing that again. Then, glancing up, she stared at the blinking cursor on her computer screen and the only two words she’d written in almost a year.