Page 13

Before

On the night of our first date, Will’s contact information was in my phone as: Hot Mean Lawyer. That’s how temporary I expected his presence to be.

Keep it light, Nora. Have some fun.

I dressed for the date like I was playing a part, leaning into the role of the twentysomething going on a date with a divorced dad.

I drew on a slight cat eye eyeliner and fire-engine red lipstick.

Not too edgy, but a little more fun than I imagined Will and his circle of friends were used to.

I pulled on a sleeveless black Anthropologie dress with a trendy cutout in the back—one of the pricier pieces in my wardrobe—and thought: Hot, mean lawyers probably like the color black, right?

It wasn’t that I didn’t take the date seriously.

Quite the opposite. He seemed like a good guy, a dedicated dad, and an accomplished professional.

A real-life, in-the-flesh adult. He defied my affinity for men that no one in their right mind would describe as “husband material.” The more distant or in need of reform they were, the more I loved them.

Will might have been the first suitable man I’d ever dated.

But I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high about anything coming from our dinner.

I could imagine plenty of pitfalls that might accompany dating a busy divorced father.

And I wasn’t sure how seriously he took me either.

So, I put on a suit of armor in the form of a great outfit to feel just a little insulated from getting hurt.

I didn’t tell anyone about the date. Not my co-workers and certainly not my mother.

Not because it was a secret, but since moving back to my mom’s, I had slipped into my old habit of keeping to myself.

All of my friends from college were trying their luck in bigger cities like D.C.

, Boston, and Atlanta. My social circle was nonexistent—a casualty of my failure to launch.

Will picked some swanky Michelin star place near Park Avenue, and we agreed to meet at the restaurant.

I took a rideshare to avoid having to hand my battered Honda key fob to the valet.

As I arrived, I noted the row of expensive and rare sports cars lined up like a little boy’s prized collection of Matchbox cars.

Only there must have been a couple million dollars in vehicles on display.

I clocked Will’s car, the one he’d used to pick Mia up, in a standout position at the end.

Hot Mean Lawyer is punctual. An interesting development.

And then I saw him under the overhang outside the restaurant, in dark jeans and an untucked white button-down. But in an unwelcome turn of events, he wasn’t alone.

He was engaged in what looked like an upbeat and animated conversation with a man and a woman.

Unable to picture anything more awkward than trying to make small talk with your date’s acquaintances on a first date, I slowed my pace to avoid interrupting whatever the discussion might be and pulled out my phone, preparing myself to look busy.

“Nora.” Will looked up from his conversation and waved.

I breathed a small sigh of relief—grateful I wouldn’t have to pretend to be on my phone composing a work email about…what exactly? A shortage of name tags at the museum’s front desk? Too much chlorine in the club’s pool?

God. I’m going to get through this date and then I’m going straight home to research grad schools.

He tapped the man on the back in a warm but wordless goodbye and headed my way.

“You look great,” he said, grinning like a goddamn homecoming king. There was that fluttering in my stomach again. “Have you tried this place before?” He gestured toward the building behindus.

“You’ll be shocked to hear I don’t get out a ton.” I shook my head as we made our way toward the entrance. “But if Zagat ever needs a comprehensive review of everything from the snack shop at the club, I’m their girl.”

“I will keep that in mind the next time I’m on the fence between a chicken salad sandwich and the BLT.”

“Chicken salad. No contest.”

He reached ahead to open the door for me.

“Welcome, Mr. Somerset.” The hostess beamed at the sight ofhim.

“Hey, Lily.” He nodded.

He’s on a first-name basis with the hostess. Bet he doesn’t even have to order his drink.

Lily grabbed menus and led us through the crowded dining room.

As we made our way, I became acutely aware of how many people took notice of our arrival.

A few waitstaff smiled in recognition at Will as he walked by.

One of them even gave a little wave. We arrived at a small table near the window in the back and sat down while I pretended to be unaffected by the attention.

Lily batted her eyelashes just a little bit in Will’s direction. “Would you like to see the wine list tonight, or will you be having the usual?”

I can only imagine what Hot Mean Lawyer’s usual is. A James Bond martini served on a hardbound copy of the Declaration of Independence?

“Do you like red?” he asked me.

I nodded.

“Does Chef have any of that Barolo left? The 2016?”

“I believe he does.”

She smiled at him while I watched surreptitiously to see if he noticed her fawning over him.

Tack on another point for Hot Mean Lawyer: He didn’t.

Lily flitted off to the front of the restaurant as a pair of bussers arrived right behind her to fill our water glasses.

“Evening, Mr. Somerset. Good to see you again.” They both nodded before returning to their stations.

“So you never come here, huh?” I said once we were alone.

“Turns out being a divorced dad means I’m on first-name terms with about half of the hostesses in the city and most of the takeout delivery drivers. It’s pretty embarrassing actually.”

“Mr. Somerset.” A man in a blazer with open arms was walking our way. “How are you this evening? Such a pleasure to see you again.”

Will pretended to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, hiding a guilty smile.

“I’m Michael. I’ll be taking care of you all this evening,” the man said.

“Hi, Michael. I’m Nora,” I replied. “Can I ask—just between us—how many times do you see this man in a calendar month? Be honest.”

Will chuckled. “Thank you, Michael. Give us a few minutes.”

After Michael walked away, I looked at Will. “Seriously, do you live here? Because that is so sad.”

“You know, it takes months to get a table here.” His eyes were alight with humor. “Some people would consider it a flex that I’m able to get a table here so often.”

“Is it a flex? Or are you sleeping on a little cot in the back?”

“You got me. Michael happens to be my emergency contact.”

“It’s nice, though. I’m flattered. Most guys let a few dates go by before introducing a girl to their closest friends.”

Now, we were both grinning.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” he asked.

“So badly.”

We made our exit—leaving a bewildered Michael in the dining room—and started walking a quarter of a mile to another spot.

Ten minutes later, we were tucked into a tufted leather booth at Fiddler’s Green, the noisy Irish pub filled with a live band covering everything from the Cranberries to Dropkick Murphys.

And in a welcome change, we weren’t being greeted every thirty seconds by someone Will knew.

The floor was sticky with beer, and the laminated menu featured bar food, like shepherd’s pie and fish and chips.

We ordered potato wedges and chicken tenders to split along with pints of Guinness.

“Don’t tell Michael about this,” Will said as the food arrived. “He would be utterly crushed.”

Because of the volume in the bar, he had to lean in a little so I could hear him when he spoke, putting just the faintest hint of clean laundry and cologne in the air between us.

Despite his designer jeans and French-cuffed shirt, he didn’t look out of place in the rowdy bar’s dim lighting. He looked mouthwatering.

The silliness from the previous restaurant had subsided. Maybe it was something to do with the tight quarters of the booth. The way, when a room is rowdy, you have to look at someone— really look at them—to follow along with the conversation. Whatever it was, the air between us was charged.

“Your secret is safe with me.” I crossed my heart with one finger. “But for the record, ‘dive bar’ looks good on you.”

He raised an eyebrow at the compliment. “I’ll remember that.”

“So, what kind of law do you practice?” I asked, deciding it might be better if I broached the career conversation before he asked me about my thrilling adventures answering phones.

“I’m a plaintiff’s attorney.”

“As in, you sue people?”

“Only if they really deserve it.” There was that winning smile again.

Juries must swoon for this guy.

“How’d you get into that line of work?”

“I met my partner, Fritz, when we were roommates in law school. His dad had a practice that he wanted to keep in the family. We decided to take it over from him when we graduated. The firm was struggling by the time we took the reins, but we’ve built it into something I’m proud of.

It’s nice to know that our work really helps people who, in all likelihood, have been through something terrible. ”

I wish I could say Will’s speech sounded rehearsed, but his humility was almost more attractive than he was.

I wasn’t above googling a guy before meeting him for a date, and from what I had been able to find about Will and his law firm, Hall & Somerset, had amassed a fortune in damages for clients, recovering billions of dollars, meaning the firm had earned at least hundreds of millions in revenue.

To hear Will talk about it, though, his work was just like any other salt-of-the-earth endeavor.

“What about you?” he asked. “Have you found a career you’re passionate about yet?”