Page 50 of Meant to Be

“Thank you,” I said feeling shy, attempting to pet Thursday again. Joe intercepted my hand, then led me down the hall to his apartment. Though he’d mentioned living in a loft, I was still a little blown away by how dramatic and cavernous it was. With floor-to-ceiling steel-framed windows, exposed brick walls, and a completely open floor plan, the space was very cool, but also a bitcold,and I couldn’t decide whether I loved or hated it. As I walked the whole way into the room, putting my bag on his mammoth brown leather sectional, I decided that I wouldn’t want to live in a place like this—I preferred cozy spaces—but that it was nice to visit. Perfect for a one-to-several-night stand.

“What do you think?” Joe asked.

“It’s great,” I said, glancing at him, “for a bachelor pad.”

“Ouch,”he said. “Maybe you can help me spruce it up some? I need some more end tables and lamps and stuff.”

I smiled and said, “You don’t need my help.”

“Yes, I do,” he said. “You have great taste. And I want you to like it here.”

“You do, huh?” I said, raising my eyebrows, nonchalantly flirting. “Why’s that?”

“Because I likeyou,” he said. “And I want you to be comfortable here…so you keep coming back.”

Before I could respond, he put his arms around my waist and gave me a kiss. “I told you it wasn’t a ‘one and done,’ ” he whispered.

My heart racing again, I thought,Shit. You sure did.

“Okay. Now that that’s settled…are you hungry?”

“A little,” I said, thinking that I never really knew how to answer that question. Maybe it was a by-product of modeling for so many years—but I’d trained myself not to think about food—unless I was downright ravenous.

“Well, as you know, I can’t cook. But I do epic appetizers,” he said, gesturing over to his kitchen. “Wanna see?”

I nodded as we took a long stroll to the other side of the room, where he’d laid out a banquet-size platter. It was loaded with wheels of cheese and little rows of crackers and rolled-up meats and enough dried fruit to choke a horse.

“Impressive,” I said.

“Wait. Is that impressive as inimpressive? Or impressivefor a bachelor?”

I gazed down at the board, pretending to scrutinize his work, then said, “I’d say it’s impressive on an absolute basis.”

“Yesss,” he said, pumping his fist in the air like he’d just sunk the winning shot of a basketball game. “Now. Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure,” I said, leaning on the counter.

“Beer? Wine? Or I can make you a cocktail? My bartending skills are legit, too.”

I smiled and told him that I’d love a glass of wine.

“Red or white?”

“Whatever’s open.”

He shook his head and said, “Nope. I’m opening one for you. Forus. Please choose.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding. “I’d love a glass of red, please.”

Joe gave me a brisk bartender’s nod as he rubbed his palms together, then walked over to a small built-in wine refrigerator, scanning the bottles and selecting one from the bottom row. I watched as he used an old-school corkscrew to open the bottle, took two stemmed glasses from a cabinet, and carefully poured our glasses, wiping the side of the bottle with a dish towel. He returned to the island to hand me the slightly fuller glass, standing at the corner of the counter, perpendicular to me.

I thanked him as he raised his glass in the air and looked in my eyes. “To ourthirddate.”

“But who’s counting?” I said, clinking my glass against his.

“Iam,” he said as we both took a sip. “I’m sentimental like that.”

“Are you?”

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