The Night I Got Lucky by Laura Caldwell Page A

, I could come out tonight, and we could make dinner.” There was nothing that made my mother happier than the thought of having one of her girls home with a pot simmering on the stove. The sad fact was this dream rarely became a reality.
    “How about tomorrow night, sweetie? We can go out.”
    “Out?” I said.
    “I’l meet you at Milrose. That way it’l be right off the highway for you.”
    I was shocked into momentary silence. Milrose was a restaurant and brewery in Barrington, and it was, just as my mother had said, right off the highway I would take from Chicago. I had suggested dinner there numerous times before, but my mother said the bar was too crowded and the food too pricey, so we always got together at her house.
    “Do you want me to pick you up?” I said.
    “No, no. I’l see you there tomorrow. 7:00?”
    “Okay. I won’t bring Chris, so we can have some girl time.”
    The static grew louder, and then she was gone.

    Later that morning, Evan stuck his head in my office. “How’d you feel yesterday?” His eyes twinkled mischievously.
    “I assume you’re referring to the vodka, but I can hold my own.” I said this in a pompous voice, while I fiddled with a few pens, sticking them in the mug on my desktop.
    “Since when?”
    “You haven’t gone out with me for a while. You’re real y too much of an amateur, so I had to move onto different pastures.”
    “Oh, different pastures, huh?” He stepped into the office and leaned against the wal , one leg crossed, toe on the ground. He wore gray pants and a light blue shirt. “I thought your other pasture was at home in front of the TV with your husband.”
    “Nope, that’s not the case.” And it wasn’t. Although he was right about the TV, he wasn’t right about Chris. Until the last week, we hadn’t spent much time together at al .
    Evan made another joke about my “pastures,” and we bantered, just like we’d done many times before, but I noticed his words were more flirty than usual, his jaunty lean against the wal more practiced. And Evan was giving me “the eyes”—a pointed stare I’d seen him give other women when the conversation was light but he was imagining something much heavier.
    “How about lunch?” Evan said. “I was thinking RL.”
    Although Evan and I frequently had lunch together, it was usual y at Subway or the salad place downstairs. RL, on the other hand, the very chic Ralph Lauren café, was Evan’s official first date spot.
    “We don’t need anything fancy,” I said.
    “I want to treat you.”
    “Why?”
    He uncrossed the leg and moved until he was standing in front of my desk. He leaned forward, hands on the desk, and a lock of blond hair fel across his eyes. “Why do you think, Bil y?”
    The sound of my name coming from his mouth made me shiver. I could remember vividly the feel of his breath in my ear Saturday night. “I’m not sure. Why don’t you spel it out for me?” I couldn’t help it. I leaned forward too, and now our faces were only a few inches apart.
    We stared into each other’s eyes. I found it hard to get air in my chest. I had a crazy desire to press into his lips.
    Final y, he spoke. “Because of your promotion. We never got to celebrate.” His words were mundane, but his voice husky, as if imparting an erotic secret.
    “Uh-huh,” I said, my lungs stil struggling to work.
    “Wel ?” Evan said. He smiled with one side of his face, the dimple there denting his skin adorably.
    I made myself sit back in my chair. Once the nearness of him was gone, I was left feeling cold and sil y. “I think I’d better pass.”
    “Why?”
    I murmured excuses about meetings and projects, but the truth was plain—I couldn’t trust myself around Evan.

    As I ate a carry-out Caesar salad, Lizbeth came into my office. She was more comfortable around me since our talk last week, yet stil not truly relaxed. As a result, I tried hard to be engaging and kind, but managerial and bosslike. This