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life with someone
     you’re not in love with?”
    “No,” I said softly.
    “Then you did the right thing,” Michael said. “And who cares if you’re thirty-five?”
    I rolled my eyes. “Everyone, apparently.”
    “Yeah, well, that’s stupid,” Michael said. “No offense to any of your family and friends. But thirty-five is just a number.”
    I shrugged.
    “You want to hear another number?” he asked.
    I looked up, wondering what he meant.
    He smiled. “Sixty. Or, if you’re lucky, sixty-five or seventy.”
    “What?”
    “The number of years in the rest of your life,” he said. “By that count, you’re only a third of the way through, right? Do
     you really want to spend the second two-thirds of your life with someone you
know
isn’t right for you?”
    I smiled. “No.”
    “Okay, then. Now we’re getting somewhere.”
    Our eyes met, and for a moment, I couldn’t look away. I had this sudden, crazy, overwhelming feeling that there was something
     more between us than there should have been. I held my breath without meaning to, and I had the distinct feeling he was holding
     his, too.
    And then, just as quickly as it had started, the moment was over. I blinked and took a deep breath. He coughed and looked
     away. And Becky chose that moment to come bursting through the kitchen doors in a cloud of ivory silk.
    “Cat!” she exclaimed, her eyes alighting on me. She glanced at Michael and looked confused. “Hi,” she said warily.
    “Hi,” he responded cheerfully, as if this was the most normal situation in the world. “It’s the new Mrs. Cash! How’s the reception
     going?”
    “Um, it’s good,” Rebecca said. She cleared her throat and looked at me. “Are you okay?” she asked. Her eyes darted to Michael
     and then back at me.
    I smiled. “I’m fine. Michael here was just helping me out with something,” I said. Becky still looked confused, so I added,
     “This is his restaurant.”
    Becky just looked at me. “I know,” she said. “I met with him last month about the food. A meeting
you
skipped, by the way, because you were supposedly too busy with some accounting emergency.” She looked back and forth between
     us. “What on earth was he helping you with in the kitchen?”
    I opened my mouth to reply, but Michael answered for me. “Your sister was asking me about various olive oil varieties,” he
     said quickly. “I was just explaining the difference between virgin and extra-virgin.”
    I stifled a laugh. Becky still looked suspicious.
    “Okay. But maybe you could rejoin the wedding now,” she said, “considering you’re the maid of honor. Maybe you could find
     out about olive oil later?” Now she just looked annoyed.
    “Yes, of course,” I said quickly. “Sorry.”
    I turned to Michael and smiled. “Thanks,” I said. He smiled, and I added, “For the lesson about olive oil.”
    “I hope it made you feel a little better,” he said. Then he glanced at Becky and back at me. “About olive oil,” he added.
    I grinned. “Thanks,” I said again. I turned to follow Becky, who had already flounced out of the kitchen, muttering to herself.
     But Michael’s deep voice stopped me before I made it to the door.
    “Listen,” he said. “If you want to talk olive oil again, maybe we could have dinner sometime.”
    My heart was thudding suddenly. I looked at him in surprise. I didn’t think it was my imagination that he looked a little
     nervous.
    Before I could stop it, a voice that didn’t sound like my own said, “That sounds great.”
    “Like, Monday?” he asked.
    I took a deep breath. “Monday sounds fine.”
    “Good,” Michael said. He smiled at me as I scribbled my name and number on a piece of paper. He glanced at it before slipping
     it into his pocket. “It was nice to meet you.”
    “Yeah,” I said. I shook my head and smiled. “You, too.”



Chapter Three
    O n Monday morning, I arrived at work at 7:30 a.m. on the dot, earlier than almost everyone