I regret a lot about last night. I regret that after I left the café, I went to a bar. I regret the amount I had to drink.

I don’t know quite how I ended up at Olive’s apartment. At one moment, I was chugging a shot of bourbon, and the next, I was standing outside her door. A voice in my head was telling me I ought to go home. Before I did one more thing I would regret.

But a small part of me regrets nothing. I had a decision to make last night. Either to forget about Joel or try to get rid of Olive. And I made that decision.

But I do regret the way my head ached when I woke up this morning. I’ve been hydrating all day, but when I leave work, the throbbing is still there in my right temple. I’m not twenty anymore— when I drink, I pay for it the next day. All I can think of is going straight home and running a nice, hot bath. Nonna won’t bother me.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Sophia Loren…”

I whirl around at the sound of the voice right behind me on the street. It sounds familiar but I don’t put it together until I see the face. It’s that guy, Dean, who I met in the park. The friend of Joel’s.

He flashes a smile at me that makes his one dimple pop. “What are the chances, right?”

“Right,” I mumble, thinking wistfully about the bath at home.

He arches an eyebrow. “I think fate could be bringing us together.” “I don’t know about that.”

He takes a step toward me. He’s wearing a jacket, but underneath he’s got on a pair of slacks that look expensive. A tie peeks out from his collar. He doesn’t have on scrubs, that’s for sure. I wonder what he does for a living.

“I have to be honest,” Dean says. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that day.”

I laugh despite myself. “Well, I’m sure you’ll get over it.” “I’m not so sure.”

“I am.”

“No.” He shakes his head sadly. “I think you should take pity on me.

Let me take you out to dinner.”

“I, uh…” I look down at my hands. “I’m sorry.” He winces. “All right. I had to try, right?”

He’s staring directly into my eyes. His eyes are so dark and intense. In spite of the fact that I don’t want to go out with him, I respect his perseverance.

“How about peanuts?” he says. I blink at him. “Peanuts?”

He jerks his head at the cart a few feet away from us that’s roasting up some peanuts. “Let me buy you some peanuts. Not dinner—just peanuts.”

I hesitate. They do smell really good. But they never taste quite as good as they smell.

“Come on.” He seizes on my hesitation. “It’s not a big deal. It’s literally just peanuts.”

“Okay,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

“Yeah?” He looks surprised I agreed. “Well, great. Let me get them before you change your mind.”

So he buys one large greasy bag of peanuts, then we sit down on the steps of a nearby building to share them. The step feels very cold when I first settle down, but the peanuts are warm when I reach my hand into the bag.

“See?” Dean says. “Isn’t this great?” “It’s not so bad,” I admit.

I reach into the bag to take more peanuts, and this time Dean’s hand brushes against mine. I get a little tingle that goes through me, and when I raise my eyes, he’s grinning at me. He’s admittedly very cute.

“How are the peanuts, Miss Loren?” he says. “Good,” I manage.

“I don’t think there’s anything better than street peanuts,” he says. “What about street pretzels?”

“Nah, street peanuts win. Street pretzels are too salty.” “I don’t think they’re too salty.”

He laughs. “Really? You don’t?”

“Not at all. They’re the perfect amount of salty.”

“Geez, you have terrible taste then. I thought you’re supposed to be some kind of great chef.”

My head jerks up. “What? Who told you that?” The smile vanishes from Dean’s face. “Uh…”

I wipe the remains of the peanut dust on my slacks. “I’m going to

go.”

“No, wait!” He reaches out and puts his hand on my arm. “I’m sorry.

Please don’t go. I’ll explain.”

The irritation I’m feeling is outweighed by my desire to hear this whole story. So I stay sitting on the steps and focus my eyes on him. “Fine. Explain.”

“After I saw you at the park the other day, I told Joel I met this great girl.” He tugs at his collar, giving me another glimpse of his tie. “And he saw you standing there and… well, he told me who you are.”

Oh God. I can’t even imagine what Joel must have said about me. “He said good things,” Dean says quickly. “He said you were great,

but just… not right for him. But he told me where you work, and he said I should…”

I suck in a breath. “So this wasn’t a coincidental meeting?”

He ducks his head down. “No. It wasn’t. I’ve been waiting here for like half-an-hour, hoping to see you.”

“So basically, you decided to stalk me, lie to me, and trick me into having dinner with you?”

He smiles sheepishly. “When you say it that way, it sounds really bad.” He sighs. “Look, I just really wanted to see you again. Is that so awful? I was going to tell you the truth over dinner. Then we were going to laugh about it.”

I let out a sigh of my own. It’s hard to throw stones at Dean for plotting to meet me here. “I’m sorry,” I finally say, “you seem like a nice enough guy, but… I’m going through a lot right now. It’s… it’s not a good time in my life. I’m kind of a mess right now, to be honest.”

Dean’s brow furrows. He’s quiet for a moment, just looking at me. “I could make you forget him.”

I clear my throat. “What?”

“If you gave me a chance,” he says. “I could make you forget all about Joel. Don’t get me wrong—he’s a great guy. But he’s wrong for a woman like you. He couldn’t have made you happy.” His dark eyes stare into mine. “I could. Give me one hour and I’ll have you saying, ’Joel who?’”

I snort. “Oh, really?” “Yes, really.”

I don’t know what to say to that. But as Dean stares into my eyes, a tiny part of me believes him.

“Listen.” He reaches into his back pocket and yanks out his wallet. He pulls out a little white rectangle, and scribbles something on it with a pen from his coat. “Here’s my card, and I wrote my cell number on the back. I promise I won’t stalk you anymore, if you promise you won’t throw this away in the nearest trash can.”

I can’t suppress a smile. “What if I throw it away at home?”

“Well, that’s okay. Because it’ll be in your trash, and when you get the desperate urge to call me at two in the morning, it’ll still be retrievable.”

I finger the card. The first thing I notice is his last name. Pourakis.

He’s Greek, like I thought. And then I see the MD after his name. “You’re a doctor,” I note.

He nods. “Joel and I were premed together in college. I just relocated here from Chicago. That’s why I don’t know what to pay for a hot dog. And I can’t even imagine what other ways street vendors are taking advantage of me without a beautiful native New Yorker by my side to save me.”

I turn the card around and see the number scribbled on the back. I contemplate the digits. “So,” I say, “is that last number a five or a six?”

His face lights up. “A six.”

“Good to know,” I say. I stand up from the steps. “Nice running into you again, Dr. Pourakis.”

He stands up too. He does a little bow with just his head. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Loren.”

I put the card in the pocket of my coat. Dean Pourakis is a good guy

—even though he deceived me, I can tell that much. If I called him, he really might help me to forget Joel. But as I’m walking away, I know I won’t call him.