After spending time on the strip soaking up the sights, she returned to her hotel, invigorated. She ordered lunch from room service and uploaded her photos, eager to review the previous day’s work. As she scrolled through the images, Charlotte was thankful she had taken the assignment. She closed her laptop, content knowing the loon was safe and her photos would bring wonder to readers across the globe.

  When she ventured outside the next day, the weather was in the low eighties with no humidity. She had packed her one-piece swimsuit, unsure if she’d need it, but now she was glad she brought it with her. Her stay in Vegas wouldn’t be complete if she didn’t spend some of her time off by the poolside. She planned to find a lounge chair, take in the sun, and read the latest edition of World of Wildlife. Charlotte scoped out a spot far from the rowdy kids splashing nearby, hoping for some quiet. Stretching out on the chair, she pulled out her magazine, but despite her best intentions to read, she found herself looking around her, swept up in the electric energy of the hotel and its guests. This assignment had brought her out of her comfort zone to a bizarre, lively world she’d never experienced before. She realized how narrow her lens had been, focused solely on nature and solitude.

  Bringing her attention back to her reading material, she flipped through the glossy pages and smiled at seeing her name under the byline of a featured article. She remembered that shoot fondly; it was last summer at Yellowstone, and she had camped out all night to catch the perfect sunrise over the canyon, the waterfall, and Old Faithful. The editors had raved over the photos.

  Charlotte hoped she’d get a similar travel assignment soon. For now, she was content relaxing poolside and reminiscing over past photography adventures.

  She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, she was awakened by a presence blocking the sun.

  “You dropped these,” the form in front of her said. When she was able to focus, she saw before her a handsome man holding out her sunglasses. They must have fallen off the top of her head while she slept.

  Feeling like an idiot, she pushed herself into a sitting position. “Thanks. They’re just cheapies,” she said, then wished she’d said something else that wasn’t quite as lame.

  “The best kind. You don’t feel so bad when you break or lose them,” the man said. “Thousand-dollar sunglasses aren’t any better than the five-dollar ones.”

  She looked at him. Really looked at him. He was probably in his late thirties, possibly early forties. And tall—well over six feet, which was a bonus, since at five-foot-eight, she preferred tall men. Dark blue-black hair and piercing ice-blue eyes completed the package, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  “I agree,” she said.

  “Then we already have something in common,” he said, chuckling. “I’m Grant Ellington.” He held his hand out to her.

  “Charlotte Gray,” she responded. Butterflies danced inside her when their hands met, and it seemed like everything around them faded away, as if the world around her was nothing more than a blur, like a slow-motion scene in the background of a movie.

  Grant sat down in the lounge chair next to hers, but his eyes never left her. His attention was anchored on Charlotte. She smiled and went back to her magazine, but she was utterly aware of the scrutiny and shifted uncomfortably. A glint of sunlight reflected off Grant’s watch, catching her eye and drawing her to turn and look at him. His eyes, the color of the deep sea, met hers, and time seemed to suspend. The air between them crackled with an unspoken acknowledgment. Charlotte’s face registered shock for a fleeting moment—her brow lifting, lips parting slightly in surprise before she quickly regained her composure. She couldn’t stop herself from grinning.

  Grant, unabashed, allowed a slow, disarming smile to spread across his features. It was a grin that hinted at mischief and promised intriguing conversation.

  Charlotte’s heart responded with an unexpected leap, fluttering within her chest. In a reflexive motion, she raised the magazine as a shield, concealing all but her eyes. Behind the glossy cover, her lips curved upwards in a reluctant smile. It was a private admission of the thrill that his simple gesture had stirred within her—a smile meant only for herself. This man, a stranger mere moments ago, had unwittingly trespassed into her carefully guarded solitude with nothing more than a look and a smile. And Charlotte, seasoned in maintaining an air of indifference, found herself charmed.

  To any onlooker, it would have been a fleeting exchange—a simple smile between strangers—but to Charlotte, it felt seismic. This man, whom she knew nothing about, had unwittingly stirred something within her. And he sat there, placid and handsome, blissfully unaware of the tiny earthquake he had just set off in the heart of the woman seated beside him.

  “Charlotte Gray,” Grant said, “what are your plans for dinner tonight? If I’m out of line, please, just say so.”

  “Well, I’d planned to just order room service again,” she replied honestly. “I ordered yesterday, and it was delicious.”

  “It always is,” he agreed.

  Charlotte smiled. “You’ve been here before?”

  She hoped he would give up a bit of information about why he was here on a weekday, lying beside the pool. Maybe he was a hustler? A gigolo? A scorned lover looking for a rebound romance or a roll in the hay? Married and looking for a partner to cheat with? If so, she was not his type.

  “Many times. I’m supposed to be in a conference meeting right now, but I opted out. There are the usual commodity brokers here. I’ve heard the spiel before, so I decided to take a little break and get some fresh air.”

  “You’re a broker then?” She did recall seeing a few large banquet rooms with signage indicating a business conference.

  “Guilty,” he said, flashing her another sexy grin. “So, what’s your story?”

  “The yellow-billed loon that decided to hang out in the fountains over at the Bellagio.”

  This seemed to surprise him. “You’re a bird watcher?”

  She laughed out loud. “Yesterday I was. I’m a wildlife photographer. My editor sent me to take a few photos for the magazine. All in a day’s work.”

  “Call me impressed,” Grant said.

  “Thanks, it’s a dream job,” she said. “All I ever wanted to do.” Maybe she was adding a personal touch to their conversation that wasn’t warranted, but in all honestly, he seemed like a likable guy.

  “As much as I’d love to stay here chatting with you in the sun, I really should get back to my meeting before anyone notices I’m gone. I would very much like to continue our conversation over dinner,” Grant said.

  Without even hesitating to think about it, Charlotte nodded. “I’d like that, too.”

  “How does a seven o’clock reservation at Crush sound?”

  “That sounds perfect,” Charlotte confirmed with a nod, the corners of her mouth lifting into a tentative smile. “I’ll meet you there.” Crush. What an odd name for a restaurant. Was the name indicative of his feelings for her?

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  The promise hung between them for a moment, like a delicate thread capable of guiding her through the labyrinth of uncertainties that filled her mind. She watched Grant’s retreating figure, his confident stride and broad shoulders. She was almost surprised to realize how much she was looking forward to it, too.

  In the quiet solitude of her hotel room, the relentless heartbeat of Vegas softened to a whisper, allowing Charlotte to hear the beat of her pulse. She turned the brass handle of the shower, letting the hot water cascade over her skin, washing away the lingering heat of the desert sun and the fine dusting of apprehension that coated her thoughts. Steam enveloped her as she lathered, rinsed, and repeated—a ritual that offered both cleanliness and clarity. The water swirled at her feet, carrying away the remains of the day, and preparing her for the evening’s possibilities.

  Wrapped in the plush white hotel bathrobe, she stood before the foggy mirror, wiping away the condensation to reveal her reflection. Her fingers worked methodically, brushing through damp locks, coaxing them into soft waves that framed her face. Charlotte’s hands were steady as she applied makeup, enhancing features with subtle strokes—the gentle blush on her cheeks, the gray liner accentuating her eyes, each detail a piece of armor for the night ahead.

  She dressed carefully, stepping into black linen slacks that fell just right, skimming her silhouette. The floral printed top she chose was a bloom of color. Finally, she slipped her feet into black flat sandals, their simplicity a grounding force amidst the glittering excess outside her door.

  Charlotte took a deep breath, her reflection offering back a poised image of readiness. There was a flutter in her chest, a mix of excitement and nerves that she couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was the thrill of the unknown, or perhaps it was the pull of a connection just beginning to form. Whatever it was, she held onto it, letting it propel her forward. “Whatever happens in Vegas,” she whispered to her reflection, the cliché a talisman against the vulnerability she was afraid to show.

  With one last glance around the room, making sure nothing was amiss, Charlotte closed the door behind her, sealing away the sanctity of her private space. She stepped out, her pulse quickening as she moved toward the unknown. She navigated through the labyrinthine corridors of the hotel, her sandals whispering against the plush carpet. The scent of expensive perfumes and the low hum of conversation filled the air around her, mingling with the soft tinkling of a piano somewhere in the distance. It was all so different from the stark quiet of her room, yet it invigorated her with its vibrancy.

  As she approached the restaurant, the maître d’ stand came into view. Standing there, with an easy posture that seemed to command the space around him, was Grant. His light blue polo shirt hugged his frame in a way that suggested casual ease, while the khaki slacks he wore lent him an air of refined simplicity. She caught herself thinking, casual, yet distinguished, as if her mind sought to find the words to describe the balance he struck so effortlessly.

  His back was to her, but as if sensing her presence, Grant turned, and when his gaze found Charlotte, something remarkable happened: his eyes, those windows to whatever thoughts lay behind them, sparkled with an unmistakable light. It was as though they’d captured some of the glinting Vegas magic and were reflecting it at her. The moment seemed suspended, the busy atmosphere of the hotel fading into a hushed backdrop for the silent exchange between them. Charlotte felt herself smiling, an involuntary response to the warmth that radiated from Grant’s expression. It was a look that spoke volumes, hinting at anticipation, delight, and perhaps something deeper—an unspoken promise of what the evening could hold.

  The ambiance was perfect: low lighting, soft music, and an air of intimacy. Grant pulled out her chair, his touch sending shivers down her spine. As they settled in, Grant’s light blue eyes met hers, and she felt herself blushing.

  “Wine?” Grant offered, before motioning to the sommelier.

  “Please,” Charlotte said, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t drink much, so she would limit herself to just two glasses. Any more than that, and who knows what would happen. She was pretty conservative in her choice of men, but tonight she’d tossed all this aside, because Grant seemed perfect for her.

  As the night progressed, Charlotte found herself enjoying Grant’s company more and more. He was charming, intelligent, and had a great sense of humor. They talked about everything from their favorite books to their dreams for the future. Charlotte was surprised and delighted to learn that Grant was also an East Coaster. He lived in Connecticut but had an apartment in New York City because he often had to be there for business. She found herself lost in Grant’s stories, hanging on every word. Time flew by, and before they knew it, the restaurant had emptied around them.

  “I can’t believe it’s so late,” Grant said, checking his watch. “I’ve had a wonderful time.”

  “Me too,” Charlotte gushed, not wanting the evening to end.

  They walked out of the restaurant, and Grant offered to walk her to her room. He had been a total gentleman all evening, so Charlotte easily accepted his offer. They walked in easy silence until Charlotte stopped at her door and turned to him.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening,” Charlotte managed to say, her heartbeat hammering in her ears.

  Grant’s eyes held hers, and for a moment, she thought he would lean in and kiss her. But he simply smiled and bowed his head. “The pleasure was mine, Charlotte. I must confess …”

  Charlotte’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath catching in anticipation of what Grant was about to say. She couldn’t help but lean in closer, her eyes locking with his.

  “I’m … I’m quite smitten with you,” he continued, taking a deep breath. “I think we should do this again.”

  Relief washed over her, followed by a tinge of disappointment. Of course, it was too soon for him to confess his undying love for her; they’d only just had one date. But there was a flicker of hope in his eyes that made her think that maybe, just maybe, he felt something too, other than desire.

  “I’d like that,” she managed to say, praying that her blushing wasn’t visible in the dim light outside the door to her hotel room.

  Grant smiled, this time more shyly, and Charlotte’s heart skipped a beat. He leaned in and brushed her cheek with a feather-light kiss. “Goodnight, Charlotte. Sweet dreams.”

  “Goodnight, Grant,” she managed to squeak out before he turned and walked away.

  Charlotte stepped inside her room and let out a deep breath she didn’t realize she was holding. As she changed into leggings and a T-shirt, her mind raced with thoughts of him and the possibilities of their next encounter. She realized she couldn’t wait for their next date and wondered what else the future held for them.

  Chapter Ten

  Charlotte waited patiently in line at the crowded deli, anticipating her turn to order her favorite sandwich, turkey with jalapeño jack cheese on sourdough bread, with extra tomato and a swipe of ground mustard. Suddenly, her phone rang, and she saw Grant’s name displayed on the screen. With a surge of adrenaline, she stepped out of line and headed toward the door to escape the noisy chaos of the deli and answer his call.

  “Grant,” she breathed out, struggling to contain her excitement, trying not to seem too eager to hear from him.

  “I can hear the city in the background,” Grant observed.

  “I do live here.” Charlotte laughed. “I’m at my favorite deli.”

  “Don’t eat too much. I’m heading into the city this evening. Would you like to have dinner? Some place quiet, not too fancy, where we can be alone.”

  She didn’t have any place in mind other than Valerie, where she and Alex had dinner that one time. But Charlotte didn’t want to go there with Grant, as it’d been such a special night with Alex. “I’ll let you choose. Remember, I’m fairly new to the city.” Well, sort of, she thought.

  “I think I know a place. Do you want to meet me at the restaurant, or would you rather meet me at Grand Central? My train should arrive by eight. I’ll order a car service if you want to meet at the station.”

  Why did folks in the city always have such late dinners? Or suppers, as she’d always called them. It didn’t matter, but still, it was something she hadn’t gotten used to, and probably never would. She was a true-blue Southern woman in many ways. Traveling the world hadn’t changed that.

  “Sure, I’ll meet you at the station.” She’d people-watch while she waited, a new pastime she’d picked up since her move to the city. Sometimes she brought her camera when she was out and about, capturing photos of the people, the city, the uniqueness of all that surrounded her.

  Later that evening, she stepped outside her apartment and hailed a cab. “Grand Central,” she instructed, her gaze focused out the window, watching the blur of yellow taxis and skyscrapers rushing by. She leaned her head against the cool glass, allowing the hum of the city to lull her into a daydream.

  The pulse of New York’s Grand Central Station greeted Charlotte as she entered the terminal, the city’s electric vitality a stark contrast to the neon-soaked nights of Las Vegas she had just left behind. She always loved going to the station and studying the giant curved ceiling. She had read that it was an image of the constellations, but from beyond the heavens and looking down toward Earth. In 1944, more than fifty painters were involved in its restoration, duplicating the mural on fiberboard panels.

  Her thoughts returned to Grant. The way his smile had teased the corners of his mouth, how his hand felt firm and warm in hers as he walked her back to her room. They’d spoken on the phone several times since meeting in Las Vegas. Charlotte tried to get him to FaceTime with her since they both had iPhones, but he said he didn’t like that. He told her he wanted to imagine what she wore, how she looked. FaceTime would take away all the mystery. She didn’t agree, but it wasn’t that big of a deal.

  Unsure of the dress code of the restaurant he’d had in mind, she went halfway. A little casual, but not too much. She wore a rose-colored skirt, tan suede boots, and a chunky cream sweater. It was getting cold, and she hated being cold. Though she didn’t like being hot, either; after all the years of living in the South, she didn’t care for the heat and humidity. She did love autumn now that she’d experienced one in the city. So autumn would be her favorite season from now on.

  As eight o’clock approached, Charlotte’s heart pounded a relentless rhythm against her chest, echoing the clatter of the slowing train as it pulled into the station. She scanned the sea of disembarking passengers, each face blurring past until—there.