Desiree's name flashed across the screen of Harris' phone. He palmed it, pushed to his feet, swiveling his head, searching for a private corner to escape to. People were everywhere. They spread their elbows, rocked in their chairs, had their bags in the aisles, blocking his way to the door.

Second ring.

He wouldn't make it to his truck without having to redial, and would Desiree pick up if he did?

Harris lowered his butt back into his chair. His unfinished beer and the bills Sam left would keep the servers away. The bustle would hide his words better than any doors. He inhaled deep and tapped the screen just as the third ring just started up. "Good evening, beautiful."

And he was worried about someone overhearing that? He leaned his shoulder blades against the chair's back and took a sip of his beer. It cooled his tongue and his nerves.

"Hello." A smile in the sound of Desiree's nasal voice so wide, he pictured it from the photos on her profile. She had one of the loveliest smiles in Milwaukee.

"Sounds like you're partying," she said.

"It was supposed to be a business meeting of sorts, but I lucked out with this bar. It's buzzing." He paused, realizing he couldn't leave it at that. "Want to drop by?"

"Tempting, but no. I have to get an early start tomorrow. Exciting project, and I need to clear some backlog before I dive into it."

"Clients, files and deadlines, right?"

"Something like that, yes." Desiree sounded exactly like his mother used to—no wonder Dad had picked her from all the options on Tinder.

It was uncanny how often Dad found women who resembled Mom in some ways in his matchmaking efforts. Unless...unless Harris saw his mother in every woman he met. But no. No. Ablaze had never made him think of his mother. She made him think of arson.

Harris kept back a wince. "We're on for this Saturday though? Or are you working weekends too?"

She let the previously suppressed chuckle out. It's throaty and full of promises. "Never, that's the rule. I work hard, I play harder."

"Good rule." Maybe Desiree, like Ablaze, had nothing in common with his mother. "I like it."

"So, yes, we're on for Saturday. But a word of a warning—"

Harris took another sip of his beer and almost folded his legs under him in his chair, like he was sitting in the living room at home. Desiree's voice was so jazzy, it would make every surrounding feel like home. He could close his eyes and relax, letting her words wash over him, no matter what she said.

"If you're reading into our texts, I should warn you. I just got out of a category five relationship," Desiree said. "I'm not looking for anything serious."

Perhaps he couldn't relax too much. He sat up straighter. "Way to get the important things out of the way first."

"I've learned that it saves a lot of bumps down the road."

"I promise you, I'm not buying an engagement ring every time I meet a cool girl."

"So the drama was for the podcast's sake, reality-TV style?"

The podcast! He snorted in his beer, stirring up the flat foam. His bickering with Ablaze hit the Internet by now. Those who watched saw him wiggle out of that awkward spot with her boyfriend. It was wild seeing Ablaze's fanbase extend beyond Singapore, let alone to his home turf. Though how could they not watch it here? In Milwaukee, he might have gone viral with his fake confessions, dammit.

"Of course. Ablaze wanted a personal story to hype the interest in fire safety. If it increases the cash flow to the Milwaukee's Fire Department, I'm game."

"The calendars didn't do it this year, Mr. March?"

Desiree saw his Mr. March photo in last year's fundraiser calendar? Good Lord! What Dad did not pin to his dating profile? The yearbook page from the chess tournament? Grade one photo where he looked sideways? A few more discoveries like that, and he'd envy loners who live off the grid.

"We have to diversify our sources of funding," he said.

"I might come up with more suggestions for your marketing division on Sunday."

Harris brought the phone closer to his lips. "Wear something nice, yes?"

"I believe the line you were looking for was, 'what are you wearing?'"

That throaty laughter of hers! "I mean, for Saturday."

"I'll find a pair of pants without stains."

He wanted to bang his head on the table. That. Damned. Podcast. "That would be a great start."

She laughed ever more throatily, and louder. "I know what Ablaze looks like, Harris, and she has no idea what I look like. Therefore, I have an advantage, and whatever game you play—"

"No games!"

Why did the denial pop right out of his mouth? Though it could have been wistfulness rather than a flat-out denial. He was drinking in a place oozing the vibe of hook-ups, white lies and lost hopes.

"If you say so, but if we lose the beautiful couple contest, it's because of you, not me," Desiree replied. "See you Saturday."

"See you, Desiree."

She had already hung up, but a crooked smile slowly spread over his lips. His date was too smart to believe a word he said. It was better for both of them this way, with no illusions. Dad had made a perfect match this time. If they failed to look like a dream couple on Saturday, he would only have himself to blame.

"And we can't have that, not with people everywhere watching the match-up." This wasn't for him. He climbed to his feet, saluted the bar with his mug and roared, "To Milwaukee!"

"Yeah! To Milwaukee!" the total strangers hollered back. "Wisconsin!" And even, "Go, Bucks!" since every bar is a sports bar.

On Saturday night, Harris parked in Desiree's driveway.

Her house didn't need work done, it was so new. A few lots around were still under construction. Fortunately, her garden wasn't a dusty patch. They laid some grass and one scraggly tree protruded from the middle of it. The porch was practical, with a white railing, white door and a thick doormat to stand on. Shutters, also white, blocked the window. It was too early for the lights to be turned on inside, but when its yellow glow pooled on the concrete steps, the house might feel less indifferent.

If Harris hadn't pressed the doorbell button already, he would have hopped back into his truck and drove to the nearest garden center to bring a pot of ubiquitous petunias to brighten these front steps. If Ablaze owned a house, there would be orchids or hydrangeas or something else weird on her porch. Something exciting. He should have asked her, quiz-like, what flowers would you have in your front yard? They had talked of everything and nothing since that awkward Wednesday to avoid the subject of Oliver and Desiree.

Only their conversations, like Alice in Wonderland, returned to their significant others the more they tried to run away from it. Without Sam to chaperone them, they played this flirting footsie till they were breathless. And since he knew so little about Desiree, he filled in the gaps—

He tugged the sleeves of his rented tux down and sucked his teeth. Why wasn't she coming to the door? Did he offend her with one of those gap filling attempts? He thought it was all complimentary.

The heels clicked inside the house, and the door swung open. "Hello there, Harris."

Were he a cartoon character, his jaw would have hit the petunia-free doorstep. Since he was a human, he whistled softly. "You look astounding."

Desiree's dress is sleeveless, with a lace bodice and floaty skirts bringing to mind Marylin Monroe, only it wasn't white. It was a gorgeous blue against her warm skin. Countless rows of turquoise and golden beads cinched her waist, while a matching necklace draped the base of her neck. The earrings were the same. Her hair's a mass of tiny braids, with gold thread sparkling in their dark.

"Thank you," she said and pecked him on the cheek without straining, since her golden sandals added three inches to her lithe figure. The gesture coated him in her perfume and made him vibrate like a guitar string.

She sashayed to his truck, and he shook his stupor off to open the door for her, while a blush warmed his cheeks. A girl like this should ride in convertibles, in a Ferrari, a Porsche, in something classy.

He offered her a Dodge that had seen better times. On the upside, the truck seat was perfect for her to dangle her gold-strapped ankles. So long, so slender, it made him whistle once more.

She wrinkled her nose, arranging her skirt on the worn fabric. "Where are the old coffee cups and half-eaten donuts? Or is it a police officer, not a fire-fighter?"

"I'm a bit of a neat-freak," he confessed, closed the passenger door and climbed behind the wheel. "At work, I see damaged, burned things every day. I balance it out, I suppose. So, if you're into guys who scrub every surface and fix everything they can lay their hands on, I'm your guy."

"Intriguing."

He caught her glance in the rearview mirror. Acceptance over a rapid-fire question or a tease? It was refreshing after a few days in Ablaze's company. Why was he stuck on her, when it was much more logical for him to be with Desiree, who didn't have a boyfriend, was from Milwaukee and as level-headed as it got?

After Harris parked at the convention center, Desiree hooked her arm through his. They entered a giant ballroom. It had a gorgeous crystal ceiling feature and round tables all set for dinner with china.

There was hardly a man whose gaze didn't linger on Harris' date. Maybe, for once, he was doing something right. He was with a girl his dad approved of. While when Harris confronted him about Oliver, Dad just shrugged. Why would I ruin your illusions?

What else could he need? The fireworks? But the fireworks—

His roving gaze landed on Ablaze and a tall blond man who could only be Oliver. Seeing his arm around her like that, Harris' breath hitched. The lights went on a full strobe, like someone was playing a trick...only nobody did. It was all in his head. Maybe Lance had given him decent advice, and he needed his head examined. Because at the sight of Ablaze, a woman who mocked him and had a boyfriend, possibly an arsonist, the fireworks exploded behind his eyeballs, shaking him to the very core.