"Shanna Swendson - Once Upon Stillettos" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swendson Shanna)

neighbor, and Ethan knew I was nervous about the date.

When we made it outside, he said with a grin, "She seems charming."

"I think she's the designated building curmudgeon."

"Every building has to have one." He opened the back door of a cab waiting in front of my building.
"Your chariot, milady."

I got in and slid across the seat to make room for him. He gave the cabdriver a nod, and the cab took
off. "I planned something a little different. I hope you don't mind," he said as he settled back into the seat
next to me.

"I'm sure it'll be great," I said, fingering the strap of my purse. This was why I wanted a boyfriend--to
reach a comfort zone with a person so I didn't have to go through this kind of stress every weekend. But
as my roommates never ceased to remind me, you had to date to get a boyfriend.

"And let's hope it doesn't go like last time," he said with a laugh. "I like Rod and Owen, but I don't want
them showing up on all our dates."

I'd been so good about not thinking about a certain other person, and there my date had to go and
mention him. I distracted myself by focusing on his casual mention of "all our dates." That was the kind of
detail Marcia and Gemma would want to hear later when we analyzed every second of this date. There
was a strong implication that he wanted to make this a steady thing. Then again, would he have asked me
out at all if he already knew he didn't want to see me again after this date?

This dating stuff was way too complicated, and I was too old to be such a novice at it.

The cab pulled up in front of a Midtown restaurant. Ethan paid the driver, then got out and helped me out
of the cab. He held his arm out for me to take--my mom would have been so impressed with such a
gentlemanly show of manners--and escorted me inside. I was surprised to see one long table rather than
the usual restaurant arrangement of scattered individual tables.

"It's a wine dinner," Ethan explained. "There's a wine selected to go with each course, all from the same
winery. I thought it would be fun. We'll have other people to chat with and an automatic topic of
conversation."

I was all in favor of having a topic of conversation that didn't involve magical intellectual property, which
was what we'd talked about on our last date. I was nervous about the wine, though. In addition to being
a total lightweight who's under the table asleep after a couple of glasses, I had the world's least
sophisticated palate. I couldn't find anything wrong with white zinfandel, something that drove my
roommates crazy. They said no real wine drinker would go near that pink stuff. I'd look like a total hick
among people who could discern a hint of oak in a full-bodied red, or whatever it was people said when
they were analyzing wines.

We had to mingle with the other diners while eating appetizers brought around by waiters. I wasn't
exactly sure what was in each bite, but the wine they gave us with that course was pretty good. I sipped
at it, knowing I needed to pace myself.

The crowd, however, was enough to drive me to drink. These people reminded me of my old job, the