That night she dreamed he kissed her. That when she rolled down her window, he poked his head in and kissed her. She dreamed of him all night, and when she wasn’t dreaming, she was replaying the night over and over, maybe embellishing hints of an attraction toward her when he did not express any, like when she added that his fingers brushed over hers when he handed her the fish (this was handed to her by the cashier in reality) or that he touched her face in the bar when he spoke of drawing her, or that the drawing he showed her was not an evil Jennifer with a crazed look in her eye and a Darth Vader control panel, but was instead the drawing of Kate Winslet from Titanic, and by the time the sun rose, she was madly in love.

He had given her his phone number, and she desperately wanted to reach out first thing when she discovered she was in love, but stopped herself. What if he did not experience the same epiphany during the night? But he had invited her to join him, to call him or text. And what was it he said when he caught her outside the bar before she was in love with him? That he’d never met anyone like her? That he had never been able to talk with someone so easily and did she know how beautiful she looked tonight in her sundress that she was not actually wearing because this was yet another scenario she had concocted in the night.

But he had stopped her from leaving. He had hurried to catch up with her and had given her his phone number. That was real.

And luckily for her, he was well-known enough to have a panel at a small-scale comic expo. So she Googled him. Knowing absolutely nothing about comic books outside of Stan Lee, she couldn’t judge his notoriety off the cuff, but it seemed he was fairly popular, the Netflix adaptation of Ubiquitous Allies hurtling him recently into the spotlight.

She wanted to save some of the photos, but fear of him somehow finding them on her phone stopped her. She didn’t want to be a stalker. And though she was madly in love, she didn’t want to look too eager and refrained from calling or texting and decided she’d show up for his later panel. How her hair turned out after her shower would determine whether or not she’d try to meet for coffee beforehand. God, she hoped it would turn out good.

“You might want to wait a few.” She was intercepted by her brother on the way to the shower.

“Ew,” was her immediate response.

“Not because of that,” he said. “I think Layla and I used up all the hot water.”

“Double ew! Who’s Layla?”

Frowning, she made a one-eighty and cleaned Gratiano’s litterbox and let Lysander out back on her way to the trash can. She and her brother shared a house on Liberty Hill downtown, just a few minutes from the Fish Bar. Actually, she shared his house for the time being. Though he was quite generous in allowing her to stay as long as she needed, he also allowed any number of women to stay with him as well. It made for some awkward mornings after. She, on the other hand, hadn’t spent the night with a man in, well, it had been a long time. Longer than she had lived with her brother.

Was she desperate? Was that it? Why she woke up with such strong emotions for the comic book artist? Had it been so long since she’d felt affection from and toward another human that her brain simply latched onto the first person to pay her attention?

With those thoughts swimming in her psyche, she came down from her high. No, she would not call or text Gabriel, would not show up at will call when the doors opened and sit in the front row of his panel. She’d go about her Saturday as usual.

Her usual Saturday had no routine, that was reserved for the weekdays, and as it was a beautiful September mid-morning, she clipped the leash on Lysander and the two of them walked until the sidewalk ended at the park at the top of the hill, partially to wait for the hot water to return, but mostly to wait for Layla to leave. There wasn’t much point in trying to get to know the woman; they didn’t tend to stick around for long.

In fact, by the time Jennifer and Lysander returned from the park, Layla’s car was gone. Her brother sat at the kitchen table wearing boxers and a green t-shirt that said IPA Lot When I Drink. He was eating a bowl of Frosted Flakes and reading the back of the box like he’d been doing since they were kids back in Madeira. His dishwater blonde hair was still damp.

“Should be hot now,” he told her when she stopped to hang up the leash by the back door. “Oh, and Mom called. Wants to know if we can come for dinner tonight. I got a gig but I told her you’d be there. She said come at four.”

Four? Gabriel’s panel started at four. She couldn’t go then. She told him as much. “I can’t go either.”

“Since when?” He looked at her over the cereal box. “You never do anything on Saturdays.”

“Since now.” She didn’t want to tell him she’d be at the comic expo – she’d never hear the end of it.

“You got a date or something?” he snorted.

“Maybe. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes. After writing off relationships after—”

“—Don’t say it.” She cut him off.

“I wasn’t going to. Just, well, you said never again, and not like when you drink too much and say you’ll never drink again. I felt this one.”

“It’s not a date.”

“Yeah. Didn’t think so. But you have plans? Not just trying to blow off Mom?”

She shrugged. “You said the hot water’s back?”

He nodded.

She nodded and successfully avoided saying anything more about her supposed plans.

Her hair looked acceptable after her shower, but by then she felt awfully silly getting excited about the comic panel and didn’t even bother shaving. It was the dream that gave her false hope. Gabriel himself was pleasant and kind, but he had not demonstrated any behaviors that indicated attraction. Sure, he said she was interesting to talk to, but didn’t he also say how boring these conventions were for him? She was a distraction was all. A way to pass the time until his next panel, until his flight home to San Diego. San Diego was about as far away from Cincinnati as one could get and stay in the contiguous States. Why bother even getting to know him, much less getting her hopes up about seeing him again.

Maybe she would go to her parents’ for dinner.

As she pulled on a pair of jeans and rooted through her drawer for a My Chemical Romance t-shirt – she needn’t root far, there were seven of them – a paper on top of the dresser caught her eye. It was his phone number. His name and phone number written out specifically for her to use to call him today. And yes, she could still be simply a distraction, but the way his eyes it up when she told him she’d come seemed like more.

Grabbing her phone off the bed, she made the call. “Hey, Mom? Sorry, yeah, I won’t be able to make it tonight. I have plans.”