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second later, her phone started playing a piano riff. She hit Ignore.
    “Now you have my number,” he said. “If you want...something...again, call me.” He took his phone back and threw it on the bed. “If not, don’t. No pressure.”
    “Right,” she said. “No pressure.”
    “This was good,” he said.
    That was the understatement of the century. “Yeah.”
    “Maybe I’ll see you.”
    “Sure. Maybe we’ll grab the same cab.” She wouldn’t call. She wouldn’t be that weak.
    “Stranger things have happened,” he said.
    “They certainly have.”
    Like her whole day. Her whole crazy day. A day that she had a feeling had changed something in her forever.

Chapter Five
    Zack thought he felt his phone buzz. He shoved his hand in the pocket of the ridiculous dress pants he was wearing, but his phone was still.
    Another phantom buzz.
    She’s not gonna call, moron. Tell your downstairs brain to chill out.
    Grace Song wasn’t going to call for a repeat performance. It had been a one-time thing. An amazing thing. But one time was better for both of them.
    Zack had more baggage that he could carry, and he wasn’t about to ask someone else to come walk along with him while he tried to complete the impossible task. It was way better to just trudge along, dragging it behind him. Ignoring it all and forging ahead with is...life.
    He looked around the room, at the exhibition of art. Great art. Women in black dresses and suits, men in black suits, too. The uniform didn’t vary much. It was New York, after all.
    This was the kind of thing Marsha said he had to do because...image, inroads, connections, blah blah, he’d stopped listening after that because he’d seen a Sabrett hot-dog cart and he’d immediately wanted that more than a high-powered art career. With relish, thanks.
    Of course, eating hot dogs wouldn’t pay his bills. Unless he could become a competitive eater. There was merit in that.
    Then maybe he could go back to doing art in the barn on his property.
    There’s nothing to go back to.
    His life was depressing as hell. Which was the thing that sucked so much about loss. Even when the knife edge on your grief dulled, you were still missing something.
    Almost a decade and his house felt too empty. He had a feeling it was one of those things that just left a hole. Though, in his case, he thought it might have left a lot more. He felt hollowed out, on a good day.
    Sex with Grace had filled him with heat, and that had been a whole lot better than the emptiness. So instead of paying attention to the exhibit, he was hoping his phone would ring.
    But it wasn’t going to. Because she had more sense than he did. Or rather, more sense than his penis.
    Not that that was a feat, by any stretch of the imagination. That body part wasn’t known for being the most discriminating. And since his had been on sabbatical for six years...well.
    His pocket buzzed and he jerked to attention, reaching down inside again and curling his fingers around the phone, tugging it out. Thank God. It was ringing. And it was a New York number.
    He answered it.
    “Hi.”
    “Zack?”
    It was Grace. It was her. He resisted the urge to drop to his knees and give thanks in the middle of the gallery.
    “Yeah,” he said, trying to sound casual.
    “I know I shouldn’t be calling you.”
    “I didn’t think you were going to.” Not that he was complaining.
    “Well, I wasn’t. Then I thought...a one-night-stand is awfully...you know...dicey. Maybe...maybe...You’re probably busy.”
    “Nope,” he said, looking around the room, counting all the very important people. There were a lot of them. “Not in the least.”
    “Good. Good. Um...121 West 72nd Street. My place. It’s small but it’s...there’s a bed.”
    “That’s all we need.”
    He disconnected the call, gave a halfhearted goodbye to anyone who might be relevant, then slipped out of the party as quickly as possible.
    It took way longer to get a cab and get across town