And then she was furious at herself for missing him that much. And liking him that much. She’d caught herself daydreaming about his eyelashes in the middle of the workday, like some lovesick teenager. His eyelashes! He kept saying—and acting as if—he liked her that much, too, but this all just seemed far too good to be true.

The worst part was, she knew she desperately wanted it to be true. She wanted Max to be the caring, thoughtful, interesting man he seemed to be. She wanted the opportunity to get to know that man better. She wanted his desire for her, his interest in her, to be real. But she was still afraid she couldn’t trust any of it.

“Ready for bowling?” Max asked as Olivia opened her front door on Friday night.

She stepped outside.

“As ready as I’ll ever be. I haven’t gone bowling in years. We’ll see how this goes.”

He gestured down the street.

“I’m parked a few houses down—I don’t want anyone to recognize my car in your driveway. I’m sorry, I should have thought of that before.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” She was glad he’d thought about it now. “Thanks.”

They got in the car and he reached for her, then pulled back.

“I’m sorry, I forgot. I can’t kiss you here; I should have come inside for a few minutes. And I’ve been wanting to kiss you so much all week.”

She put her hand on his knee.

“We’ll have plenty of time after bowling. Or”—she raised an eyebrow at him— “we could go back inside.”

He grinned at her, and put his hand over hers.

“If we do that, we’re never leaving. And you know, I like bowling, but . . .”

She squeezed his hand.

“Look how impatient you are. Don’t get me wrong, I like it, but we can wait.”

Plus, she had her own reasons for wanting to go bowling tonight.

He drove them out to a place he’d found online that was supposed to have pub food that was actually good and beer in a bar attached to the bowling alley, and where you could reserve lanes in advance.

“Thank you for finding this place—I’m glad we’re not going to have to wait forever for a lane,” she said.

He laughed.

“I’m glad I found this place, too, or else I wouldn’t have suggested bowling at all. I loathe having to wait for things. I know maybe that makes me a privileged jerk; sometimes I make myself wait in line for brunch, just to prove I still can, but I hate every second of it.”

Olivia laughed.

“I hate it, too. That first weekend after I got here, I went to one of those places for brunch that I see all over Instagram, and I had to wait for an hour and a half! The food was good, but I’m not sure if there’s any food worth waiting an hour and a half for on a Sunday morning.”

“Thank God you feel that way,” he said.

He put on his fake glasses before they got out of the car. She still hadn’t seen him in that blond wig, but the glasses, plus his tousled hair and plain T-shirt, really did make him look different from the Senator Powell she saw on TV.

Their lane was flanked by teenagers’ birthday parties. The teens had obviously been there for a while and were already rowdy, which was perfect. Teens wouldn’t pay attention to the two of them, bless them.

Max picked up a bowling ball with three fingers, while Olivia tried out one ball, then another.

“I don’t even remember what I’m looking for here—what are these supposed to feel like?”

He picked up one of the balls she put down.

“You want it heavy enough so it can spin down the lane and knock over all of the pins but not so heavy you have trouble tossing it.”

She picked up a silver glittery ball and smiled.

“I think this is the one.”

Max went back to the first one he’d picked up.

“Are you just saying that because it’s sparkly?”

She grinned at him.

“So what if I am? A woman’s got to have some flair if she has to wear shoes like this, okay?”

He laughed and shook his head.

“Let’s order some food now, I’m starving. You can press the buttons right here and they bring it to you.”

They ordered loaded nachos and beer to start, and someone brought over their beer as Max and Olivia were setting up the scoring on the screen.

“How long has it been since the last time you were bowling, again?” Max asked her as she moved her glittery bowling ball from one hand to another.

She pursed her lips.

“Oh, let me see . . . at least seven years, it must be? The last time was for my friend Justine’s thirtieth birthday, and she must be thirty-seven or even thirty-eight by now? So we’ll see how this goes, I guess.”

He looked both kind and a touch condescending, just as she’d expected.

“Do you want to go first, or do you want me to go first?” he asked.

She put her finger to her lips as she considered that.

“You go first. Show me what I’m supposed to do so I remember.”

He nodded and took a sip of his beer.

“Okay—you put your three fingers in the ball like this,” he said, demonstrating. “Then you start from back here, and take a few not-quite-running steps, toss your arm back, and let the ball loose down the lane.”