“Okay. That’s fair.”

They walked in silence for a few moments.

“I was just asking because you did kiss my brains out the last time I saw you.”

Emory froze, shocked at the blatant declaration. “Is that what I did?”

“I’d say that’s an accurate description, yeah.”

“Again, sorry for the attack.”

“Do you always apologize so much after you kiss someone?”

Emory thought about it. It was a legitimate question. “No. I guess this would be new. A lot of new lately, it seems.”

They walked on.

There was a chill in the night air the way there was always a chill in the night air in a typical August in California, but Emory didn’t notice. Sideways glances at Sarah left her utterly captivated at the way the moonlight seemed to accentuate the green flecks in her eyes. Sarah looked back at her, seeming to catch her staring, and smiled. Oh, that was dangerous. Emory shook her head in amazement. Who smiles like that? Honestly. She felt that smile all the way down to her toes. “If I’m being forthright, it did cross my mind.”

“What?” Sarah seemed puzzled.

“The date.”

More silence.

Ouch. Emory felt as if she’d crashed and burned. Not a big deal, she told herself. It was probably better in the scheme of things. She should now do whatever she could to save the evening and enjoy spending time with her friend.

“I’m a little embarrassed,” Sarah finally said.

“Don’t be. Please.”

“Because I thought it was.”

Emory stopped walking and blinked as understanding arrived. “And you said yes.”

“And I said yes.” Sarah started walking again, leaving a pleasantly mystified Emory behind.

“So this is a date?” Emory called after her.

Sarah turned and walked backward, smiling all the way. “No way. You didn’t think it was.”

“Yes. Yes, I did. I just didn’t want to seem too presumptuous.” Emory closed the distance between them and arrived on the sidewalk alongside Sarah. “Maybe we should try this again.”

Sarah’s smile faded and she stared back at her sincerely. “Okay.”

“So I was thinking,”

“You were? That’s awesome.”

“You’re so very funny.”

“Thank you.”

Emory continued. “Well, I thought it might be nice to take you out, on a date, to this little place I know that serves great wine. What do you say?”

“You know, the wine part sounds fun. I think we should go, but the date thing I’m going to have to think about.”

Emory nodded, smiling at the irony but catching the playful twinkle in Sarah’s eye. “Okay. Take your time. But while you’re thinking it over, I’m going to take your hand back as we walk. It’s a little chilly out here, and you’re nice and warm.”

“Well, as long as it’s for weather purposes.”

“Strictly.”

A short walk later, they arrived at the Gaslamp District, an historic section of San Diego that was transformed in the late eighties to an eclectic, hip, urban stomping ground. It offered hundreds of entertainment options and came alive at night when the old-fashioned gas lamps began to glow. They strolled past sidewalk cafes, nightclubs, boutiques, and coffee houses, dodging the throngs of people that crowded the streets. Emory was pleased to find a jazz trio on the corner just adjacent to The Grape House, the wine bar she frequented.

“Inside or out?” Emory asked.

“Outside, definitely. There’s something about sitting under the stars with you that I seem to like. Plus, there’s music.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Emory arranged for a table outside, and with Sarah’s permission, ordered two glasses of her favorite Sangiovese.

Sarah sipped from the oversized glass. “Oh wow, this is smooth.”

“I know. I first fell in love with this bottle on a trip to Milan last year. I was surprised to find it right here in San Diego, but that’s why I love this little place. They have all the greats.”

“I take it you’re very well traveled.”

“For the most part, yes. What about you?”

“Not as exciting a history, I’m afraid. Mexico, before my father moved us to the U.S. and now California, most of its big cities. I’ve read about a lot of other places though.”

Emory was intrigued. “You’re telling me you’ve never been out of California?”

“Never been on a plane either. Try not to look so shocked over there. I’ll do it one day. Maybe when Grace is a little older, we’ll head out and see some sights.” Sarah’s eyes fell to the table then. She seemed to noticeably withdraw, and Emory internally cringed at having been the cause.

“That’ll be fun.” Emory took a sip of wine. “You mentioned growing up in Mexico. What was that like?”

Sarah sat back in her chair, her eyes reflective. “I don’t remember a lot about it. Mainly being around family, my grandparents. Most of my childhood memories center more on making the transition here. Learning the language, the culture at school, I remember being frustrated a lot.”

“In what way?” Emory reached across to the center of the table and interlaced her fingers with Sarah’s. Sarah stared at their hands, her expression unreadable, before continuing.

“More than anything, I just wanted to fit in, and that meant being American, just like most of the other kids. It didn’t exactly go well. But I never stopped trying. I took mental notes on all the cool things the kids from California did, said, and wore and then went home and wrote them down so I’d remember. I actually did that. Then I’d rehearse popular phrases with an American accent alone in my room.” She took a sip of wine. “I even went so far as altering my name on the first day of sixth grade. I guess I always felt like an outsider looking in. It wasn’t until late in high school that I finally started to accept myself and be okay with my own culture and where I came from. It didn’t happen overnight though. It was a process. I guess it still is.”

Emory didn’t like the story, and the idea of Sarah doing everything in her power to be liked tugged at her heart. “If it’s any consolation, I like who you are. A lot.”

“Thanks, but you may want to reserve judgment until after football season starts. You haven’t met the rabid Chargers fan that lives within.”

“I’m afraid already. Wait. Can we backtrack a minute? I’m interested to hear about the name change you mentioned. Is your given name not Sarah?”

“No, it is but without the h, pronounced Sada. I always had to correct my teachers on the pronunciation on the first day of school. Then one year, I stopped doing it and started writing an h after my name on all of my papers. And then magically, I was Sarah. Again, doing everything I could to be on the inside track.”

“Sara is a very pretty name. You could always go back to it.”

“No, I’m afraid that ship has sailed. I’ve been Sarah for too long now. Even my parents have adopted it.”

They finished the last of their wine while listening to the jazz combo that had recently returned from a break.

Emory couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed an evening out so much. She was thoroughly content in this moment and more relaxed than she’d been in a long, long time. The music, the company, and the nice glass of wine were all to thank for that. The waitress politely dropped the leather bound book containing the check onto their table. Emory reached for it casually, but was beaten to the punch.

Sarah hugged the portfolio to her chest. “I’m getting the drinks. You paid for the tickets.”

Emory made a grab for the check, but it was easily moved out of her reach. “Come on. I suggested this place and chose the wine. I’ll get it.”

“Nope. It’s only fair and—eighty-four dollars?” Sarah looked up from the open folder. “But we only had a glass each. Do you think they made a mistake?” She raised her hand, looking behind her for a waiter.

Emory winced apologetically and slowly brought Sarah’s hand back down. “The vintage is an Italian reserve, so it’s a bit pricey, which is why I insist on paying tonight.”