“Actually, most places don’t do that anymore,” I tell her.

It’s a mistake.

“How would you know that?” she asks as she opens a new bag and gives it a deep inhale. “Ooh, this one’s nice.”

She hands it over to me and, before I even think about what I’m doing, I give it a sniff.

It’s heavy on the drakkar noir, but it’s mellowing out the lingering taste of the tequila, so I keep it there for a couple extra seconds.

“Not bad, right?” she asks.

“Meh.”

“What does yours smell like?” she asks.

I hand her back the one dripping with cologne and open the bag I’ve been holding. Yeah, this is still pretty weird, but it’s not nearly as creepy as I thought it would—“Okay,” I tell her. “This is one of the bad ones.”

I hand it to her, thinking she’s going to just put it back on the table, but even with my warning, she opens the bag back up.

“Shit, you weren’t joking.”

“I have no idea why you would think I was,” I tell her. “All right, this isn’t as bad as I thought it would be, but the novelty’s starting to wear off. How much longer are we going to stay here and smell people’s clothes?”

“As long as it takes,” she says. “We are not going home alone tonight.”

“Is that what this is about?” I ask.

“What?” she asks, looking for another blue-tagged shirt to smell. She grabs one and hands it to me.

“Dane,” I say.

“Of course it’s about Dane,” she says. “You haven’t talked about anything else since you left.”

“I’m fine,” I tell her.

“That’s good then,” she says. “So you should be open to meeting someone tonight.”

“Yeah,” I snicker. “Kids, did I ever tell you the story about how I met your dad? Well, I was at this shirt-smelling party and your dad’s sweat just got me right between the legs. It was love at first scent.”

“Hey, you never know,” she says. “People meet in some pretty strange ways sometimes.”

“You’re actually serious about getting me to hook up with someone here, aren’t you?”

She opens a bag.

“This one smells like beer and corn chips,” she says, putting it back on the table.

“You’re not answering my question.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m not saying you’re going to meet Mr. Right by smelling his sweaty shirt, but you might just find someone who can take you for a nice tumble and remind you that there are other fish to fuck.”

“That’s easily the worst thing you’ve ever said to me,” I tell her.

“Just lighten up, will you? We’re here to have fun. Let it be fun.”

I open up a new bag, but it’s only a formality. After being smacked in the face by the garment whose owner never showered, I’m done putting my olfactory nerves in the line of fire.

Only, the smell wafting from the bag is a familiar one, even holding the bag open and nowhere near my face.

I close it up and walk to the picture line.

Annabeth’s behind me a second later.

“You changed your mind in a hurry,” she says. “What convinced you?”

“A long shot,” I tell her.

Of course the shirt smells like Dane.

The line moves fast and, before I know it, I’m trying to figure out what kind of expression says, “It’s not weird that I’m holding your dirty shirt because the smell gets me hot and bothered,” but it’s not that easy an expression to divine.

I don’t know what the picture looks like because I don’t look at the wall. The odds of Dane actually being here are so remote that I don’t even want to know whose shirt I’m holding.

Annabeth walks with me back to the table, and I set the bag down. Annabeth, though, just picks it right back up, opens it and puts her whole face in the bag.

“That’s not bad,” she says. “A little conventional for my taste, but it’s all right.”

“Excuse me,” a man’s voice comes from behind me.

I turn around.

It’s not Dane.

“I saw your picture up there, holding my shirt,” he says. “My name’s Will.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’m kind of new at this, so I don’t really know—”

“Her name’s Leila,” Annabeth interrupts. “She’s single.”

I flash a glare, but quickly turn back to the man.

“I’m Leila,” I tell him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Would you like to get a drink?” he asks.

“Only if you’re buying,” Annabeth answers for me.

I scowl at her again, but walk with the man to the bar.

“It’s all right,” he says. “It’s my first time at one of these, too. What would you like to drink?”

“Tequila,” I tell him. “Actually, make that a double with a beer back.”

“Hitting it hard,” he says, smiling. “I like that.”

He’s got a cute smile, but he’s not Dane.

I really thought I was doing the best thing for both of us by not dragging things out. Long distance relationships never work and neither of us were ready to give up enough to stay together, so I shouldn’t feel this conflicted.

He orders my drinks and something for himself and we find a place to sit and talk. I could kill Annabeth for just leaving me with a stranger like this.

“So, what do you do?” he asks.

“I’m a stock broker,” I tell him.

“Sounds exciting,” he says. “Are you one of those people on the floor of the exchange?”

“No,” I tell him. “I handle the portfolios of different clients, give them suggestions as to what stocks within their realm of interest and desired risk level might be good choices. I basically try to make people money.”

“That’s not a bad gig,” he says.

I hope he doesn’t think it’s rude that I take both shots and drink half my beer before responding.

“It’s what I do,” I tell him boringly. “What do you do?”

“I’m a fireman,” he says.

Oh shit.

“Really.” No, it’s not a question.

“Yeah,” he says. “It really takes it out of ya, but it’s pretty rewarding stuff.”

“I bet. How long have you been doing it?”

“About five years,” he says.

“That is fascinating.”

Firemen do something funny to me, and I know I’m not alone here.

“Yeah, so what got you into stocks?” he asks.

“Oh, you know,” I tell him. “Being a part of the financial system that runs everything has its perks—so what made you want to be a fireman?”

He smiles, and I’m starting to find that smile more than just cute.

“I always wanted to be a fireman,” he says. “When I was a kid, most of my friends would talk about being rock stars or movie stars or astronauts or whatever, but ever since I can remember, I just wanted to be a fireman. I wanted to be one of those guys that people look to at their most vulnerable times.”

And I think he’s just explained my infatuation with firemen.

“It’s not all heroics and daring rescues, though,” he says. “On the one hand, you spend a lot of time waiting, and when you do get a call, you just hope you get there before anyone’s hurt. I’ve run across some pretty terrible things. But we don’t have to talk about that. Where are you from?”

“Canada,” I answer, batting my eyes. It’s not a conscious act. “So, are you on call?”

“Am I on call?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Like, what are the chances of you having to rush out of here to go save an orphanage?”

He laughs, perhaps a bit uncomfortably.

“Probably not too high,” he says. “I don’t think there are any orphanages around here. I think the only way I’d get a call is if we had something catastrophic.”

“Wow.”

Who am I right now?

Of course, that thought leads me back to standing in Dane’s doorway, and for a moment, I completely forget about the sexy fireman sitting across the table from me, trying to decide whether I’m attractive enough to forgive a little bit of crazy.

“So, what brings you here?” he asks.

“Oh,” I say, straightening up and trying to at least pretend that I’m not a complete flake. “My friend Annabeth,” I tell him. “She dragged me out of the house, put me in a car and told me we were coming here. She’s the one standing in line to have her picture taken with four bags right now.”