Ah, well, this shower sure feels like heaven. Nothing like steamy water on a rainy January morning to take the chill out of the bones. Even though I’ d pay for it later. My apartment has only the one hot-water tank. When it’ s out, it’ s out.

Please let him like me. I’ d been on plenty of setup dates before, but they were usually less deliberate than tonight’ s affair. A friend would have a party or a get-together at a bar and invite me as well as the potential love interest. There might be a bit of prodding on the part of the hostess to generate enthusiasm, but overall we were free to pretend we didn’ t know it was a setup if we didn’ t click.

Please let us click tonight.

There’ d be no problem with the clicking on my side. I was clicking all over the place just thinking about that photo of him.

Which was why I was fretting. Sebastian seemed the sort of man who had women hanging over him. He probably had to beat them off with sticks. He certainly didn’ t have on average 13.4 months between lovers as I did. More like 13.4 minutes, I’ d guess. Lucky for me there wasn’ t an interview process to dating-that I didn’ t have to bring a résumé outlining my pitiful love life. Imagine Sebastian getting a peek at that!

‘ So, June,’  he’ d no doubt say, peering at me from across the dinner table, ‘ this looks good. But tell me, what were you doing with that time between Jason and Mark? It shows here that you broke it off with Jason in August 1999-finally accepted that he was all talk and no action-yet I show a three-year gap before you took up with another man.’

‘ Was it three years? Gosh, I hadn’ t realized it was so long& .’

‘ Yes, you see that big hole right here on your résumé?’

‘ Now that you mention it, that is quite a long break.’

‘ Maybe you were focusing on your career at the time?’  he might supply helpfully. ‘ Or traveling the globe? Learning a new skill?’

I’ d shake my head woefully.

‘ Being selective, then? Going on date after date to make sure you found someone deserving of your love?’

Ooh, that one sounded good-and worth an enthusiastic nod. Even if it was a lie.

Truth was& I had no idea what the truth was. Only that I had a habit of burrowing like a groundhog any time a relationship failed. I didn’ t have that ability to dust myself off and try, try again. The only thing that brought me out of the hole was a soul brave enough to reach in and grab me.

It was crazy to expect that a man Susan found on the Internet might be the one to do that. For crying out loud, I was only going on this blind date to fulfill another person’ s wish list. I knew nothing about him other than what he wrote in his profile.

Yet that morning in the shower, as if guided by forces outside of me, I found myself digging through my pile of abandoned beauty products to find a loofah. If by chance things did click, I decided, there was no sense in scaring him off with rough elbows and knees.

I WAS TEN minutes late getting to Book Soup and far more frazzled than I’ d expected to be.

Besides the time I’ d spent primping and fretting over what was proper attire for a book signing, there was Lizbeth’ s department meeting that ran over.

The meeting had been ready to wrap at five o’ clock. Usually we’ d be bolting for the door, but then Brie said leadingly, ‘ Hey, June, why don’ t you tell us about that great idea you had for an event?’

I held back a scowl. Brie’ s notion of ‘ having my back’  apparently meant throwing me unprepared to the wolves, the first to my carcass being Martucci. ‘ This ought to be good,’  he stage-whispered to Greg, and then grandly set the papers he’ d gathered back down to enjoy the show.

The rest of them looked my way. June is going to trot out another idea even as her Friends of Rideshare program lies flopping and gasping for air like a dying fish?

It would have been nice if Brie had warned me she was going to do this. I’ d have preferred to have charts or stats or a write-up or something besides me. Still& the idea of completing two tasks in one day spurred me on.

‘ My idea,’  I said, trying to put some punch in my delivery, ‘ is that we do a gas giveaway. Gas prices are hitting record levels everywhere. So I thought we could let people know that L.A. Rideshare is rewarding people who carpool by paying for their gas when they fill up. The media would eat it up.’

‘ Interesting. The problem,’  Lizbeth said slowly, ‘ is the same one we always have. Funding. Who’ d pay for this gas?’

‘ A sponsor. It wouldn’ t cost that much. We wouldn’ t give gas to every carpooler. We’ d let them know we were out there& then sneak up on them at the pumps. Say, ‘ Surprise! We’ re paying for your gas!’

‘ If we’ re sneaking, then how would the media know?’  Martucci asked.

‘ We’ d tip them off ahead of time,’  I replied smugly, pleased that I had an answer and therefore wasn’ t giving him the pleasure of tripping me up. ‘ We’ d just tell them to keep the locations a secret from the public.’

‘ It certainly sounds& interesting,’  Lizbeth said. ‘ And I admire your initiative in bringing it up here today. Unfortunately, I don’ t believe that’ s the direction we should be going. No, we should be putting our energies behind partnering with a traffic reporter. By the way,’  she purred, ‘ have you contacted Troy Jones?’

My mind flashed to the box sitting on my desk filled with Marissa’ s yearbooks, along with a note from the traffic reporter in question: Hope this helps. I hadn’ t worked up the stomach to dig through them yet, although I needed to. One of the items I was particularly worried about (besides #3, Change someone’ s life, which did seem to be quite the tall order) was #7: Make Buddy Fitch pay. Who on earth was Buddy Fitch, and what had he done to her that was so awful? I suspected I’ d find a clue in those yearbooks-maybe a jock who tormented her for being fat. A bully who knew Marissa Jones would be easy prey. The very thought made my insides lurch.

Of course, Lizbeth didn’ t need to know any of that.

‘ Gee, I left one message,’  I lied sweetly. ‘ I’ ll try to follow up.’

Lizbeth nodded and then addressed the group. ‘ People, we have plenty of work here and not enough budget to move through the projects already on our plates. Let’ s stay focused, okay? Have a good evening.’

As I left the meeting, Brie whistled and made a gesture with her hand of a plane flying downward. ‘ Shot down in flames,’  she said, shaking her head.

I limped away in defeat.

After freshening my makeup and trying to get my hair to recapture the self-control it had hinted at achieving earlier, I met Susan at a boutique down the street. She’ d agreed to help me shop for an outfit that seemed sexy yet bookish after nixing the red shirt I was wearing-pointing out all too correctly that Sebastian had already seen it.

An hour and two hundred dollars later, I was dressed in a pinstripe jacket over a rock ‘ n’  roll T-shirt and a pair of jeans cut low enough that I had to bunch my underwear down to keep it from showing. I left for my date a new woman.

BOOK SOUP is a small independent bookstore on a trendy section of Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood. When I arrived, a line was already forming to get into the store.

I’ d arranged to meet Sebastian at the adjacent coffee shop. As I walked in, I was nervous that he’ d be disappointed when he saw me. Brie had warned that my biggest fear should be the other way around, adding grimly, ‘ The guys I met online looked like their pictures all right. If their picture had been taken twenty years earlier and fifty pounds lighter.’

I saw Sebastian right away. He was an exact replica of his photo, except now in full color and 3-D. Holy cripes, he was gorgeous, dressed in another suit that seemed to scream ‘ money.’  When he came up to say hello, I noticed he smelled good, too.

‘ Are you June Parker?’

‘ Yes, hi,’  I said, extending my hand to shake his.

He gripped my hand so firmly, it nearly fused my fingers together. ‘ Great to meet you. Your photo doesn’ t do you justice.’  Before I could say anything else or blush prettily, he added, ‘ Do you mind if we get going to the bookstore? I don’ t want to be late.’

We walked outside, and he bypassed the crowd to head straight for the entrance. The bouncer-or whatever one would call him-let us into the room. Folding chairs were set up in an open section of the store. A podium and microphone faced the chairs. People filled some of the seats, while others milled around, thumbing through books and drinking wine.

‘ Wow. Do you know the author?’  I asked.

‘ Actually,’  he replied sheepishly, ‘ I am the author.’

‘ Excuse me?!’

He picked up a book and held it out to me. One-Woman Man, a novel by Sebastian Forbes. ‘ This is mine. I’ m doing the reading tonight.’  He flipped to the back to show me the author’ s photo-the same one he’ d posted on the dating website.

‘ You wrote this?’

‘ Guilty.’

‘ I can’ t believe you wrote this.’

What I really meant was, I can’ t believe you wrote this and invited me here sight unseen to your reading.

‘ I can’ t say it’ s exactly Shakespeare. More of a romantic comedy. But I’ m proud of it.’

‘ But why,’  I began.

‘ Why did I invite you?’  he finished for me. When I shrugged a yes, he grinned. ‘ Can you blame a guy for wanting to impress a girl? My other idea was to fly you to Paris for dinner, but I decided against it. Too showy.’

I’ d have come back with equally flirtatious banter, but I was too busy thinking, He likes me! which was seriously impeding my ability to formulate clever retorts. Instead I gazed coolly around the room.

(He likes me!)