"You look nice tonight," Alex says in an even voice.

We're in his car, and I'd hoped for a compliment better than nice. I'd gone to the boutique that he'd given me the gift card for—it was a downtown shop that I'd walked past on my lunch break during my internship but never could afford.

Tonight I have on a pretty pale-pink shift dress and gold sandals. The dress is a little short, around six inches above my knee. The sales lady said it looked "amazing," and even though I was skeptical of that particular adjective, I bought it because it made me feel good. Put together. Adult.

Plus, it has pockets.

It's the most expensive thing I've ever worn, and I'm worried I'm going to spill something on it.

Honestly, I'm a little ashamed. Apparently Alex can throw his money around and impress me. I'll have to analyze these emotions later, because he's slowing the car and I suddenly recognize where we are. I've been here more times than I could count, and would spend every weekend here if I could. Again, those stupid money and time things have always been my excuses.

"The Georgia Aquarium? What's here? It's not open at this hour." I glance at the building. Funny, I assumed the next time I'd come here would be for the job interview . . .

Alex beams wickedly. "It is for us."

He pulls into the empty parking lot.

"What? Why? Alex, why are you doing this? It's not like we're really . . ." My voice dies in my throat.

He kills the ignition and looks at me. "I know we're not really." He waves his hands around. "But I wanted to surprise you tonight. So you could be genuine around my family when talking about our time together. I want you to have an experience that will take your breath away, and you can tell everyone how amazing this night was."

Of course. It's all business. Forced enthusiasm. Great. I nod, and my stomach sinks a little. I try to refocus on the task at hand: making sure his family believes our story.

My eyes go to his crisp navy blue suit jacket and white shirt. He's not wearing a tie, and combined with the stubble on his cheek, it makes him look older, more dangerous. A corporate wolf. A sexy corporate wolf. I inhale. God, he smells good. Is it soap? Cologne?

He leans in. "Anyway, I enjoy your company." He flicks my nose gently with his index finger, and I laugh.

◊

As it turns out, Alex rented the entire place for the evening. Which is mind-boggling when I think about it. The only other people here are the security guards and a waiter who hands us champagne when we walk in.

Awestruck doesn't even come close to what I'm feeling. Normally this place is crawling with thousands of visitors every day. Tonight, it's us and thousands of sea creatures, which is pretty much my dream date.

"Can you believe I might be working here?" I murmur to Alex, breathless with anticipation as I take a sip from my glass.

"It would be pretty damn cool," he admits.

Now, the Georgia Aquarium is famous for two things. It's one of the largest in the world, and they have beluga whales.

I adore beluga whales. It's something about their goofy expressions, their melon-like heads, their almost cartoonish smiles.

So I'm almost giddy and feeling like a kid as we grow closer to their exhibit. Basically, I'm trying to impress a classy, gorgeous guy while managing my excitement, and doing a fairly crappy job. Oh, well. This is too much fun to really care what he thinks.

Alex leads the way and starts at the tropical fish exhibit.

"I haven't been here in years. Not since before Mom and Dad died. We used to have an annual pass. You didn't have to do this," I keep repeating reverently every twenty feet.

He chuckles. It's interesting. Tonight he seems to be in a different mood. More relaxed? Happier?

Then, he puts his hand on the small of my back and it makes me so nervous that I start babbling about how I'd read that the aquarium was going to bring eighteen wild belugas from Russia, but the government denied the permits. I talk on and on about the whales, about the aquarium's field research, about the animals' blubber layers, and how the belugas manage in captivity. He glances at me, probably because I've suddenly become the world's foremost whale expert.

I use the word blowhole multiple times.

It's like I'm a marine biologist readying a months-long transoceanic expedition. He shoots me a confused look.

I groan. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. You don't want to hear this. It's not like you care about whales."

"I do. It's interesting. You're quite knowledgeable." I'm sure he's saying that because he has impeccable manners, but inside he's thinking, Holy crap, did I have to choose someone so dorky? What if she talks about blowholes with my family? "Why do you like belugas so much?"

I shrug. The waiter materializes seemingly out of thin air with more champagne. I take a giant gulp and try to rein in my nerves. "They're fascinating. And cute. I read about one that mimicked human speech."

Alex pauses, his champagne glass in midair. Maybe that impressed him. "Really?"

"Happened at a research facility in San Francisco."

"See, I'm learning new things with you, and about you."

I'm glad the light in here is blue so he can't see me blush. "I really hope I get the job here."

"It would be perfect for you and your, uh, vast whale knowledge."

Okay, so I did go overboard on the beluga details. I down the champagne in a few hasty gulps, and thankfully Alex has taken my glass and put it on a tray resting on a nearby bench. I step over to the window, thankful for the fresh silence.

I'm transfixed by the schools of fish. My shoulders relax downward, and I realize they'd been up near my ears. Which must have been attractive. My mind's spinning from standing in this incredible place with the thought that I might have a shred of a chance at a career here. Plus, being alone with Alex in this hushed, dark aquarium is a bit dizzying.

At first I thought it would be awkward for the two of us to stand in silence, but like when we were gardening together, it feels perfectly normal. Too normal. Too wonderful.

When he's not looking at me or touching me, I'm calm.

That kind of thinking needs to stop, now. It's not productive or healthy. I can't keep on dreaming that he's acting like a boyfriend or that I have a chance with him. This is a business transaction, and if I don't guard my emotions, I'll be devastated when this ends.

But this is so perfect, a little voice whispers. He wouldn't do all this if he didn't like you.

I shove the thoughts out of my head. Why can't I enjoy this amazing moment?

We're bathed in an otherworldly blue light, and the hush is almost reverent and mystical.

See? It's already perfection, even if we're only friends. We peer into the tank together, shoulder to shoulder, mesmerized.

I'm glad he's not talking nonstop. I'm glad I'm not talking nonstop.

"Let's go this way. We can come back here later and drink more champagne. I think we also have chocolate-covered strawberries for later," he murmurs, again putting his hand on my back.

Chocolate-covered strawberries? Who am I kidding? I don't care if this, us, is all a lie. Maybe the champagne has gone to my head, but I don't think anything will ever compare to tonight.

"Are we going to the belugas?"

"Not yet. We'll get there. I promise we'll spend a lot of time there. Come this way."