I pull my car into the parking lot for the bar and grill I suggested, on North Bay Village, one of the islands that is part of Miami Beach. I'm already second-guessing my decision to do this.

How can I go on a date with another man when my heart still belongs to Max? Then I remind myself that Max will be out at a club later this evening with Gabe and Martina, taking his own first steps toward moving on.

I chose this place to meet Brad for a number of reasons. Parking is onsite, which means both of us taking our own cars is not an issue. Also, plenty of people come here just for the drinks and the view of the downtown Miami skyline cross the water, but if we do decide to expand this into dinner, there's a very nice seafood menu as well.

That means we avoid the awkward conversation about where to go, who drives, one car or two, etc.

And I'm overthinking this. I know I'm overthinking this.

Probably because I don't want to be here.

I definitely don't want to be here. For a fleeting moment I actually consider turning around and leaving, texting Brad some lame excuse about being caught up working late at the office.

Too late. A Jeep pulls into the parking lot. Brad told me he drives a Jeep. Not that uncommon, but sure enough the car stops in a parking spot two rows over, and Brad gets out.

I sigh and open my door. It's just drinks. One drink, since I'm driving, and I can get out of here. No big deal.

Brad sees me and waves and I think, here we go.

"Hey, Hadley, it's great to see you." Brad approaches me and stands a little awkwardly, like he's wondering if he should lean in and kiss my cheek or shake my hand.

"It's great to see you too," I tell him. I solve the problem by turning and starting walking toward the entrance, because at that point we already hesitated too much for any physical contact to feel natural. For half a second I compare him to Max, then tell myself to stop it. He's nothing like Max and that's fine. The last thing I want to do when I'm trying to get over Max is go on a date with a guy who reminds me of Max.

I'm just going to stop overthinking and see how the evening goes.

We get a table along the outside railing, overlooking the water, and Brad pulls out my chair for me.

"So I guess you've been here before, since you suggested this place," Brad says.

"Actually, no," I tell him, as I pick up the drink menu. "I just moved to Miami recently, and this is one of those places I've been meaning to try, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. Have you been here before?"

"Yes, a few times." He gestures toward the docks. "It's boat-friendly."

"You have a boat?"

"Nothing too impressive. I picked up a 20ft Bayliner Bowrider a few years ago at an auction. She's got some years on her and needed a lot of work, but she moves."

"Why do men always refer to boats as females? I'm almost afraid to ask what you named your boat."

"Oh," he says, "well, -"

But before he can answer our server comes over to take our order.

Brad turns to me. "I go for the craft beer myself - they've got a great selection of local ones. But if you aren't in the mood for beer, I can recommend the mojitos."

"Sold. I'll have a mojito," I tell the server, and Brad orders a local craft beer.

"Let's get a couple appetizers," he suggests, and I agree. I don't need to be drinking on an empty stomach, especially not on a first date. Been there, done that with Max . . . I stop myself. I'm not going to think about Max.

"What do you recommend?" I ask him, and hope he doesn't suggest the raw oysters.

He glances over the menu again. "How about the coconut shrimp and smoked fish dip with crackers?"

"Sounds good."

Our server nods. "I'll get those right out to you. Will you be ordering dinner?"

"Why don't you check back with us later," Brad says.

"Of course. I'll be right back with your drinks, and I'll put the order in for the appetizers."

As soon as she walks away, Brad turns to me.

"I'd be very happy if you'd join me for dinner. I just didn't want to put you on the spot."

And I'm thinking there really is something just so sweet about Brad.

"Let's see how we feel a little later," I tell him. "By the way, I'm really glad you didn't suggest the oysters."

"I'd never order those until the third date," he says.

I stare at him, perplexed for a moment, then start laughing and he grins.

"I wasn't referring to their aphrodisiac properties," I tell him. "I just don't like raw oysters."

"I'll keep that in mind," Brad says, and smiles again.

Our drinks arrive, and I take a long slow sip of my mojito. "This is really good."

"I'm glad you like it."

"Oh," I say, reminded as I watch a boat pull up to the dock. "You were about to tell me the name of your boat."

He winces. "Lucky Lucy."

I settle back in my chair and watch his expression.

"Interesting. So, who's Lucy? And she better not be your wife."

"No, nothing so dramatic. I'm not married. Never have been."

"So Lucy is . . .?"

"I have no idea." His eyes kind of brighten with humor. They are an interesting shade. I thought at first that they were brown, but in this light they seem more amber.

"Remember I told you I bought the boat at auction?" Brad says, and I nod.

"Well, it was one of those government sites. Another writer I'm friendly with told me about them. The government auctions off all kinds of things that are forfeited by criminals who have used them in committing a crime. Not just boats. They had small private planes that were used in smuggling drugs, apparently, and cars, and all sorts of things."

"Really. I'm a criminal defense lawyer, but I actually never thought about what happens to items that are forfeited when a crime is committed. Of course, I guess that's more the federal government than the state courts where I practice."

"I don't know. I'd never heard of it myself until my friend told me. He said he found out about it when he was doing book research for a client."

"So your boat used to be used in drug running?"

Brad shrugs. "I don't know. I doubt it. It's fast but it's not one of those cigarette boats you hear about that go seriously high speeds and practically lift out of the water. It was probably a tax evasion case or something."

I keep a smile on my face, but I can't help my mind wandering to Max, and images of the Feds confiscating his property someday. I try to shake off those thoughts.

"So," I say to Brad, "are you telling me the boat came with the name Lucky Lucy?"

"That's right. But I guess Lucy wasn't so lucky after all."

"Or at least her boyfriend wasn't."

"Same difference, I guess," Brad says. "Anyway, maybe I can take you out on the boat sometime. You can help me think of a better name for it."

"I think I'd enjoy that," I say, and realize that I actually mean it.

Our appetizers come, and we settle into the standard first date exchanges of information. I give Brad a carefully edited version of how I ended up in Miami, leaving out the part where I've been estranged from my grandparents for most of my life.

I learn that Brad grew up in a small town in the Midwest, and always wanted to be a writer, although his parents kept trying to push him into dental school.

"I really don't see you as a dentist," I tell him.

"Me neither."

He tells me he was always kind of a nerdy introspective kid, more interested in books than sports, but he always wanted to travel.

"My job lets me do that now. I'm not the award-winning best-selling novelist I dreamed of becoming, but travel writing and ghost writing earns me a decent living, and I get to indulge my other interest - traveling."

"So is Miami your home base," I ask him, "or are you just here for a project?"

"I've made it my home, ever since I worked with an author here about three years ago. I decided then that I wanted a place to call home in between assignments, so I leased a condo in Wynwood and made it my permanent address."

"Wynwood. That surprises me."

He smiles again, and I notice he has a tiny dimple near the corner of his mouth that appears when he's amused. It's kind of sexy and moves him slightly out of the nerd category.

"Does it seem too artsy and edgy for me?"

"No, I guess, okay, yes, I'll admit it. I had you pegged for one of those high-rise buildings on Brickell where all the finance guys and software programmers seem to congregate."

He studies me.

"I don't know whether to be flattered you lumped me in with guys in finance and programming - since they tend to be really high on the smart scale - or insulted that you think I'm just a little bit too boring for an eclectic condo in Wynwood."

Now it's my turn to study him. "You know, I don't think you're boring at all. I think you're . . . interesting."

The server comes back to let us know happy hour is about to end, but there's time to get in one more drink order at the happy hour prices.

"Sure," Brad says, and raises his eyebrows quizzically to me.

"I'll have another one too," I tell the waitress, and she nods and walks away, and I look back at Brad. "That assumes the offer for dinner is still open. If I'm having a second drink, I don't want to drive right after."

"Dinner," Brad says, "is absolutely still open."

We continue talking over dinner, and I find myself relaxing more than I have in some time. Being with Brad seems safe, predictable. I feel drawn to him in a quiet easy-going way, with no pressure.

It's nothing like the way I feel with Max, who is unpredictable and exciting and leaves me breathless. But maybe it would be nice to date someone who feels comfortable, and just let things move slowly.

We order coffee, and split a slice of key lime pie just so we can linger a little longer. I switched to water after my second mojito so I'm fine to drive, but it's a beautiful evening sitting here looking out over the water. Surprisingly, I don't want it to end just yet.

But at the same time, I'm just not feeling a spark. Maybe I'm expecting too much.

"Brad," I say, "this has been a wonderful evening, but I don't want you to get the wrong idea."

He sets his coffee mug down. "Oh, no. This is the part where you friend zone me. Am I right?"

"No. That's not where this is going," I say, and he visibly relaxes a bit, but still looks wary.

"Brad, I just went through a break-up. I difficult one. All I'm saying is, I'm not ready to jump into anything new. Not yet. I guess what I'm saying is, I just want to take things slow."

He smiles. "We can do that. We can take things whatever pace works for you."

Brad walks me out to my car, and when he casually takes my hand in his I feel a little . . . something. Not exactly a spark. More like a warm glow spreading through me.

We stop at my car, and he's standing close to me, with one hand braced against the car, as I turn to face him to say goodnight.

There's a look in his eyes that's just the faintest bit edgy, and my breath catches for a moment. I'm thinking maybe there are some layers to Brad that I overlooked.

"There's slow," Brad says, "and there's moving backward. I don't want to move backward, not with you."

And I know that if I give him the slightest signal, he's going to lean his head down and kiss me. The tension of it is vibrating in the air between us.

What would it feel like to kiss Brad? Would it be slow and easy, like our conversation over dinner?

Or would it be something else?