“He’s hot—and he’s FBI. Everyone knows you have that Fed fetish. I bet he owns handcuffs,” she adds, with a dramatic wink. “And there is no way he’s bad in bed. No way. You know how you can just tell sometimes by looking at a guy? Just by the way he moves? That’s what you need. A guy who knows what he’s doing in bed. And at the very least this guy is packing.”

 “Wait. Are you talking about my brother?” Sophie interjects. Sophie has a half-brother I’ve never met.

 “Obviously, Sophie. How many federal agents do I know?” Everly responds in a ‘duh’ tone of voice.

 “It’s actually a great idea, but please do not talk about my brother’s junk in front of me. It’s disgusting.” Sophie winces and rubs at her baby bump. “I think Boyd’s a bit of a player though. He’s never even introduced me to anyone he’s seeing. But good plan. You guys talk about it. I’m going to the restroom.” She pushes back her chair and stands, then immediately sits again, looking at us in a panic. “I think my water just broke.”

 “I’ve got this,” Everly announces, waving her hands excitedly as she flags down the waitress. “I’m gonna need a pot of boiling water, some towels and the check.”

 “Oh, my God,” Sophie mutters and digs her cell phone out of her purse.

 “Just the check,” I tell the waitress. I turn back to Everly as Sophie calls her husband. “You’re not delivering Sophie’s baby, Everly. Her water broke ten seconds ago and her husband—the gynecologist—is in their condo upstairs. So even if this baby was coming in the next five minutes, which it is not, you’re still not delivering it at a table in Serafina.”

  Everly slumps in her chair and shakes her head. “I’ve been watching YouTube videos on childbirth for months, just in case. What a waste.” She sighs, then perks up. “Can I at least be in the delivery room?”

 “No,” we all respond in unison.

 Sophie’s husband Luke walks in a few minutes later. They live on the top floor of this high-rise so he was only an elevator ride away. He places his hand softly on the back of Sophie’s neck and bends down, murmuring something into her ear. She blinks and nods as he kisses her temple before standing, holding up a long coat for her to slip into, discreetly hiding the fact that her water just broke.

 “I cannot believe this just happened in a restaurant,” Sophie mumbles as Luke wraps the coat around her.

 Sandra, Everly and I sit back in our chairs and glance at each other, a little stunned at the whirlwind of the last few minutes, until finally Everly speaks.

 “Well, that’s official. I am never giving birth. Like ever.”

Two

 Chloe

 I’ve never been good at dating. In high school I got a boyfriend by default—my best friend was dating his best friend and poof, there you go. I’m not sure Dave even asked me out, we were always just shoved together. I liked Dave and it was nice to have a date for school dances and whatnot. But I don’t know if I learned anything about dating from that.

 College wasn’t much better. I dabbled enough to decide that my time was better spent studying, figuring there’d be time later for dating. I was at Penn on a scholarship and it was essential that I kept my grades up. So now here I am. I’ve got a college degree, an apartment and a job. And no idea how to date. In my defense, the dating pool thus far has been dismal. But I’ve got another date tonight and it needs to go well because I can’t take another rejection or weird situation. A girl can only handle so many strap-on requests.

 I’m sort of hopelessly bad at this. Last week I went out with a guy for drinks. It was the first time we’d met and I was nervous. Dating gives me anxiety. Most social situations give me anxiety, but dating is worse. What on earth would we talk about? But then I reminded myself that everyone likes to be complimented. It’s something I work on with my class—if you notice something nice about someone, tell them. So I’d walked in and yelled, “I like your pants.” Yeah. It’s actually worse than it sounds. The week before that I went out with a guy whose name was Rick Martin and I… I blurted out, “Living La Vida Loca,” and did a weird dance. So clearly there’s room for improvement.

 I survey myself in the mirror and will my racing heart to calm. I can do this. I can totally do this. It’s just a date, Chloe. I remind myself that there’s no need to be nervous. People go on dates every day—for fun. I don’t think it’s fun, but people do. My friends do. It’s just that I tend to be awkward and come across as sarcastic when I don’t mean to be.

 So today needs to go well. I just… I really need it to. I’m going on a date to a Philadelphia Eagles game and I have high hopes. It’s technically my second date with this guy since I met him last weekend for coffee. I like this guy, Cal. He’s a fireman and he’s really cute. A fireman and a school teacher—sounds like a perfect match, doesn’t it? And it was good, the coffee date. I don’t want to jinx it, but I think we could have something.

 I check my reflection again, jeans and a long-sleeved knit shirt in a green that matches both my eyes and the team colors of the Eagles. The sleeves are long. They reach the middle of my hand and there’s a hole in each cuff to slip over my thumb. I wonder if there’s a term for that hole. It’s weird, right? A hole sewn into the seam of a long-sleeved shirt to slip your thumb through thus keeping the sleeves pulled down low. Weird. I’ll have to Google it later. But right now, Cal is picking me up. I grab my wristlet and head downstairs to the building lobby to wait for him.

 ***

 “We got an interesting call at the firehouse yesterday,” Cal tells me as we make the drive to the stadium. Luckily the traffic isn’t bad on the Schuylkill and we’re making good time. The stadium is less than six miles from my apartment, but you never know how traffic is going to be on game days.

 “What happened?” I ask, turning my head in his direction. I’m interested in his story and it gives me the chance to watch him talk. He’s cute, very boy-next-door. He’s not very tall, but he’s several inches taller than me. A little on the stocky side, with thick dark hair, a little messy. He’s wearing shorts—like only a guy would in late September—and a Philadelphia Eagles jersey. His sunglasses block the midday sun but I can see the corner of his eye as he talks.