Chosen by Jeanne C. Stein

directly around to the passenger side of the car, but Lance is quicker. He’s out of the car and opening my door before the valet or I can do it myself. For once, I don’t disparage the old-fashioned act of chivalry. I take his hand and let him help me from the car. He bends over my hand and kisses it. I feel like a schoolgirl on a first date. Come to think of it, maybe that’s exactly what I am. I’ve always been the aggressor in relationships. I’m surprised at how nice it feels to let someone else take the lead.
    Perhaps it’s the place itself that’s inspiring such romanticism. Melvyn’s is located on the property of the Ingleside Inn, tucked off the main route so it seems isolated from the bustle of Palm Springs. It’s a Spanish style masterpiece, redolent with lush greenery and resplendent with flowers. A riotous array of flowers, the scent of jasmine so potent it makes the senses swim.
    Once inside, the maitre d’ greets Lance like an old friend. The rest of our party has yet to arrive, so he suggests we wait at the bar.
    I throw Lance a pointed look. We left because you said we shouldn’t be late. So where is everyone?
    Lance shrugs, squeezes my shoulders. I’ll make it up to you.
    He orders champagne. He’s more relaxed again, his smile easy and confident.
    Melvyn’s is a great place to people watch. The bar is dark and intimate, the walls lined with pictures of the rich and famous who have visited here. There’s even one of Lance—his arm around a gray-haired man.
    I point to the picture and raise an eyebrow.
    “The owner, Mel Haber.”
    I’m suitably impressed. Lance whispers names in my ear as he recognizes locals who stop by our table to say hello. Humans. Mostly geriatrics. I wonder how long it will be before he will have to give up such a public existence in a place where he does not age. For the time being, it doesn’t seem to bother him.
    The champagne works its magic. By the third glass, I’ve forgiven him for rushing us out of the house. He’s no longer apprehensive. He’s laughing. His hand finds its way under the tablecloth to stroke my thigh through the silk of my gown. He inches his chair closer. Soon I feel his touch on my bare skin, his fingers dangerously close to sparking a reaction that is bound to get us thrown out of the restaurant.
    He’s watching, eyes flashing, feeling my body’s rising heat. He’s enjoying this.
    I lean toward him, my own hand finding its way under the table. Careful. Two can play—
    The words get choked off. My breath catches. My stomach twists into a knot. I jerk back and away from Lance and my eyes search the crowd.
    Something is here. Something threatening. Something evil.
    It’s happening again. Just like when I was with David in that bar. This time, Lance is the one reacting with shocked alarm. He feels it, too, through me.
    “Anna, what’s wrong?”
    I don’t know. My heart is pounding. I feel sweat break out on my face. I want to stand up and run, but I can’t. I can’t even articulate the numbing fear that’s bringing the animal so close to the surface.
    “We have to get out of here.”
    Lance is on his feet. “Let’s go.”
    I’m weak with relief at his response. I push back my chair and let him take my arm.
    The waiter hurries over to our table. “Is she all right?”
    Lance fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a fifty. “For you. Put the champagne on my tab.”
    The waiter nods that he will and stands aside for us to pass.
    The pounding in my head and chest reach a crescendo. The instinct to attack is so strong, I’m not sure I can control it. The problem is, I don’t know what to attack. As we go, my eyes roam the room, lighting on each face, trying to identify the threat. My gaze is met with startled, fearful, questioning expressions. I must be changing into the vampire and I have no control. I’m exposing myself to a roomful of humans and I have no control.
    We’re almost at the door. I duck my head, turn into Lance’s