Do you think I might be just the tiniest bit… drunk? Because that would not be good.

Margarita number five was delicious. I had them leave off the salt. Self-control is important.

“So,” he starts. “Other than my little brother Charlie and Joe Blow, there must be men in your life. How about that tall, naked guy who was holding you up outside your office? The redhead.” His smile fades.

“Henry? Oh my God, no! He and his wife are my best friends.” Is it me, or does he look a little bit relieved?

“Have you ever been married?” he asks.

“And don’t call him Joe Blow,” I add. “No, never been married. Before Joe, I dated someone for five years, but he got a great job offer and moved to New York, and my job was here. We tried to make it work long distance for about six months, but we both wanted more than that. I want to wake up with someone. I want to come home at night and tell someone about my day, hear about theirs. Go grocery shopping. Have a life.” I pause. “Raise a family.”

Am I oversharing? Too late to worry about that, I guess.

“I miss that,” he says softly. “Even after all this time.”

“Why haven’t you remarried?” I ask.

He’s quiet.

“After Simone left, I was in survival mode. I had all I could do to manage breakfast, lunch, and dinner, never mind soccer games and piano lessons. Although,” he smiles ruefully, “I had plenty of offers of help from female friends. All kinds of help.”

“I’ll bet you did,” I smile back. “Did you accept any?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I wasn’t going to let any woman near us again. And when the girls got older, they were pretty protective of their turf.” He starts to laugh. “Once I had a weekend guest, an old friend who lives in Chicago. The girls went into the guest room on a reconnaissance mission. They were about ten at the time. Just as my friend and I were sitting down to a candlelit dinner, Elodie and Amelie came down the stairs.”

“This doesn’t sound good,” I say, but I’m smiling.

“It wasn’t good. But it was pretty funny. They were each wearing one of her silk nightgowns. And high heels. Lipstick. They must have sprayed an entire bottle of her perfume on each other. They were giggling so hard they could barely stand up.”

“Oh no—what happened?”

“Let’s just say my friend didn’t see the humor. And those nightgowns just didn’t seem very sexy anymore.”

“Hard to be a dad and a date at the same time?” I ask.

“Very. But they’re off at college now. All of them. It’s a whole new world.”

“A new world for me, too, but I’m just at the beginning.”

Nick looks at me thoughtfully.

And signals for the check.

* * *

There is considerably more wobbling on the way back to his car, but I think the walk does me good. By the time the black Range Rover comes into view, most of the margaritas have worn off. Anticipation has not. My breath quickens, all my senses suddenly acute. The press of his fingers against my spine as he guides me. The brush of his hip against mine as we turn. How his hair curls at the collar, like it’s cozying up. The light whiff of Bay Rhum that makes me want to nuzzle his neck.

Nick clicks the locks off and opens my door. He’s standing so close, one hand on the door handle, leaning in toward me like he’s ready to breach the space between us, about to take that penultimate movement before a kiss. I glance up at his face and he’s looking at me. Slowly he leans forward and I take Sheryl Sandberg’s advice.

I lean in.

Slowly, softly, his lips touch mine, a burst of flavor and heat quenching the anticipation but making me thirst for more. Seconds pass, eternity in the form of intimate touch, the deepening passion turning into a free fall. I’m loose and spinning, falling into nothing and everything at the same time, his hands holding me in place, his hard body locking me into the only location in the world where I need to be.

Not want.

Need.

Then he straightens and smiles into my eyes, questions pooling there, barely held back, lips twitching with intensity. I turn and slide into my seat. Neither of us says a word.

The briefest kiss – a taste, a tease, a promise - and I am undone.

This is a revelation to me.

The Massachusetts Avenue Bridge takes us back to Cambridge. At night, this is my favorite view—suspended over the Charles River, Boston glittering on one side and Cambridge on the other. Two beautiful cities reflected in the same water. I turn in my seat. On one side of Boston, the gold leaf State House dome is illuminated; on the other side, above Kenmore Square, is the famous neon CITGO sign. The panorama is magical, like being in a snow globe, except it’s summer.

I sit back and look up through the open sunroof as the stars slide by slowly.

What’s going to happen when we get to my apartment?

Will we sleep together? I want him to sleep with me.

I report to him. He can’t.

I look over at him, serene and purposeful, his hand leaving the steering wheel and finding mine, resting our clasped fingers on my thigh.

A promise, all right.

An invitation.

He damn well better kiss me again.

And more.

On the other hand, we work for Anterdec. There is plenty of precedent for inter-office romance. The entire world knows that Declan McCormick just married one of his direct reports. And I still want to know more about what’s going on with Andrew and Amanda.

Of course there’s no ‘Visitor’ parking space available on my street. Or on the cross street.

On the next street over, we round the corner just in time to watch a Volvo sliding back into an open spot.

So unfair. So frustrating. So Cambridge.

Please can we just fast-forward? Teleport, maybe?

Four blocks away, we finally see a spot at the far end of the street. We look at each other and smile. We pull up alongside the space.

It is the size of a Smartcar. There’s no way.

I smack the dashboard. Nick smiles.

I have an idea. “Just go to my parking spot and pull in behind my car,” I say. “No one can have a problem with that.”

Ten minutes later, we are inside my back door.

“Would you like coffee?” I ask, turning the lock.

His mouth is on mine.

I breathe him in, taste him, move my body along with his. My back is against the door. His hands are pulling my skirt up. His palm runs along my thigh, my hip, pulling me against him. I feel his hardness, and I reach for his belt buckle, frantic for more of him. The clasp opens.