“I asked him not to,” he says quickly. “I didn’t want to impose.”

My forehead wrinkles. The idea of his being an imposition on anything other than my recent dry spell is too foreign a concept until I recall that all our reunions have taken place in my head.

“No!” Too loud; jeez, Bennet, keep it together. I take in a breath, willing myself to slow down. “Not at all. Thanks for the consideration, but . . . no. You’re no imposition.”

“You wanna come down here?” Chloe calls, her hands cupped around her mouth. “Or would you rather keep hollering from different floors?”

Darcy huffs out an anxious laugh, which—anxious? He does that? “I’ll be right there.” He turns and disappears from view.

“Holy shit,” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down. “He’s here.”

“And he’s nummy. Well done, Lizard.” Chloe scans my face. “Your lipstick is good, nothing’s smudged.” She points to the front of my dress. “Good call on the wrap, but let’s—” She pinches the fabric below my bust and gives a quick downward tug; I’m too stunned to protest. “Just right. The girls look great—hey!”

Darcy strides our way.

“Sorry for the breaking and entering.” Chloe extends a hand. “Chloe, again. I’m Liz’s cousin. Just visiting.”

Darcy shakes her hand with a smile. “You sleeping on the infamous bouldering mat?”

I blink, thrown by the unexpected callback to a month-old conversation. A snort escapes me at the visual of Gales trying to make himself comfortable on the mat, let alone share it with Chloe.

“No,” I say. “They’re in a place in SoHo. She’s a makeup artist here for some photo shoots. But her fiancé is a chef, so any time she’s not working has revolved around eating . . .” I look at Chloe, who shrugs.

“Eating,” she agrees.

“Where have you hit so far?” Darcy asks.

It takes me a moment to process the question. He’s here, with all his biceps-baring appeal. I didn’t even think about what his arms would look like. I want to touch them. “Paulie Gee’s, Curry-Ya, Mission Chinese—”

“There’s a Mission here?” he asks.

“Two. One in Chinatown, the other’s in Bushwick.”

“Huh. I’ve been to the original in San Francisco. Great food.”

Step it up, Bennet. You’re treading dangerously close to small talk. “We’re going to Ippudo tonight.” The angle in my voice is mortifying. “If you’d like to join us?” I add, less leading.

He tips his head, watching me as though he’s trying to gauge whether I’m serious. I hold my breath. A slow smile brightens his eyes, and my toes curl so hard, I hear the joints pop inside my pumps. “I have client calls on and off until eight.” He grits his teeth. “And an overseas call at ten. But I can meet up in between?”