“I’m excited,” Vanessa said, closing the gap between them. “I want to take you everywhere. And do everything with you. And ask you every single question that’s been on my mind for months. And I want to know when you knew what was happening between us and I want to tell you when I knew. And I want to hold your hand in a quiet corner and I want to lie in bed and hear your heartbeat through your chest. I want to bring you coffee in bed. And I want to hear you tell me anything you’ve always wanted to tell someone. Because you know that you’ve met someone who desperately wants to listen.”

Joan’s heart was in her throat, and she could not swallow it down. “No one has ever…said anything that wonderful to me before,” she said, trying to keep her voice level and failing.

Vanessa took the bra and underwear out of her hand. She placed them gently in the top drawer of Joan’s side of the dresser. And then she stood in front of Joan and kissed her.

“Good. So finish unpacking and take me on a date tonight,” Vanessa said.

—

Vanessa wanted to swim laps.

“It will be nice to spend time in a pool when I’m not wearing a three-hundred-pound suit, practicing fixing a latch with a ratchet wrench.”

“That’s a great idea,” Joan said. “Why don’t you bring a bag and shower in the locker room, and we can meet in the lobby at eight?”

“Like a real date?”

“Like a real date.”

“See you then,” Vanessa said. She grabbed her things and kissed Joan goodbye. The kiss was so small. So quick. It was a peck, really, a formality. But when Vanessa shut the door behind herself, it took Joan a moment to recover.

And then she went to the phone and called down to the concierge to make a dinner reservation.

When she was done, she put on her navy blue dress that tied at the waist. It had a lower neckline than her other dresses, and she liked how she looked in it.

She went over to the mirror and opened her sparse makeup bag. That night, for the first time, Joan picked up the mascara wand and took it to her eyelashes not just to fit in, but with the hope that someone might notice. When she was done, she breathed in and looked at herself. Did she look like Ingrid Bergman? The cheekbones and the lips…maybe. Maybe she did.

When Joan got down to the lobby, Vanessa was leaning against a column, wearing faded Levi’s and a black belt, with a crisp white button-front shirt, the sleeves rolled up on her forearms. Her hair was still drying around her face.

She was the most beautiful person Joan had ever seen in her life.