Quinn rolled his eyes at the depravity of it all and told me to follow my intuition. Huda was more forgiving of him. When she sashayed into the office the next morning, an hour after me, she asked me about the date before we even went over the expense reports. She sucked on her yogurt spoon thoughtfully. “It might be a blip, you know. At least he knows he did something wrong. Some men would still be confused.”

I made a minor correction to the report and looked over at her. “I’m not looking to settle for some guy who just barely gets it. Let’s not give accolades where they’re not deserved.”

She swallowed more yogurt. “I just think everyone should have a second chance. Get back to him, at least. You shouldn’t ghost this one, especially when he’s so hell-bent on getting in touch with you.” I sighed and didn’t answer, pushed over the laptop and attempted to get her to focus on the spreadsheet I was working on.

At noon, a bouquet of roses was sent to the office. Everyone oohed and aahed. I moved them to the kitchen area, sent an office-wide email that anyone could take them home if they wanted. Huda plucked one and smelled it, a sensuous grin enveloping her face. “You are so cold, Vera. They’re pink! How sweet. He admires you. Please get back to him.”

But I didn’t. The gesture itself rubbed me the wrong way. It was too grandiose, too public, too reliant on external validation. It reminded me of men who propose in front of a crowd, giving their partner no way to reject them, lest they embarrass their girlfriend and themselves in front of so many people.

Quinn agreed with me, later that night when he got home from some Thursday night shenanigans. I was on our couch smoking a bowl in my underwear, watching Married at First Sight when he strolled in and started digging through the fridge for a snack.

“Yeah, that’s too much. After a third date, too? It’s a little manipulative. And kind of an insult to you. Like shouldn’t he know you’re not the type of woman to be bowled over by some flowers?”

I continued to leave his texts unanswered, but I didn’t want to ghost. I’d rather just let him down easy. Not necessarily because I cared, but because I had a prick of fear, a nagging instinct clawing at the back of my head. Well, maybe I did care, just a little. I’d been excited to see him after all. I’d had such a long, languid, nearly hedonistic second date with him. But some of that longing had ebbed away, no matter how good the sex was; once he stopped being soft and vulnerable this wasn’t fun anymore. I wanted out.

I finally composed a text Friday morning.