My phone buzzed from inside the evening bag and I dug it out. I hadn’t packed a phone charger, so it was telling me it was in the death throes of ebbing battery life at 18%. There were also two new text messages. The first one was from Cat:

Woo hoo! Will leave a key with the concierge if I go out. Text when you’re coming home.

The next one was from Josh:

Hey, just home from work. Was hoping we could FaceTime later. Miss ya. Jx

A twist of panic snaked its way through my stomach.

WHAT. AM. I. DOING?

Less than a week before, I’d woken up next to Josh, miserable about saying goodbye and asking myself if I loved him. And there I was in the silver fox’s bathroom after I had made love with him—made love!—practically all night long.

I shot off a quick text to Cat:

Just woke up. OMG. So much to tell. Home soon—def before lunch.

Replying to Josh was more difficult. It was late at night in Chicago. What if I replied while he was still awake, and he wanted to FaceTime me right away? I decided to hold off until I was back at Cat’s and knew he’d be asleep. I turned off my phone. There was no sense in listening to it die completely. That buzzing could drive a person mad.

James’s bathroom was perfection. As well as two sinks, there was a giant soaking tub and a separate shower with a rainwater shower head. I opened a cupboard under the closest sink and, as I hoped, there was a stack of fluffy towels. I pulled one out, hung it on a hook next to the shower, and stepped in.

The water felt great, but when I turned it off, I realised James was knocking on the bathroom door. “Sarah?”

“Yes,” I called out. I reached for the towel and clutched it to me in an act of unnecessary modesty.

“Tea or coffee?”

Oh, how lovely! “Uh, tea please. White, no sugar,” I replied.

“See you downstairs in a tick.”

I dried off quickly. I didn’t really have much in the way of toiletries or cosmetics with me, so I brushed my teeth, slathered on some moisturiser, touched up under my eyes with concealer, dotted some lipstick on my cheeks and rubbed it in for that freshly flushed look, and pinned the curls around my face on top of my head, out of the way. Like I said, this gal can innovate with just a handful of products.

But what to wear? I didn’t really fancy putting on my dress for a cup of tea. I opened the bathroom door and there on the bed, on the side I had slept on, was a folded-up bathrobe—a woman’s bathrobe. James was not only thoughtful and generous in bed, it seemed. I put on the robe and descended two levels to the kitchen.

Now, I know I’ve raved about James’s house, but I nearly had another orgasm when I saw his kitchen. It was exactly what I would have designed if I owned my own house and had an unlimited budget. There was a giant island cupboard—bench space for days—a six-burner gas stove, two ovens, and twin sinks with draining boards on each side.