We arrive at Twin Peaks about thirty minutes later. The pair of uninhabited hills almost a thousand feet high offer the best view of San Francisco. I hurl the reusable supermarket bag out of the trunk and plop it between us on the car’s trunk, popping open one beer for him and one for me. San Francisco spreads in front of us like a calendar girl. A mixture of medium-size skyscrapers nestled between sleepy neighborhoods, all built on hilly, uneven streets.

Joe clinks his beer with mine. “To being a little less fucked up than we were at the beginning of the year.”

“And to helping our therapists finance their Hamptons time-shares.”

We both take a pull of our beers.

“Why’d you choose this spot?” Joe asks, looking around us.

“The Twin Peaks are the only hills in San Francisco that have not been built over. I thought you’d get a kick out of being somewhere completely uninhabited.”

“I’ve always been partial to people.” He smirks.

“They’re also a little dirty, like your mind. The Spaniards referred to the Twin Peaks lovingly as Los Pechos de la Chola. The Breasts of the Indian Maiden, if you will.”

“So I’m basically sitting on a massive pair of tits.” Joe nods, processing. He then lifts his beer again. “I’ll drink to that.”

“You’ll drink to pretty much anything, won’t you?” I tease.

He laughs. “I like my beer, but I’ve been watching my alcohol count recently. I don’t want this to become a problem, now that I’m officially grieving a relative.”

Joe tells me he is in San Francisco for exactly one week, and that he really does intend on writing all day, every day, but that we can meet during the evenings. I do the math in my head. That’s seven dates with a man I am helplessly in love with and who is determined not to be with me. Only a fool would agree to this kind of arrangement. But unlike Joe, I don’t count my alcohol units per week. I’m a drug addict on the loose, looking for her next hit. So I take the bait.

“Sure, I’ll show you around if you behave.”

“I never behave.” He makes an adorable face.

“That’s always been a problem.” I smile at him, feeling warm all over. His gaze on me is like a weighted blanket, I swear.

“So what else is new with you?” he asks.

I hitch a shoulder up, cracking open my second beer. It’s not that I want to get drunk again. It’s that I want to ensure we don’t leave here in the next few hours. Joe won’t make me get behind the wheel buzzed. “I feel like I’m on the verge of something. I just don’t know what that something is.”