“I wrote him a note, but I never gave it to him. I didn’t have the guts.”

I can see Dom is not following me, so I jump from the bed and tell him to wait there. There are no notepads or pens anywhere in the room. This is a place that doesn’t pretend to think you come here to work. I put my slippers on and go down to the lobby and ask for a piece of paper and a pen. Before I leave, I tell the receptionist I need to talk to Dana tomorrow morning.

“She’ll be here around six.”

Not wanting to forget, I pull my phone out of my pocket and set my alarm for five forty-five.

I write the note in the lobby before I go back to the room. When I push the door open, I spot Dom exactly where I left him, looking puzzled. I shove the piece of paper into his hand, then run into the bathroom to hide.

Hi Dom,

It’s Everlynne. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I really like you. I would really like for you to be my boyfriend. I promise to be a good girlfriend and always be nice to you and not bug you about your friends. Please let me know and please do not tell your friends. Thank you.

PS, I’ll share my Fruity Loops with you if you say yes.

Everlynne Lawson

It’s a replica of the note I wrote to Luke, only with Dom’s name. A minute passes. My back is glued against the bathroom door. Anxiety begins trickling in. What if Dom thinks it’s weird, not cute? What if he doesn’t want to be with someone who doesn’t love him back? What if he is so put off by my idea of a perfect night that he is reconsidering our entire relationship?

But then there’s a soft knock on the door. I feel the ricochets of the raps across my back. Dom’s body glides down the door. He is sitting on the other side, both our backs pressed against the wood.

“Fruity Loops, huh?”

I close my eyes and smile, embarrassed. “They’re negotiable, if you are partial to Dunkies.”

“I definitely am,” he responds.

“Then I’ll feed you one perfectly glazed Dunkie every day. To be sent to your doorstep, rain or shine.” I intend to keep this crazy promise somehow. It’s high time I start something and stick to it. And since the gym is not an option . . .

“I have other conditions,” he warns. “Before I accept your offer.”

“Playing hardball,” I note. “Let’s hear it.”

“I’m not down with the whole not-telling-my-friends part. I want to shout it from the rooftops. Would that be okay?”