I draw a breath, as if preparing to teach a seminar. “Okay, see, the craftsmanship on that bag is next-level. The thin-cut leather is lighter than other brands but just as durable, which has totally revolutionized the fashion industry. It’s the perfect blend of soft and strong. See the stitching? That’s all done by hand.” I take a deep breath. I didn’t realize how worked up I could get about this. But fashion isn’t just about pretty things. It’s art that tells a story in meaningful ways, just like this bag.

Alex falls silent, staring thoughtfully at the bag. “All right.”

“So you get it?” I ask.

“No, I mean ‘All right, you were really having your own little Miranda Priestly moment right then, weren’t you?’ ”

Truthfully, The Devil Wears Prada is one of my favorite American movies.

“Okay, Mr. Hasn’t-Seen-a-Movie-Since-Y2K,” I say, rolling my eyes and reaching out to swat his arm, but Alex grabs a hold of my hand.

“Hey, seriously,” he says, looking at me with those warm brown eyes, “I think it’s cool that you’re so passionate about… Balenciaga, was it?” I nod, not trusting myself to speak, the way my heart is hammering. “ ‘The perfect blend of soft and strong.’ Well, when you put it like that, it really does sound like a dream girl—I meant bag, bag! Dream bag. Definitely see it now.”

He grins again and I swat him playfully, but somehow it’s different than when I swatted Leah earlier. Less of an “Oh stop!” moment and more of an “I wish this night was never going to end, but can I at least touch your arm” moment.

For a second, he halts and stares into my eyes. I feel my breath soft and rapid in my throat.

And then, the moment is gone.

Alex walks me nearly all the way up to the hotel. I stop him two blocks away, just in case someone sees us and thinks we’re on a date. But… would it be wrong to think that? It sure felt like a date. A really, really great date.

“So, is this good night?” Alex asks.

I look up at him. He smiles with that dimple, and I suddenly feel the urge to kiss him.

I quickly step back. As much as I’ve missed that falling-in-love feeling, and as incredible as Alex is, K-pop and romance just don’t mix, no matter how much I wish they did. I have to remember that.

“Yes,” I say. “Good night, Alex.”

“Good night, Rachel.”