I pore over the twenty-seven words of Noah’s email. Exclamation point after the first sentence—always a good sign! And he doesn’t seem bothered that I breached our agreement and made contact. But “before I get too deep,” suggests that he’s not yet deep in the writing. Just how un-deep is he? Ten thousand words? Two fifty? And the use of the word love . . .

After sales conference adjourns, I race back to my desk, pick up the phone, and dial Terry, telling myself I will not take any of her guff today.

“Hey . . .”

It’s Noah’s voice. It sounds softer. Or is this just the way he speaks on the phone? It’s our first time.

“Oh,” I say. “Hi. I thought I’d have to go through Terry. You’ve never answered this phone before.”

Is he in his office? At that desk? Looking out at that view of Central Park? What’s he wearing? What’s he drinking? Does he have writing snacks?

“Terry’s at the dentist.”

“Well, that’s lucky. I mean, not for her dentist. I mean . . .” Is this what happens to me when I don’t talk to Noah for three weeks? I turn into a nervous wreck? “You wanted to talk?”

“I do. I want your opinion. I was hoping we could meet, but then . . .” He pauses. “I got a call from my mom’s doctor, and I need to go see her. I’m catching a train this afternoon. I’ll be back Sunday, if that works for you—”

“Do you want company?”

There’s a pause. “On the train?” Noah says.

He sounds surprised but not necessarily intruded upon, so I persevere.

“A train’s as good a place as any for us to talk about your characters,” I say. “Right?”

“You’d ride the train down to D.C. with me, just to talk about the book?”

Now I’m fairly certain that Noah Ross sounds a little bit touched.

“Well, you know,” I say, “interesting things happened the last time we were on a train together.” I smile at the memory of Noah pulling out that Swiss Army knife, breaking into Ryan’s brownstone. “I could even throw in a tuna sandwich with onions, or something equally pungent?”

“If you meet me at Penn Station in two hours,” Noah says, “I’ll bring you the best egg drop wonton soup you’ve ever had.”

“Well, I’m not going to tell my friend Meg’s mother that you said that, but I will meet you at Penn Station.”

I’m grinning as I hang up the phone.

“Say goodbye to editing,” Noah says as I open the soup. “Because these wontons are about to blow your mind.”