“Good.” Sue rises from my guest chair and makes her way out of my office. When she opens my door, she leans down and picks something up off the floor. A mason jar brimming with dusky purple tulips. “How nice. Your fiancé sent you flowers.”

I force a smile and take the vase from her, walking it back to my desk. An envelope from Flowers of the World winks from beneath the ribbon.

As soon as I’m alone, I tear open the card.

Today’s expectations: That these will make your move less hellish.

—Noah

P.S. I know the monk only had to stand up and deliver three words, but I’m willing to bet you were a tough act to follow.

I stare at the card. An image of Noah Ross dictating this message to a florist fills my mind. Was he in his penthouse, feet up on his desk, looking out at Central Park? Did he come up with the message on the fly, or did he labor over it the way I labor over my words to him? Was he wondering what I might think when I got the tulips? Because I don’t know what to think. The more I try to understand my relationship with Noah Ross, the more indefinable it becomes.

Friends over email. Antagonists in person. Then, out of nowhere: people who break into brownstones together, enjoy ELO on the jukebox, and eat obnoxious foods on trains.

One thing I’ve always loved about Noa’s characters is how they grapple with contradictory impulses. This makes for great fiction, but in real life, it’s confusing.

“Excuse us,” Meg says, slipping in with Rufus and closing the door. “Nice digs, by the way.” She looks around and nods approval. “Rufus thought he heard Sue say something about Ryan sending you—” She breaks off, pointing at the tulips. “Whoa . . . what happened Friday night?”

Someday, I’d love to tell Meg what happened Friday night.

“Funny,” Rufus says, picking up the mason jar. “I always took Ryan for more of a red roses kind of guy.”

“Why is your ex-fiancé buying you flowers when my husband doesn’t seem to know what they are?” Meg says. “Do you know what Tommy got me for Valentine’s Day this year? A case of unscented dryer sheets. I kid you not.”

“Meg, that is romantic!” I say, happy to steer the subject away from the tulips.

“Don’t patronize me.”

“You love to shop in bulk!” I remind her. “You guys got banned from Costco back when you were dating for heavy petting in the freezer section! Plus, unscented? He was thinking about your eczema.”

“He was thinking about static cling. That’s what our marriage is: static cling.”

“So the flowers . . .” Rufus prompts me.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “They aren’t from Ryan.”

“Good,” Meg says, “because that would have thrown a real wrench in Operation Get Lanie Laid this Friday.”