I took the train back into the city on Thursday afternoon to finalize measurements for the window shades we were installing. Hayes and Eleanor had given me an extra set of keys to the office, as well as the alarm code, so I could come and go as needed. Yesterday, I’d been there bright and early with my coffee, to oversee the electrician handling the fixtures and wiring. Finally, I was doing the hands-on work I’d dreamed about, getting to dork out about every step.

“Hello?” I called, even though I knew no one was there, feeling both relieved and disappointed that I wasn’t going to see Hayes today. Inside, the office was lit up by the sun, and the tall palms that had been brought in for the reception area cast lightning-bolt shadows across the floor. Already, the space had the soothing energy of a spa, and my breath immediately settled in my chest. But the quiet was interrupted by the sound of someone walking across the wood floor, and Hayes emerged from his office, in light-gray suit pants with a white collared shirt tucked into them. No tie or jacket to be seen.

“Franny, hi.” He ran a hand through his enviably thick hair.

“Hey,” I said, smoothing the front of my wrinkled overalls. Suddenly, I could feel the sweat on my forehead, smell the body odor coating my armpits. I tucked my hair behind my ear and desperately wished I’d remembered to put on some lip gloss before walking into the building. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Sorry, I had a long day of meetings. I needed to get out of the office,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets and smiling. “My brain was hurting. On top of this new office and the party, we’re figuring out the strategy for opening a West Coast office, in Seattle. Plus all our other work on top of that.”

“So you got out of the office and came to…your office?” I said, teasing him.

He shrugged with a bashful laugh, which was low and husky and hit me in a way that felt like longing, igniting parts of my body that ached to be touched. I stuck my thumb between my teeth and bit it, taking a deep breath. It didn’t help.

“Hey, I get it,” I said, not wanting him to feel self-conscious by my joking around. “When I need to think, I go to the Laundromat down the street from my apartment.”

He gave me a skeptical look.

“Seriously,” I insisted. “It’s a habit left over from college. I even have a washer and dryer in my place now, but there’s something about being out in public, watching clothes tumble around. I dunno.” I shrugged. “It helps my brain calm down. Especially if I’m stressed or angry about something.”