I tried to give him a once-over without him noticing. He was dressed almost identical to when we first met, head to toe in navy, with a light-blue shirt underneath his jacket. The crispness of his clothes only made the sharp angles of his face more pronounced, and the combination caused the back of my neck to heat up, a sauna made entirely of nerves…and pheromones. When I looked up, his eyes caught mine, but he looked away immediately, as aloof as ever.

“Hi,” I replied as he opened the door of the building for me.

“Wow,” I said, looking around the lobby. “This is great.” It was more than great; it was sleek and sophisticated, a modern mix of wood, metal, and huge floor-to-ceiling windows. Not to mention it was right in the middle of the West Village, blocks from the Hudson River. I tried to keep my drooling to a minimum and attempted to play it cool.

“This way,” he said with a tilt of his head as he led me to the elevators. “How are you doing?” he asked politely as we stood across from each other on the way up.

Was he nervous? That seemed unlikely. But why else would he be acting like we were meeting for the first time?

Then I remembered what he had said that night we walked to the subway together: “I just felt very out of place.”

Hayes was awkward. Something I’d interpreted as haughtiness at first. But now that I could see it for what it was, it was kind of charming.

“Good, thank you,” I replied. “I’m—”

Thankfully, the doors dinged open just then, saving me from myself.

“Wow.”

Walking into the space was like diving into the ocean with your eyes open for the first time. It was vast, bright, and beautiful. Light carpeted the floor, beaming in through a giant wall of industrial windows facing the Hudson.

“Hayes.” I turned to him, my mouth wide, voice filled with glee. “This is beyond.” I was unable to hide my excitement. There was no point in trying to play it cool. I could have gushed more: the high ceilings, the exposed beams, the raw brick. It was untouched, unmarked, a dream canvas that had my creative brain itching for what felt like the first time in forever. Sitting here empty like this was a disgrace to its beautiful bones. They longed to be caressed and loved, draped in art and color, and filled with life.

“Yeah, it’s cool,” he said, hands in pockets, watching me.

“Cool?” I repeated back to him, horrified that he’d choose such an ordinary, boring word to describe something as beautiful as this. “That’s like saying LeBron James is just okay at basketball. This place is a dream.”

I bent to touch a hand to the floor—real wood, probably original. I sighed with pleasure. “These floors are amazing. I am sincerely attracted to them.”