Dee was still staring through the laptop screen like she could see straight into Nora’s dirty dreams, though, so she absolutely had to correct this misimpression.

“We had this little—I don’t know. I caught the edge of my foot on some stuff in the apartment and tripped, and then we . . .”

“Had sex?”

“No! Keep your voice down; we’re at work!”

“I’m at work. You’re at home.”

Nora ignored that. “We didn’t have sex. He—he grabbed my hand, and then . . . I don’t know. We stayed like that. For a few seconds.”

Deepa blinked. “You . . . held hands.” She tipped back her head and laughed. “This is the most you story. So then what?”

Nora did not want to do the then what. Thinking of the look on Will’s face when he’d said I’m an orphan was already one of the top ten moments in life she did not want to relive, just ahead of talking about dildos in a conference room. She’d never heard someone call themselves an orphan. It was a little Dickensian, to be honest, but then again, Nora had always liked to read.

Though judging by the look on Will’s face, he’d closed the book.

Firmly.

She shrugged. “Nothing. I think it was a blip. We both remembered ourselves, I guess. I tried to get him to reconsider, and he assured me that he won’t.”

“Hide. The. Fish.” Dee was mid-lipstick application, so it sounded more like Ide. Uh. Ish.

“I don’t want to ruin his life,” she said, although what she really meant was I don’t want to hurt his feelings. She’d had the sense she’d done that, somehow. When he’d dropped her hand, she’d felt it in her stomach. Like a tiny stone of regret had lodged itself there.

Then again, what about the feelings of her neighbors? What about sitting with Emily yesterday, encouraging her to stop reading articles online about problems with short-term rentals? What about the way Marian had looked at her with expectation by the mailboxes, or the way Jonah had shaken a small fist at her and said, “We’ll get him next time!”

What about what Nonna would want?

“I only want him to . . . I need him to understand why this won’t work here.”

Deepa made a humming noise as she put the lipstick away and pulled out a setting spray. In the third-floor bathroom, if they were working out some design problem, this is the point at which Deepa usually got ideas. It was like all the touch-ups were brain calisthenics for her.

“No offense, Nora, but since you’ve moved back there you have told me no fewer than six things that your neighbors do that would absolutely have me packing a go bag and fleeing back to the wide world of living with people my own age.”

“That’s rude. They’re—”