He gets down on his hands and knees to dab the stain from the rug, flipping his tie over his shoulder. There’s something oddly domestic about the moment. I can’t help but imagine what it might be like one day to live here with Blake and do mundane household tasks with him, like washing the dishes or making the bed. I snap back to reality when the stain is lifted and he sits back down on the couch with me. He sips his wine self-consciously.

However hot the chemistry was between us a minute ago, it’s evaporated. It’s clear neither of us knows how to kickstart it again. Thoughts of my engagement scheme and the shop’s rising rent and his other dates lurk in the back of my mind and I push them away. I cast around for any subject that’ll move us forward.

“So, you—” I say, just as he blurts out, “I just—”

“Go ahead,” I say.

“No, you go ahead,” he says.

I blush. I don’t really want or need to ask him whatever bland question I had just brainstormed to get past this awkward moment. Instead, I scoot closer to him on the couch, swing one leg over his lap, and straddle him for a kiss. I slide my arms over his shoulders and pull him close to me. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. He smoothly kisses me back as he stretches one arm out to put down his wineglass. He finishes loosening his tie and lets it slip from his collar. When I fumble with the top buttons of his shirt, he gently catches my lower lip between his teeth.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says.

I sit back for a moment to catch his gaze. “Me, too,” I say.

Blake runs his hands appreciatively from my hips to my waist to my chest. His hands are warm and he smells like a mix of leather and a heady cologne I can’t quite place. The hem of my blouse has somehow shimmied up around my stomach. When he touches my torso, my skin tingles with anticipation. I can’t remember the last time I felt this good.

I’m lost in his kiss when I feel his hands pull away from my waist. The sudden lack of contact jerks me out of the moment. I pull back.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

There’s a gleam in his eye. “Come to the bedroom with me,” he says, running his hands along my thighs.