Blake had texted me earlier today, offering to pick me up, but it truly would make no sense for him to take a cab down the Upper East Side, across the Queensboro Bridge, through Long Island City, Greenpoint, and Williamsburg in order to pick me up . . . only to turn the car right around and head back to the Upper East Side. I didn’t blame him at all for not coming to get me. So instead, I call an Uber to take me to Gustavino’s, the charity gala venue. I’m glad I am arriving on my own. I’m more nervous than I had expected to be.

I’ve spent three of the past five nights at Blake’s apartment: Tuesday, after our walk along the Brooklyn Bridge; Wednesday, after Raj left; and Thursday, when he sent a heart-racing text in the middle of the afternoon: “Is there any chance I could see you one more night? My bed will feel empty without you in it.” I went over after happy hour with Carmen.

We were slowly growing more comfortable with each other: he opens the door in white T-shirts now, rather than blazers and button-downs; I dared to lie next to him in bed with three full days of leg hair stubble. There were still some occasional lulls in our conversation, the kind that made my chest tight with anticipation. But we always managed to steer past them by jumping into conversation about work or the city.

And then, finally, Thursday night, we were lying awake in his bed, with nothing but a few lights from the apartment across the street to illuminate each other’s faces. He was toying with my fingers.

“When I introduce you to people on Saturday, what should I . . . what should I call you?” he asked hesitantly.

“What do you want to call me?” I shot back. I aimed for sassy, not desperate—I’m not sure which side I landed on.

“I think ‘girlfriend’ has a pretty nice ring to it. What do you think?”

And I kissed him. I said yes. Were the circumstances different, I might have asked if we could continue getting to know each other better. I don’t take the labels “boyfriend” or “girlfriend” lightly, especially not in a world where you can be sleeping with a person three times a week and they’ll still only call you a “friend.” If there was no external pressure whatsoever on our relationship, I would want to wait until my feelings for him were stronger before agreeing to an exclusive, official relationship. But if that’s what Blake wants, so be it. I don’t have time to waste. I’m grateful his feelings are progressing at a steady clip—that makes my life easier.