The next morning, Lauren appeared at the threshold to my office. She looked perfectly put together, as if last night’s alcohol had had no effect on her. Her cheeks had a rosy glow and her eyes glistened. She was even having a good hair day. I, on the other hand, felt like I’d been hit by a truck.

I knew that there were really only three ways she could play this: pretend the kiss never happened, claim it was a big mistake, or set up a situation for us to finish what we’d begun.

“I . . . I can’t remember the last time I drank like that,” she said.

“I couldn’t tell by looking at you. I’m feeling it today, though.”

“I feel . . . great, if you want to know the truth,” she said with a broad smile. “Was your husband upset?”

I wondered if Lauren had intended for her simple query to have so many meanings. Was Stuart upset I came home late? Drunk? With my boss’s lipstick on my mouth?

“He was fast asleep. It’s not uncommon that I come home really late from work. My boss is a real hard-ass—he knows that.”

“Yesterday we were ‘partners,’ and now I’m back to being your boss, huh?”

Even though Lauren said it with a laugh, I knew that I’d upset her. That hadn’t been my intent, at least not consciously. But once my words were out there, I couldn’t deny that I might have intended them as a warning for both of us to consider the price we’d have to pay to go down this path.

We agreed to meet after work—to “talk.” She selected a poorly lit bar around the corner from the office. We sat at a table at the back, and I ordered a Heineken because you have to order something, even though the last thing I had on my mind was consuming more alcohol. Lauren seemingly needed the liquid courage, however. She asked for a vodka cranberry right off the bat.

As soon as the waitress brought us our drinks, Lauren said in a low voice, “To . . . one of the great kisses of my life.”

I could feel my eyes moisten in response to her compliment. I clinked my beer bottle to her vodka cranberry, and then we both drank.

“It was a first for me,” Lauren said as if she were in a confessional. “I mean, not even in college.”

“It’s been a while for me,” I said, and left it at that.

She scanned the room. Apparently it was empty enough for her liking, because she put her hand on top of mine.

“Tell me about it,” she whispered.

“It’s not important, Lauren. Past is past. What matters is what you want to do now.”

She lifted her hand but didn’t break eye contact. “It’s my choice?”