I exit the bathroom and find Nick’s bed empty and neatly made. I hate that his Martha Stewart–level housekeeping skills only make me like him more.

“Eat this,” Nick says as I walk into the kitchen, handing me a piece of toast with some kind of jam on it.

“What is it?” I ask, then take a bite without waiting for his answer. Sure, I may be experiencing morning-after awkwardness, but I have my priorities (food).

“Strawberry rhubarb jam,” he says. “You like it?”

“Did you make this?” I ask with my mouth full.

“Yeah,” he says, washing some dishes. “I got some rhubarb from the farmer’s market.”

Rhubarb? Farmer’s market? “Wow, fuck you,” I mutter.

“What?”

“This is good,” I say brightly. “But I have to get to work.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I know. We work at the same place.”

“Yeah, but . . .” I gesture at the dress I put back on, which is dried out but stiff and smelly. “I realized I’m gonna have to go home and change. I can’t roll into work looking like this.”

“Is that not work appropriate?” Nick asks. “I think it looks good.”

I shake my head. “You are such a dude. No, Nick, a going-out dress is not suitable for the morning shift. I’m gonna go home and throw on some normal clothing that shows a breakfast-pastry-appropriate level of cleavage.”

“Hey,” Nick says, then reaches for me with both hands and pulls me toward him. He kisses me and I melt into him, like I’m a chocolate bar and he’s a radiator. He’s so warm, and it takes everything in me not to pull this dress off once again and get back into bed.

I take solace in the fact that we couldn’t do that even if we wanted to, because we both have to be at work. “Okay,” I say into his mouth. “I really have to go.”

He groans, the vibration reverberating through my body.

“My boss is gonna kill me if I’m late.”

He snorts and finally lets me go.

* * *

I’m tired all day at work, but that’s nothing new. Nick acts more or less normal, which is both reassuring and disheartening. I’m not sure what I expected . . . for him to announce to the shop that we boned? Either way, I try my best to focus on the fine art of coffee pouring but it’s hard when I can feel his body heat radiating toward me, even when he’s tucked away in his office.

When I get home, I sit down in front of my laptop at my kitchen table and check my school email.

“Wait,” I mutter. “This can’t be right.”

I check my planner, then my online calendar. But it is right. I missed turning in an assignment today.

I slump in my chair. I’ve never missed turning in an assignment; I mean, that’s kind of my whole thing. I’m Chloe Sanderson, and I get shit done. But one night of (okay, admittedly great) sex and I space out?