Alejandro had to take a deep breath to collect himself so he could respond appropriately. What he wanted to tell Deja was, “Fuck yes, I want to come inside,” because he wanted to see her apartment, see how she lived, and maybe even, if he was lucky, crawl in between her sheets. He’d wanted that before they’d started dating, and it was only stronger now. He could feel the desire to be in every part of Deja’s life in his pores, but he didn’t want to freak her out. “Yeah, I’d love to,” he said with a calm he didn’t feel, but he sounded reasonable to his own ears.

Alejandro grabbed Deja’s hand for the walk to her apartment. He gripped her waist as she fished her keys from her purse and pushed her door open. They slipped their shoes off at the door, and she locked all the locks behind them.

Her house smelled like apples and cinnamon, but the artificial versions of those scents, like a candle or something. It was warm and inviting, and those were exactly the words that he would have used to describe Deja’s tidy apartment.

“Do you want something to drink?” she asked in a shy voice.

Alejandro nodded. “Whatever you have. I’m not picky.”

“Okay,” she said, taking a couple of steps away before turning to him and gesturing toward her living room. “Make yourself at home.”

He had the restraint to wait until she was out of sight before turning into her long living room, bisected by a big burnt orange couch that looked like he would sink right into it when he sat down. On one half of the room, there was a cozy sitting area around a television, and on the other was a wide-open space, with bookshelves around the perimeter and a comfortable chair that matched her couch and a lamp in the corner. A part of Alejandro wanted to know what kind of books she read at home — as opposed to the books in her office — but he was really interested in all the pictures crowded on top of the shelves and hanging on the walls. Who was so important to Deja that she took the time to print out pictures in this day and age and frame them? The answer was clear at once.

“Is this your nephew?” Alejandro called to her.

“Yeah. His name’s Jamal. He’s the only grandkid, and he’s spoiled rotten.” Her voice got closer as she spoke, and he turned to see her with two glasses of water in her hands. “But he’s, like, the best kid, so it’s okay.”

“Yeah?”