These were the times when everything about my life felt overwhelming. I was mad at myself because I wanted Theo and I was mad at myself because I was mad at myself. I was tired because I kept saying yes to more work, then annoyed for being ungrateful that I finally had what I’d wanted. And mostly I just wished I could take him up on the offer to take care of me for once. To crawl on his lap and watch TV all night. But how would I do that when every second of my day was accounted for?

Never, that was when. I sighed and did what always worked whenever I dwelled too long on the extremely treacherous landscape of my love life.

I worked.

I grabbed my iPad and fiddled with the designs for the Smithson-Napa proposal, which I’d sent to Carrie and Yazmin that morning—five days early. I was feeling pretty good about beating Kayla on the deadline and hoped they liked what I’d sent them. I was so absorbed playing with color palettes that before I knew it Theo’s matte-black Tesla SUV was coming down the gravel road toward me. He rolled to a stop right in front of my small car and it was honestly sad how just the sight of him made the air squeeze out of my lungs. I could try and fool myself that it was just relief, but relief had never made my nipples hard.

There was no effective way to prepare for Theo when he was dressed in full real estate mogul mode. Hair tousled just right, his ever-present Wayfarers covering his eyes. He had Ferragamo loafers on his feet and his pants looked molded to those powerful thighs. The shirt, as always, a crisp white and the sleeves cuffed to reveal his veined forearms. The man was the reason the slo-mo setting had been invented.

“Get it together, Alba Serena,” I whispered to myself as he walked toward my car. That was easier said than done given the fact that I could see the outline of his bicep bulging the dress shirt he was wearing from ten feet away. “And for God’s sake, don’t drool on the man,” I added in a Hail Mary as I jumped out of my compact rental to meet him by the very flat back tires.

“Thanks for coming,” I said in my most grateful-sounding voice as he crouched to take a closer look. He prodded the deflated rubber and frowned without even acknowledging me.

“I was hoping we could get away with changing one tire and then driving on the other one to the nearest gas station, but these are totally done.” Okay, so no small talk. I decided to not make a thing out of it, since he was figuring out how to help me.

“Could we still try that?”