“Are you . . . Did I hurt you, Liza?” Dorsey’s face was horrified, and Liza’s embarrassment tripled. That was it. The very last of her dignity. He wrapped his arms around her, and her cries softened. Why had he not said it back? Why couldn’t he just put her out of her misery and say I love you too? His arms around her felt like it. His soft murmurings against her ear felt like it. But it would be a long time until she completely trusted her knee-jerk feelings again. Just say it, Dorsey.

“I know this great way to get to sleep. I like to think about all the kinds of cloud formations,” Dorsey said, still trying to calm her. Liza nodded into his arms.

“Mammatus clouds. Those are my favorite because they look like boobs.”

Liza chuckled in his arms. Maybe if he thought of boob clouds, he would forget her horrifying declarations—or return them.

“Shelf clouds roll in with thunderstorms. Lenticular clouds . . .” Liza drifted off on his warm chest.

She woke up sometime later and found his body in the pitch dark. They made love again—this time slowly, with searing intensity and without speaking. They moved together powerfully until their cries shattered the silence. Liza was unsure if the wetness against her face was from her tears or Dorsey’s.

Liza awoke to the smell of fried eggs and coffee. She went to the bathroom, then grabbed one of Dorsey’s shirts from the closet and padded down the stairs.

She saw him smiling at her as she approached. He looked damned good in the morning. She touched her head. Oh lord, she had gone to sleep without a bonnet. Her ponytail was definitely tilting to the side.

“You look good in my shirts. How do you like your coffee?”

“Ton of cream, no sugar.” With the sun streaming into the windows and the warm mug in her hands, it would have been a perfect morning. But there was a twinge of awkwardness due to that desperate declaration of love and endless sobbing shit she did last night. She came here telling herself to be breezy, and she had ended the night like a telenovela.

“Liza, I think we should talk about how we want to move forward.” Dorsey’s voice was stern. Oh, here we go. Stiff posture, formal speech. He was about to reiterate that he did not want a relationship. If he was going to come at her with some long list of side-chick rules, he could save it.

“No, Dorsey, I—” She was stopped by a hard pounding on the door. This type of knocking wasn’t a request. Dorsey rushed to open the door, and Liza saw Gigi pushing her way through. She held out her phone like it was a hot sack of manure.

“Liza, is this your sister?” Gigi blurted out.

“Oh, I don’t think you—”