“I have been intending to say that when I took your hand when you came to see me, that I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said. “I have been intending to say that I think of you only as a colleague.” He paused and looked away. “But I think you know now that that isn’t true. Though this feeling is completely unexpected. And not one I feel we need to act upon.” He paused again, looking pained. “No need for that … it would be quite inappropriate.”

His hands kept whirling, and I reached out and covered them with my own, to quiet them. He looked at me, startled, but he didn’t pull away. “Let’s act upon it. Appropriateness isn’t everything,” I said. And I didn’t let go.

He tasted slightly of wine and of something else undefinable, chalky and sweet. His one act of aggressiveness was that he started kissing me the minute we got through the door, like he was drowning, like he’d been thinking about it for a long, long time and was afraid that if he stopped, I would vanish. I had to pull away, to take his hand and lead him to the bedroom, to collect myself for a minute while we walked. I don’t know if he even saw the room, my carefully chosen African-print bedspread, the pictures of Sarah, the clothes piled on a chair in the corner. He was looking only at me. I turned around. “Unhook this, would you?” The way I might have to Cal. Or someone else I’d been with a long time. But then I turned back around so he could see me when I took the dress off. He bit his lip when I did it, not to draw blood, but anxiously, like a boy might. I stood a little ways away from him. No words yet, but he stepped just a bit closer. He was still fully dressed. “It’s all right.” I let him take my bra off. His hands were shaking. I looked down at my own breasts to see what he might see. The lines and sags, the spread of my hips. I didn’t want to look up. I’d grown too old for Cal. Who’s to say when presented the goods, that Jerome wouldn’t feel the same way?

I felt his hand under my chin, and he lifted my face to his. The first words he’d said to me since we left the bar: “My God. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful. My God.” Just the least bit of a southern accent in his voice. All formality gone. I had the strangest feeling, as if I was going to cry, as if we were both going to. But I helped him take his jacket off and his shirt and everything else. He left his glasses on.