There was no response, so he smiled wider and opened the door.

“There are no code names,” Alex clarified, following him in and bumping the door closed behind her with her hip. “But things are moving along.”

Paul’s apartment was one of the many reasons she loved him: an oasis of mismatched vintage furniture, professionally framed posters, and a record player he actually used, his living quarters were aspirationally chic. She loved to linger in there for hours, watching reality TV or talking about boys, him holding court while he walked around delicately watering his plants.

“What does that mean?” He set his bags down on the dining table and helped her lower hers as well, never without his southern manners. “Do you want anything?”

She flopped herself down on a large leather pouf his mother had bought in Morocco. “It means that I’m moving along. Things are happening. And I’ll take a Diet Coke, if you have it.”

“I’m making tea.”

“Well, then, tea.”

He poked his head out of the kitchen. “I’ll bring both.” He turned back toward the counter to put the kettle on while she pulled her bag onto her lap. “I’m listening!” He called out in a sing-song voice.

“I know you are, I’m looking!”

“Looking for what?”

“The letter.”

“Oh my god.” He poked his head out again, making a point to roll his eyes at her before disappearing back behind the wall. “You’re actually doing that? Just talk to him, you psycho.”

“We’ve been over this,” she said, unfolding the papers she’d tucked away in one of her textbooks. “I get nervous when I talk to him about serious stuff.”

There was a brief pause between them as he prepared the tea, which she used to reread her letter for the hundredth time. She had spent months perfecting it, saying everything she felt without saying too much—even just looking at it made her feel closer to him.

“Well, then.” Paul walked back into the living room with an overfull serving tray, tinkling as he went, “Why don’t you show up to this party in a trench coat with some lingerie underneath, and then get him alone in a bathroom? That’ll break the ice.”

Alex set to busying herself with the tea, popping a small cookie into her mouth from the tray he’d prepared. “Very funny.”

“I’m serious,” he insisted. “I feel like I’ve been watching you guys almost-fuck for, like, two years now. Just do it already.”

“I don’t want to fuck him,” she said, shifting slightly in her seat as she pictured the act. “I want to be serious. We’re both staying in the city. This could actually be something.”

“I mean, sure.”

“Just because you’re not ready for a serious relationship doesn’t mean I’m not.”