This is Sam all over—he takes everything so seriously. It’s adorable, except when it’s annoying, like now. It makes me think of the first time we met, actually. I was still Denise’s personal assistant at Stewart Advertising, and we were putting together a campaign for the university where Sam was a grad student in the math department. My job was to meet with grad students in all the departments and gather highlights that we could use in the advertising materials.

For the most part, it was fun. The art grad student showed me some incredible paintings done by his classmates. The chemistry grad student showed me an experiment in the lab. And the English grad student took me all around campus, then offered me a joint in his office.

Sam showed up to our meeting in his office wearing a dress shirt and tie. He proceeded to spend the next half an hour teaching me math. Something about series solutions to differential equations—who the hell knows? I would have fallen asleep completely if he weren’t so incredibly cute in his shirt and tie. I still remember him gesturing at a line of Greek symbols on his whiteboard and saying emphatically, “This should go in your pamphlet.”

“Yes,” I said and pretended to write it down. “Absolutely.”

At the very first moment it wouldn’t have been rude, I stood up and thrust my hand in his direction. “Thank you very much, Mr. Adler. This was really… helpful.”

And then, as we shook hands, I noticed the handshake was lingering more than I would have expected. His kind brown eyes met mine and a nervous smile touched his lips. “So, uh… you wouldn’t be interested in… maybe grabbing some dinner together?”

I hesitated. I had already turned down the English grad student, who had gotten grabby after he smoked that joint. But he had a giant beard and smelled like BO. Sam smelled good. I still love his aftershave, which he applies every day without exception.

“I need to finish explaining how to solve differential equations,” he added.

“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “I’ll go to dinner with you but you have to promise not to talk about differential equations again for the rest of the night. Or any other kind of equations.”

I half-expected him to clasp his chest in horror, exclaiming, “But what else could we possibly discuss?” But instead, he smiled and said, “Deal.”

As it turned out, we had plenty to talk about that night. So much that we didn’t leave the diner until well after midnight. So much that I was mid-sentence when Sam leaned in and kissed me for the first time.

And now here we are, over ten years later, interviewing a woman to carry our child in her womb for nine months. Couldn’t have predicted that one.