I didn’t normally go to bed with a man on the first date. Or even during the first month. And I didn’t with Hal, either, but I wanted to. I wanted to very much. And so did he. I know he did. We practically ate each other’s faces off when we kissed, and we kissed most of the time we were together. In his car, in mine, in elevators, stairwells, at his place, anywhere we could be alone. Our attraction was intense, but I waited as long as I could. I let the tension build while I sussed out his character and gauged whether we’d be a good match. This had been my strategy every time there was a new man in my life.

In college, I found the men to be immature. In grad school, I was busy working. The real saga of my grown-up love stories began after I started working for the Duke Herald in St. Paul. I’d rented a carriage house in the historical district with two friends from grad school, and I rode the bus downtown every day. My job was hectic and entry-level—I was a proofreader, basically—but I loved it. Occasionally, I’d get an assignment to research, and sometimes to write.

I wanted a career, and I didn’t want to worry about finding a man, so I kissed a lot of frogs in my thirties. Roger was an ear, nose, and throat doctor, and on weekends he played bass in a jazz combo. I hated jazz, and it didn’t last long. I ended things with Gary when I learned he was a vegan and a sex addict. Nils was a symphony violinist I met on assignment in Sweden. We danced all night, and in the morning, he explained he was in an “open relationship.” We had a magical weekend in Stockholm, and that’s all I’ll say about that.

There were a few others, dates that never went anywhere, guys who weren’t my type. And then there was Hal.

Hal and I both felt a simmering something’s-different-about-this, and we purposefully took it slow. The night of our first date, at the Winston, I drank too much, which was slightly embarrassing, but Hal was a complete gentleman about it. He took me home and tucked me in, and I remember the walls were spinning when he kissed me goodbye. I closed my eyes and fell asleep dreaming of that kiss. The next morning, I found a handwritten note on my bedside table. “Ruth,” it said. “Thank you for a refreshing evening. You are smeautiful—a rare combination—and I can’t wait to see you again.” After coffee, I’d read the note over and over again. I knew that “smeautiful” was “smart” and “beautiful,” because, frankly, I’d heard it before. But something about Hal’s earnest desire to explain his situation had me disarmed and wanting more.