“You sure?” he asks me, and I could swear he’s bringing me in closer and closer, or maybe I’m falling into him. Either way, no one moves, and we stay like this for what seems an eternity but is probably just three seconds before his hand moves from around my waist. He takes my jacket and helps me with it. I just smile at him and look down, my hair falling in front of my face, so I push it back around my ear. I watch him walk to his own jacket, and he puts on his suit jacket first and then the cashmere blue one, and like the suit, it molds to him. He places the beanie inside his pocket. “After you,” he says, and I smile, walking out in front of him. The cold air pushes the door back closed on me, and he grabs my hips to steady me. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, looking over my shoulder at him and having him so close that I smell him all over me. It would take nothing for me to turn into his arms and pull him down to me and finally give in to everything. But I don’t. Instead, I push the door harder this time, and he holds it open so it doesn’t come back and smash me in the face.

I walk to the sidewalk and hold up my hand, and I feel him pull me back to him by my arm. “I’ll take you home,” he says as his truck shows up at the curb. The waiter comes out and nods to us, then goes back inside the restaurant. He walks to the passenger side and opens the door for me, taking my hand in his as he helps me into the truck. “Thank you,” I say to him, and he closes the door, and I put my head back on the headrest and close my eyes. The pull to him is stronger than I’ve ever felt in my life. He gets in, and I want to just lean over and kiss him—just a little kiss on the lips—but I don’t. Instead, I tell myself that this is for the best. He takes me home and gets out of the truck when he parks in front of my apartment, and the bellboy opens the door for me. “Do you need help upstairs?” he asks softly, and even through my coat, I can feel his hand on my back.

“I’m good.” I smile up at him. “Thank you for dinner.”