I shrug apologetically. “Oops. Sorry.”

“I wish we could have that whole set of memories wiped out of your brain. Like on a computer. Highlight, delete, empty trash.”

“It was a very long time ago. We were just kids. The only man on my mind is you.”

He kisses me, a quick smooch that turns into something much slower, as he teases my lips with his tongue. Some part of me rises up, my body pressing into him, time elongating as the kiss makes that gentle pivot from a sweet connection to a deep anchoring. My fingers play with the fine hair at the nape of his neck, his mouth taking mine, my breath quickening until I don’t know where his heat begins and mine ends.

And I am so, so glad.

His hands slide under my silk shirt, warm skin against mine, making me forget everything around me. Almost.

“The steak,” I whisper. “I like mine rare.”

“Damn!” He rushes out to the grill.

Overcooked.

But worth it.

“Go turn on the fireplace in the living room,” Nick suggests after we finish the very well-done steak, the baby potatoes, the roasted broccoli, and a small plate of cheese and fruit. “I’ll open another bottle of wine and be right in.”

There was a time when I could not understand the appeal of a gas fireplace. No wood smell, no crackle? Then I bought this condo, flipped the switch on the wall, and beheld the roaring fire. Now I get it.

I curl up on the sofa, wrapping a soft mohair throw around my feet, and feel the room begin to warm.

Nick

Aside from destroying a beautiful cut of meat, the night’s going as planned. Gorgeous woman with smiling eyes and fabulous conversation. Good food (steak excepted), gift bestowed, and happiness abounds. We’re in that zone, the place where all the negativity of life washes away, and all that’s left is the naked goodness of, well...

Being naked.

I struggle with the half bottle of Sauternes, the uncorking process more complicated than the Big Dig. Finally, it pulls free, with a lovely subtle pop. A few stragglers of cork float on top, mocking me.

Eh. That’s what strainers are for.

I pour two glasses of wine, strain accordingly, and prepare to seduce Chloe.

“Here we are,” I say, my voice low and --

She’s asleep.

Blinking as if resetting my eyeballs will reboot the scene, I stare at her in repose, her head on the arm of the sofa, her legs curled under her. She looks like a kitten. Her breathing is steady and slow. Deep slumber.

I’m torn.

Angel Nick says, Set down the wine, cover her with a blanket, and let her sleep. Go do her dishes.

Devil Nick says, Hey, dude. It’s been a week since you got any. You know what to do. Blue is not your color.

Devil Nick sounds a little too much like Charlie for my taste.

Sighing, I swig my wine, then gently pull up the mohair throw from Chloe’s feet, covering her. The dishes won’t wash themselves.

And besides, I realize, as I watch the fire glowing against the thin strands of the necklace I’ve just placed around her willowy neck, we have all the time in the world.

I met her just in time.

But I’ll have her for the rest of my life.

Walking back into the kitchen, I start the hot water in the sink, going outside to grab the dirty grill grates. Setting them to soak in one half of the sink, I wash up all the rest of the dishes. I’m still figuring out the layout here at Chloe’s place. Baby bottles and teething rings go in one cupboard.

Still don’t understand the purpose of the wooden banana hanger.

I’m deep in my own head, scrubbing the grill insert, when I hear a sleepy gasp behind me. I turn around, hands filthy.

Chloe’s there, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, rubbing her eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Washing dishes.”

“Why? We were – oh, Nick, I fell asleep, didn’t I?” Her voice is filled with a panicked regret. She yawns, jaw popping from exertion, her shoulders rolling with effort.

“It’s fine. I thought I’d get started on the foreplay without you,” I joke.

She gives me a blank look.

“You know. Porn for women?”

Her eyebrows go up.

“Speak English.”

“You still want to make love, right?”

She yawns again.

“Don’t get so excited,” I mutter.

“I’m going to need a lot of foreplay to get in the mood.”

I scrub furiously.

“What are you doing?” she asks, laughing.

“Foreplay! Mari told me that men doing housework is an aphrodisiac for women.”

“I can think of far, far better forms of foreplay,” Chloe responds, her voice dropping to a familiar register that makes my blood quicken.

I wash my hands, abandon the rest of the dishes, and kiss her. As she steps into my arms, she pulls the blanket open, wrapping us in it. She’s hot, a little sweaty at the neck, and she smells like a mix of faded perfume, well-seared steak, wine and musk.

She tastes like my future.

Breaking the kiss, she looks around. “You cleaned my kitchen!”

“Just wiped it down. Emptied the dishwasher. Soaked the grill plates and—”

This time, the kiss is like a burst of fireworks in a bonfire. Mari was right.

“You know, I clean a mean bathroom floor,” I murmur in her ear, walking her backwards down the hallway to her bedroom.

She moans in ecstasy.

“And you should watch me scrub a toilet—”

Chloe’s manicured fingers cover my lips. Our eyes meet.

“Stop while you’re ahead there, mister.”

“Not so arousing?”

A head shake greets me.

So does a lovely stroke over my pants.

“Chloe,” I groan. Trying not to be obvious, I check the bedside clock. 8:19 p.m. We have more than an hour.

When I look back at Chloe, I find her watching the clock, too.

“Habit,” we say in unison.

Then we laugh.

And then we most definitely stop laughing.

Chloe

My black velvet pants, unzipped, drop to the floor, and my silk top slips off over my head. This leaves me wearing black heels, my new necklace, and perfume. Reaching for Nick, I unbutton his shirt, starting at the top, kissing and licking my way down, finding a new path. When I reach his belly, he moans. This man who is always so together, so in charge, can be utterly undone by my mouth on his skin. Amazing. I pull the clip from my hair and shake it loose.