I shouldn’t go back. I said I’d go back. I want to see her again. It’s a bad idea. We don’t have anything in common. But that was hot. I can’t be the guy who punched a hole in her wall, fucked her and then left without explanation. I’m not that guy. I just can’t stop thinking about her. It’s probably just because she’s new. I need to get back out there.

“Hey. You hear what I said?” my Dad asks.

“What? No.” I go back to buttering Charlie’s waffles. “Hey do you have any blueberries or something?”

“That’s enough butter!” Charlie complains.

“There’s never enough butter!” I wipe the butter off the knife, onto his waffle, and put the plate in front of him. “Don’t eat it until I find a berry or two.”

“I think there’s a bag of frozen berries from like two years ago.”

That reminds me of Nina, and I don’t hear a word he says again for another ten seconds. “What?”

“What is wrong with you this morning?”

“Nothing.” I pull a hard bag of blueberries out from the freezer. It’s like a brick. “You don’t have any other fruits?”

“There’s bananas.”

“I don’t want a banana on my waffles.”

“Fine. You can eat it separately.” I toss out the rock-hard bag of blueberries and put a banana on the kitchen table in front of Charlie.

“Did you get the break-even ratio to that guy for the Henry Street listing?”

“I cc’d you yesterday. As always. I cc’d you and Karla and Eve and Gabe.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“Not my fault, is it?” My Dad’s the founding partner and CEO of the Devlin Commercial Realty Group where I’m a vice-president, so he is my boss, but it’s difficult to treat him with the respect he’s accorded when he’s standing in front of me in his boxers and bright yellow smiley-face slippers, with a chocolate protein shake mustache and a confused look on his face.

“You hear back from the guy yet? Who’s it—Briggs?”

“Connor Briggs.”

“Asshole name.”

“Total asshole. But he’s very encouraged. I feel good about it. I’ll talk to him and his business manager later today about his timeline. The Bushwick deal should close tomorrow.”

“Good. Great! Charlie, you need to get dressed.”

“But you’re not dressed.”

“I’m not taking you today, Vince is.”

“I am? I’ve got a client meeting in Williamsburg and I have to go home first.”

“Shit. I’ve got a conference call in fifteen. We gotta get a new nanny.”

“Ya think?”

“I’ll have Karla get into it.” He looks over at Charlie, then gives me a look. “You need to tell him.”

“Yeah.” I take a seat next to Charlie, who’s shoving half a waffle into his mouth. “Hey, buddy, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“About Sadie?” He doesn’t look at me.

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

He shrugs.

“Anyway, you know how Sadie and I were dating? Which is why she was still coming around even though she didn’t work as your nanny anymore—I mean, she also loved to hang out with you, she wanted to see you. Anyway. Sadie and I aren’t dating anymore, so you might not see her much anymore. If at all.”

He stares at his plate and chews.

“I mean, we might run into her, or see her around the neighborhood,” my Dad offers.

“Yeah, for sure, but she’s just not my girlfriend anymore, you get what that means, right?”

He swallows and looks at me sideways. “It means you aren’t boning her anymore?”

My Dad groans.

“He learned that from Gabe, not me.”

“It’s just a matter of time before somebody calls social services.”

“That’s not funny.” I turn to Charlie, who’s totally stoic in a way that breaks my heart. “Do you have any questions about the situation? It’s okay for you to be sad or mad or whatever. You can cry if you think you might miss her or whatever.”

“Well. Not in public.”

“He can cry in public if he needs to, Dad.”

“Enh. It’s not like she’s dead, she’s just not your girlfriend anymore.”

I try not to glare at him. My dad and brother think I’m overprotective of this kid’s feelings because I’m such a big pussy myself, and I don’t think they recognize what a sensitive little guy he is.

“If you want to be mad at me, Charlie, you be mad at me. Right?”

“Okay.” He sighs and pushes back his chair. “I have to get dressed. Who’s taking me to day camp?”

My Dad and I look at each other. “Michelle?”

“She goes to work at eight. I’ll call Gabe and see where he’s at.”

We are not killing it as caregivers this morning.

Fortunately, my brother was free to take Charlie to camp, so that somehow worked out in the way that things always somehow do. I can’t help but feel guilty, even though I know it’s not totally my responsibility. I guess everyone was right when they told me not to bang the hot nanny and I didn’t listen—even though her quitting to take the better-paying job had nothing to do with me. At least I don’t think it did. If anything, she stuck with Charlie longer than she would have because we were dating. I can’t believe she was the longest relationship I’ve ever had. The only girl I’ve ever dated exclusively for more than a couple of months. And how am I rewarded?...I can’t even feel angry about it right now.

I was rewarded with Nina.

Not that she’s mine.

I was rewarded with last night.

Last night was perfect.

After my meeting in Williamsburg I have about three hours free if I cancel lunch and let my partner Eve dine with our twin chef clients on her own (she will love that), so I stop by my favorite hardware store to pick up supplies and find my way back to Nina’s street. I have to park two blocks away, but it’s nice out and I feel like I can use the walk to get my head straight before seeing her again.

The restaurateur I met with this morning is a real player, a guy I hung out with a lot a couple years ago, and it’s been a while since I’d seen him. He immediately listed like nine women that I needed to meet. Women who’d asked him about me recently, women he’d been with that he thought I’d like, a woman who was passing by on the sidewalk outside the property I was showing him. I finally told him: “I’ve been in a relationship for a while, actually.” He was shocked to hear this and asked to see pictures of my girlfriend. Obviously I didn’t show him pictures of Sadie, I told him I didn’t have any of her on my business phone. I don’t know why I said that, but I was thinking about Nina and how I wish I had pictures of her, even though I’ve been seeing her face every time I close my eyes for hours and hours.

Which is nuts.

I need to just get in there, patch up the drywall, and get out. It was a one-time thing, we both got something out of our systems so we could move on from our own separate things. I need to be clear about that. Of course, I’m just assuming that she’d even want to see me again. I’m sure I’m not her type. Unless “guy who makes me come hard and often” is her type, but I have a feeling that was a first for her.

I wish that didn’t make me smile like an idiot.

I like the tree-lined street she lives on. It’s not fancy, but it feels safe. I’m sure that’s why she picked it. She doesn’t answer after I’ve buzzed her from the front door twice. I walk down the stoop and look up at the top floor windows. The curtains are open. Guess she’s not home. Guess I shouldn’t have just assumed she’d wait around for me all day.

“Hey,” she says, her voice behind me. I turn to see her coming in through the low metal gate, carrying a grocery bag, wearing jean shorts and a thin white blouse over a tank top, her hair up in a ponytail and nothing on her feet but a pair of flip-flops.

I should have parked farther away so I had longer to prepare myself for seeing her again, in the light of day.

I can see golden strands in her brown hair in the sunlight. No make-up, skin glowing in the way that surely only the truly happy and innocent can. Looking up at me through her eyelashes, blushing. She is so fucking hot and cute, I want to spend the rest of the day slowly kissing every inch of her and then make her scream my name all night.

I shouldn’t have come back.

I instantly feel jealous that anyone else got to see her like this, but I’ve got no right to feel this way.

“Sorry, have you been waiting long? I just popped out to grab a few things.”

“No, I just got here. Is now a good time for me to…deal with the drywall situation?”

“Now is an excellent time. Thanks for coming back. I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“I’m a man of my word.”

“What a pleasant surprise.”

I get a whiff of her shampoo or something when she walks by me to unlock the front door. I want to grab hold of that ponytail so bad and hear her make that gasping sound from her pillowy pink lips. I shift the bag of hardware stuff and my cordless screwdriver kit into one hand and take her grocery bag from her.

“Oh thank you.”

“Sure.”

I gesture for her to walk up the stairs ahead of me, which I’m hoping she’ll consider to be gentlemanly, but obviously I just want to enjoy the view.

By the time we get to the second floor, I have to keep my eyes glued to the stairs and run Brooklyn zip codes through my head so I can maintain my dignity.

When we get to her apartment, it smells like she lit incense. She doesn’t seem like the incense-lighting type, but I guess everyone in Brooklyn is that type.

She takes the grocery bag to the kitchen, opens a window in the living room, and leans against the window ledge instead of coming back over to where I’m standing, by the hole in the drywall. I still can’t believe I did that.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Actually, I forgot to get a drop cloth. Do you have an old towel or something I can spread on the floor so I don’t mess it up?”

“I have a drop cloth, actually. For my art projects.”

“You an artist?”

“No. I’m a first grade teacher. I just fool around with paint sometimes, and take my paintings to show the class. So they can feel better about their own work.” She giggles.

I want to ask her so many questions about being a first grade teacher, but I also don’t want to know too much or I’ll just want to know more and more, I’ll just want more and more.

She places the drop cloth on the floor under the wall that I’ll be working on, while I set out the stuff I brought. I can tell she’s uncomfortable because I didn’t ask her more about her job, but we’re both going to have to live with that.

Her toes look so cute in those flip-flops. They’re the prettiest little toes. I don’t have a toe thing or anything but those are some dainty fucking toes.  Light pink polish, clean and flawless. Shit. I’m staring at her toes. I can’t stop.

She wiggles them, shifts her weight from one foot to another and back again.  “Um.” She bites her lower lip and sticks her hands into the front pockets of her jean shorts.

Now I’m going to stare at her thumbs like an idiot. They’re such pretty thumbs. What is wrong with me?

“Yeah, I’ll get to work.”

“I was going to ask if I could get you anything. Coffee, water, lemonade?”

“I’m good, thanks.” I definitely should not have come back. “I should get to it. I’ve got an appointment later.”

“Yes. Of course. Don’t let me keep you. I’ll just, uhh, I’ll get out of your way. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me. I mean. I’ll be reading a book. In my bedroom. Since it’s the only other room besides this one. And the kitchen. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you want. Or, you know, the bathroom’s right there.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

She practically skips into her bedroom while I start to cut a square of drywall patch to size. I realize that I won’t have time to go home to change before my next meeting, and I don’t want to get dust or drywall compound on my shirt. I take my shirt off and place it on the back of an armchair, looking over to the door to the bedroom, wondering if the right thing to do is to announce that I’m taking my shirt off, so it doesn’t freak her out when she sees me. But it’s not like she hasn’t seen me with my shirt off, I guess.

When I stick my fingers inside the hole in the wall to check around for electrical cords before going at it with a drywall saw, I can’t help but think about where my fingers were last night and I have to tell myself out loud, under my breath, to just be cool for fuck’s sake.

Screwing the drywall patch to a piece of wooden board behind it should not be torture, but it is. Just thinking about the word “screw.” What am I—twelve?

I can hear her yawning and shifting positions on her bed, and even though I know she’s reading a book, I can’t not picture her reading a book naked.

“Fuck!” I mutter, a little too loud.

“You okay?” she calls out.

She probably thinks I banged up my finger or something. No I’m not okay—I can’t think about anything but you and your beautiful naked body. “Yeah, I just dropped something. Sorry.”

I wait to see if she comes in, but she doesn’t. She is very good at giving me space. Maybe a little too good. Why isn’t she hovering? Why isn’t she all over me? Did I not give her as good a time as I thought I did?...Nah. I definitely did.

Almost half an hour has passed when I’m spreading a piece of mesh over the drywall compound. The silence has been alternately anxiety-fueling and comforting. I like that she doesn’t need my attention. It’s cool. And the opposite of what I’m used to.

What’s her game? I’ve never known a girl like her. Sadie’s a bit younger, but she had game. She had us all wrapped around her finger, but she was manipulative and I knew it. I figured she had to be a good person because she was good with Charlie. Is it possible that I just slept with the only girl in New York who has no game?

Anyone would say that if I’m still comparing her to Sadie then it is way too soon to get involved with her, and they’d be right.

I stand up and clear my throat. I don’t have anything to wipe my hands on except her drop cloth and I don’t want to mess it up.

Shit, I forgot to buy paint.

I clear my throat again and call out to her. “Hey, you don’t have any of the paint to match this, do you?”

“What’s that?”

She pops her head out through the bedroom door and her eyes get so big when she sees me here with my shirt off and then she blushes and looks away, it’s so fucking cute.

“Sorry, I had to take my shirt off so I don’t mess it up.” I’m grinning. I shouldn’t be grinning. I’m not here to flirt with her.

“No, it’s fine, yeah.” She stays in the doorway. “Did you say something about paint?”

“I need to paint this when it dries.”

“Oh, right. I don’t have the paint for this. I painted the bedroom when I moved in, but not this room. I could call my landlord to ask the color.”

“You know what, if it’s been a few years since it was painted it won’t match exactly anyway. It’s opposite the window, so the sun would have…”

“Right, good point. I mean, I could just cover that spot with a painting, it’s no big deal.”

“No no, I was thinking I could just paint the whole wall.” It’s just a three foot wide wall next to the front door. “I’d have to come back though with the paint, like tomorrow maybe.”

“I mean…you really don’t have to. I appreciate you fixing it so much, but just patching it up is fine.

She doesn’t want me to come back. “Okay. Well, I gotta let the drywall compound dry and then I’ll sand it and you can see how it looks and decide what you want.”

She nods. “Okay. Thanks.”

I hold my hands up and nod towards the bathroom door. “I should wash my hands.”

“Oh you know what, you should use the kitchen sink. Dishwashing liquid would be better for that.”

“Yeah? Okay.” I head into the kitchen. I can use her paper towels to dry off instead of messing up her hand towel. I turn on the faucet in the kitchen sink. The sink is empty and clean, and she’s got little colored glass bottles lining the window ledge above it, with single flower stems in them. Pretty and unaffected. Just like her.

I squirt the pearly white dishwashing liquid into my hands and as soon as I smell it, I get hit with this feeling of nostalgia, so unexpected, it’s almost overwhelming. This delicate, feminine scent. I realize it’s the same kind of dish soap my Mom used to use. Ivory soap. It’s been so long since I’ve smelled this. I think my Dad must have purposefully started using something else because he couldn’t handle the memory of her every time he washed the dishes.

What does this mean? I’ve been in a lot of kitchens over the past fourteen years—hundreds. How is it possible that this is the first time I’ve experienced this fragrance again since I was fourteen? Or am I just open to noticing it now for some reason?

What the fuck is wrong with you? Getting all teary-eyed over scented dish soap in some girl’s kitchen? Pull it together.