It takes three trains to get to work from Newark, and I hate every single one of them.

Each one is more crowded by the minute. I’ve been leaving early, to avoid rush hour, but there’s no such thing. No matter what, the train is a mess by the time I get into the city. People are too close, and inevitably there’s some crazy asshole when I step off at 60^th. My shoulders tense, the pain reaching a hand up to my temples and pressing in hard. By the time I get to the office, it’s a matter of plastering on a half-pleasant expression and downing the coffee I couldn’t hold on the train. I have to have my hands free.

Except today.

I’ve got all my stuff with me in two black suitcases, because after work, I’m moving in with Whitney.

Newark is a minefield in more ways than one, so after the dinner at Macmillan’s, we agreed to split the rent for one month, two months maximum.

“A short-term thing,” she’d said lightly.

“I want my own place.”

Her shoulders had sagged a fraction of an inch, but the smile never left her face. “Of course.”

Then she’d ordered a brownie to go and told them to add it to the bill.

That girl has a pair of brass ones, that’s for sure.

It brings a smile to my face, thinking about that damn brownie, even while I’m dragging two suitcases from the subway to my office, head throbbing. The tension seeps out from my head to my shoulders, an iron rail I can’t shake off. I ended the lease on my place in Newark over the weekend. There’s no going back.

At the office, my shoulders relax. I know what’s going to happen here. Same as every other day.

Visionary Response’s headquarters for New York City are in a low-slung building in Midtown. We scan ID cards to go through the lobby to the elevators. I usually take the stairs, but two rolling suitcases would make that an enormous pain in the ass, so elevator it is. The wheels squeak on the polished floor. Up to the fourth floor, across a carpeted lobby, and in through a set of glass doors. Up front, we’ve got a hallway lined with meeting rooms, and then a big, open bullpen full of cubicles. Mine is toward the back left corner, and my boss, Greg, is striding up the aisle toward me when I get in. I’m still twenty minutes early, even with the suitcases.

“I know you love the job, Sullivan, but this is a little much.” He gestures to the suitcases with his titanium all-day coffee tumbler.

I shrug my shoulders in an “Aww shucks” way. “I couldn’t let you down, boss. You need me here.”

He laughs and steps out of the way, so I can pull the suitcases into the cubicle. I line them up on the outer edge so they won’t be in the way. “It’s freakishly clean in here. Did you know that?”

I snort. “Please. I’ve seen your office. I know about the dust buster.”

“I’m not ashamed of the dust buster. It’s a Black & Decker.” I pick up the pile of papers in my inbox and leaf through them. “Seriously. Are you taking a trip or something?”

“Moving into the city today.”

“Commute was killing you, huh?”

He has no idea. “It’s a bit far from Newark.”

“Where’s the new place?”

“About eight blocks.”

“Army buddy?”

I almost laugh out loud but catch myself at the last moment. “No. The opposite of an Army buddy. It’s actually my sister’s old roommate.”

Greg raises his eyebrows. “Your sister, Summer?”

“I only have one sister.”

“She was living with a guy?”

My God. “No. One of her friends from college.”

He doesn’t understand, and then he does. “You’re living with a woman?”

“I hate to break this to you, Greg, but you live with a woman too.”

“She’s my wife.”

“I’m not getting married in order to sublet an apartment. Come on, Greg. I’d have invited you.”

“I’m flattered.” He takes a long sip of his coffee. “You don’t think things will be a little...tense?”

“Tense? Why?” I give him a wide-eyed stare.

He takes the bait. “You, in a small apartment, with a living, breathing American woman? You’re telling me that’s not going to heat up?”

I think of Whitney’s lips on mine, the sparkling flavor of a mimosa on her tongue, the way she moved against me like there was nothing in the world that could stop her from the kiss. And then I think of the way she looked at me at Macmillan’s, that flash of vulnerability in her eyes.

“No. It’s not going to heat up. It’s not that kind of arrangement.”

Greg raises his tumbler toward me. “Yet.”

Yet is his thing. Whenever we haven’t achieved something in the department, it’s only a matter of time. We haven’t done it yet. We don’t have those skills yet.

“Never. I’m not going to go after my sister’s best friend.”

“A guy like you doesn’t have to go after women. I’d bet my quarterly bonus on it.”

“We don’t have a quarterly bonus, unless you’re holding out on me.”

“Guess we’ll find out,” says Greg. Then he laughs at his own joke and leaves me to start my day.

“You didn’t bring much.”

Whitney eyes the suitcases as I pull them in the front door of the apartment. It’s almost seven, and I can tell she’s been waiting because, once again, she looks flawless. Nothing like a woman who rushed home from the office at five. Her makeup is perfect, red lipstick making her lips look luscious enough to bite, and her hair is in a sleep twist at the back of her neck. “Two suitcases? Is that really all?”

“How much does a person need to live for a month?”

“A month, two, who knows. I’d pack three suitcases for a week.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re right. I’m far more talented than that when it comes to clothing arrangement. I could fit three weeks’ worth of outfits in one of those.” Whitney steps into the entryway and gently presses the door closed behind me. I get a breath of her scent. It’s light and floral, as if someone had bottled the spring air. I could breathe it for hours.

“I’m sure you could. But I don’t need help packing, obviously. Where’s the room?”