She won’t make eye contact, but her chest rises and falls a little faster, a light pink dotting the creamy flesh her open shirt displays. Her eyes dart around the hallway, trying desperately to look at anything but me.

Any other woman and I’d go in for the kill. I’d assume she’s aroused and this is the perfect time to make a move. But if I’m wrong...

I freeze, my body ninety-five percent naked and my heart one hundred percent on the line.

She finally gives me a fuzzy smile, like she’s trying to pack a thousand emotions underneath the one casual, bland grin that covers everything.

“You’ll make a great Dr. Strange.” And then she turns away and hurries off with a hand wave.

I slump against the wall and slowly bang the back of my head against it, like a heartbeat.

Chapter 2

CARRIE

"Oh. My. God. Oh my God!" Jamey is beside himself with ecstasy. "Carrie, look at this!"

He is holding up a disembodied hand made of white china.

"What is it?" I ask, laughing.

"A vintage glove form," he answers. "This is perfect for your bedroom, to hold your jewelry. So graphic and cool. I'm buying it for you."

We are in an antiques shop in a town filled with them, Essex, north of Boston. The perfect Saturday outing on a crisp September day. I'm flipping through a bin of hundred-year-old post cards, hoping to find a familiar scene. One of our hometowns, maybe, or someplace we've been together. I love to look at the messages written on the back in spidery script:

Dear Maudie the baby is much better. Amos went to Bangor. Your Sister Edith

And the impossibly brief addresses:

M Chapin Rural Delivery Bucksport Maine

“Very cool,” I say, half distracted. “It is perfect for my bedroom.”

I like to imagine life without email or messages or even phones, when important news arrived by postcard and the postman already knew where you lived.

Now the people answering the phone aren't even people. My new project at work is helping design the automated phone tree. You know, press 1 for hours, press 2 for directions, to book an appointment press 3 or stay on the line…

I'm going to suggest another option: to describe your wildest sexual fantasy, press 4. Begin speaking at the tone; when you have finished, press O.

My wildest fantasy? I make eye contact with Jamey, who grins at me.

And then an image of Ryan at work in that g-string invades my brain, unbidden and unwelcome. Where did that come from? I shake my head like a wet dog and move on, stroking a tea tray covered in hand-painted roses, ignoring the flushed tingles that climb up the back of my body from Achilles heel to neck.

How my name came up for this phone tree assignment at work is a mystery to me, unless someone noticed how often I have my cell phone glued to my ear and figured I was the world's expert. But I don't have to think about that until Monday.

Jamey buys the porcelain hand and a silver cocktail shaker. I buy a German glass Christmas ornament in the shape of a clementine, the glass so thin, I can't imagine how it has survived for one hundred and twenty years or so. I can't wait to hang it on my tree. Someday — maybe soon — our tree.

My girlfriends would kill to have a boyfriend who loves spending the day poking through dusty antique shops.

I am so lucky.

“We scored!” Jamey crows as I reach for his hand. He holds it with his fingers together, like a parent and child or brother and sister. We’re that close.

Leaving the shop, we wander down the street toward the next one. Jamey has brought a wicker shopping cart on wheels to carry our purchases, and he pulls it along behind him. A few hundred yards down, he stops and pulls out his phone. From the wicker cart he extracts a selfie stick.

I'm used to this routine. I touch up my lipstick quickly, then press my cheek to his, flashing my widest smile. Jamey likes to document our fun; our Facebook friends don't miss a single thing. They call us the Happy Couple.

Sometimes I think I detect a certain sarcasm in their comments, but that's probably just me. Who could blame them if they were jealous?

The next shop specializes in old maps, not really our thing. We keep walking, but suddenly Jamey stops short.

"Remember we went in there once and the owner was a really nice guy? Really interesting? I wonder if he's working today." He peers through the display window. "Let's go in and see." When he looks at me, I get his eyes for a split second before he looks back at the shop. Excitement dilates his pupils.

"It's just maps," I answer, reluctant. Why do guys love maps? They all look basically the same to me. "Tell you what, you go see and come meet me at the next place."

He's already running up the steps to the door. Huh. The place must sell some really amazing antiquities.

I can get really absorbed in browsing through bins and shelves, hunting for some unexpected uber-cool object, but after forty-five minutes I realize that Jamey hasn't appeared. Odd. I head back to the map shop, and there he is, just coming down the walk.

"Hey, where've you been? It's no fun without you." I slip my hand through his arm, but he pulls away quickly and grabs his cart handle instead. He glances back at the store window.

"Old maps are actually fascinating," Jamey tells me. "I think I might start collecting them. Kevin says he'll take me on his next buying trip!"

“Who?”

“Kevin. The map shop owner.” He lets out a little sigh, and then his face goes blank.

Really?" I say doubtfully. "That's nice. While we're here, we should look for a wedding present for Jenny and Aiden. The wedding's in a month."

Silence.

"I am so excited their wedding is at the Chatham Beach Inn," I continue. "Our room has a king-sized bed and an incredible view — it's going to be so romantic! And you are going to look so hot as best man. A whole long weekend together, oceanside," I sigh, imagining our nude bodies twisted in the sheets, so much sex we can’t remember our own names.

More silence.

"Jamey?" He's studying a business card, which appears to be from the map shop. It has writing all over it. "Jamey?"

"Yeah," he says quietly. "Romantic."

He is uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the day, actually. We have an early dinner at a restaurant on the water and head back to Boston. The top is down on his BMW convertible and the stars overhead are beautiful. We talk a little bit, comfortably, about my college roommate’s job problems and Jamey’s new department chair.