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the unfinished deck. I turned on the lights so he could measure. He hopped from one two-by-four to the next with the agility of a tightrope walker.
    â€œYeah, we could do this,” he said. “But it would be a couple of weeks before we could get started.” He snapped back the tape measure and gathered his things from the table. “Let me know what you decide.” He looked at me intently, as if he might reach out and brush my hair to the side.
    Instead, he walked to the front door and held out his hand. “It was really nice meeting you.”
    A wave of electricity went up my spine. My head was light from the wine. I was airy, ethereal. He lifted his eyebrows as if to say, “Are you okay?”
    I straightened my blouse. My chest was warm. He scribbled a quote for the work on a piece of yellow paper and drew two exaggerated lines under the number. “Voila!” he said. “Painless.”
    I shifted from one foot to the other, hoping he’d ask to stay. He didn’t. When I closed the door behind him, I wondered what was happening to me.
    The yellow sheet he’d left wasn’t an estimate at all; it read “sweet dreams” in scribbled letters. I could barely make out the handwriting.
    One Sunday afternoon, shortly after I started seeing David, I got a call from Jim, a mutual fund manager I’d been halfheartedly datingfor several months. He described a tenderloin he’d lovingly basted for several hours. He went on about the roasted potatoes, garlic-infused leeks, how he’d found the perfect bottle in his wine cellar, just calling to be opened after twenty years. All in all, he said, it was the perfect summer’s evening on his deck overlooking the city. Was I available?
    All during the phone call, David was standing on the porch, in a pair of bike shorts and a jersey, waiting for me to set off on a ride. David was not a traditional date who planned and plotted romantic opportunity. Instead, he’d call or pop by unexpectedly, and we’d end up taking long walks around my neighborhood. Today’s bike ride was one of the first attempts David had made to plan something in advance. I had no idea how strongly David felt about me at this point in our relationship. Oddly, his aloofness made him even more mysterious, more desirable. As he waited for me to finish the call, he tenderly checked the health of my hanging basket, squirting water over the magnolias and then deadheading some of the dormant flowers.
    â€œI’m so sorry, Jim. I’m tied up tonight,” I said, lowering my voice.
    Jim’s disappointment was palpable. He didn’t speak for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. “Well, how about brunch tomorrow?”
    David peeked his head into the door, smiling broadly, his hair pushed back and his eyebrows lifted. “You ready?” he asked.
    I lifted my finger— just one moment, I’ll be right there— expecting to feel conflicted and confused. David smiled, miming for me to hang up the phone. He was so charming when he was like this, playful even in a head-butting competition with another man. I felt a weakness, a stirring that was so biologically driven, so unexpected. Imagine children coming from this man , I thought to myself.
    But Jim didn’t give up easily. He repeated himself, and I was jarred back to the phone. “You there, Sheila? Are you there?”
    David walked toward me, mischievously thrilled to interrupt my phone call.
    â€œUh-huh.” I nodded as David slid behind me, his arms aroundmy waist, kissing the back of my neck. I didn’t believe in fate. The biological clock was baloney. I’d rationalized a life without children because kids would prevent me from getting to the top of my career. How do you pick up and move to the next big television market with an infant? How do you go to Europe on a moment’s notice with a toddler? I was in my early thirties and hadn’t seriously