She sneaks into his room one day when he's out golfing on one of the Hamptons' exclusive, immaculately manicured lawns. She stands in front of the door to the walk-in closet, a spool of cotton in one hand and a packet of sewing needles in the other. Her heels leave spiky marks in the plush carpet of his room.
She reaches down into her pocket and pulls something out. The pin she procured from Nate, the same pin she tore gracelessly from Marcus's sweater sleeve at lunch a couple of days ago. She crouches down against the wall of the closet and pulls a piece of paper out of her pocket. It's only one line – she's frustrated that the paper can't hold all the thoughts that rush through her head. She can't believe she's doing this: that she still holds out hope for them.
She threads the needle with a length of cotton she tears off the spool with her teeth. She tacks the heart to the note with a couple of stitches, tying the ends so that it stays put, attached to her one-line missive. She places the paper and pin on top of one of the sweaters, her fingers shaking. Part of her hopes that he'll find it quickly; another part of her hopes he won't. She lays the needle packet and the spool of thread alongside the note.
He doesn't take long to find it. He's looking for a sweater to wear that night. The evening's turned quite cool and there's a chilly breeze coming through the window screens. He flips through the drawer holding his sweaters and notices the paper, weighed down by a pin in the shape of a heart. His heart is in his mouth; he knows what it means. Reaching out with trembling fingers, he brings the paper up closer to his face to read the message on it, and he swears he catches her scent, delicate yet enticing, rising off of the paper. Her voice follows his, echoing in his mind, as he reads the message out loud to himself:
"What do you intend to do with this?"