I change clothes five times, eventually chastising myself for getting all worked up about Alex coming over. She wouldn't expect me to be in slacks or a dress. I decide the sixth outfit is the one I'm sticking with: a comfortable pair of jeans and a red REI sweatshirt. I quickly pick up a few items I've been too lazy to put away over the last week, then run the vacuum over the rug in my living room. Finally, I sweep the hardwoods in the hallway and kitchen and light a pumpkin-scented candle on the coffee table.

While my wine collection isn't as robust or perhaps expensive as Alex's, I have three or four nice bottles I've been waiting to drink on the right occasion. As I pull two glasses out of the cupboard, I hear a knock on the door. I take a deep breath before opening it.

"Hey," Alex greets me, holding a bottle of wine towards me. "I didn't want to come empty handed."

Now I feel guilty. "I didn't bring anything to your house the other night."

"That was a last minute invitation," she says, stepping inside. "Besides, I never expect anything."

"Well, thank you." I close the door.

"Your house has serious curb appeal. I love Craftsmans." She admires the exposed beams that I've restored to their original wooden sheen. "They don't make them like this anymore."

"No, they don't." I walk through the living room and into the kitchen. "There's one construction company, Lake Brothers, that's trying to bring back this kind of craftsmanship, but they charge a pretty penny."

She follows me. "Is that the company building in Maple Leaf?"

"I think they've done four in Maple Leaf and two in View Ridge." I nod. "I've met the owners. They're young—like in their early 30s and just starting out, but their grandfather was a local architect."

So far, this is an easy conversation that calms me. I can talk about real estate and home design all day. Maybe we'll develop an unlikely friendship despite working for competing firms. I know several people who are friends with agents who don't work at Shadwick-Bloom. Hell, one couple began their relationship when they worked for opposing companies. The woman eventually dropped out of the business altogether to raise their children, but as far as I know, they're living happily ever after.

Alex runs her hand across the granite countertop, and I admire her well-manicured nails. "When was the house built?"

"1934," I respond, setting her bottle of wine to the side and picking up the one I chose especially for tonight. "It was owned by the same family until I bought it three years ago."

She walks towards the arched windows behind the breakfast nook. "Did they do the remodel or did you?"

"I did." I twist a corkscrew into the bottle. "I'm trying to do one big project a year. First, it was the kitchen, then the master bathroom. In May, I installed a new shower and Subway tile in the guest bath."

She seems to admire the leaded glass. "Who'd you work with to do the renovations?"

"I have a handyman from Honduras who does all my work," I reply, pulling the cork out. "He and his crew are super-fast and professional. They're great at tile work and grouting if you ever need a guy."

She walks towards me, and even with the short distance, she exudes confidence. "I considered buying an older house in Columbia City before pulling the plug on my condo, but I don't have the patience to put in the work it would probably need. New construction suits me just fine."

"There are times when I wish I would've bought a new place like yours." I pour wine into the glasses. "But I love the charm of this old house. Plus, I'm two blocks from Green Lake."

"It's in a perfect location." She picks up the bottle and reads the label. "Januik, huh?"

"I bought it at their tasting room in May." I slide one glass towards her. "Do you get out to Woodinville very often?"

"Not as much as I'd like to." She lifts the glass and clinks it against mine. "I work pretty much all weekend, and most tasting rooms close at six."

"That's the part of real estate that sucks—working weekends." I take a sip, remembering why I bought this particular bottle. "I've gotten used to it though."

"I hadn't taken a full weekend off in almost four years until last month." She sips the wine. "This is really good."

"I'm glad you like it." I move into the living room, which is dotted with rustic wood and leather furniture. There are pops of color here and there that soften the room in the form of throw pillows, artwork, and two potted fig trees near the window. I also have a few Autumnal decorations on the coffee table and mantle.

She sits in one of the armchairs. "It almost feels like a lodge."

"I like the modern touches in your place." I sit on the sofa, tossing a dark green pillow aside. "But the whole West Elm look wouldn't feel right in here."

"No, I get it." She crosses her legs, and I can't take my eyes off them. "I've seen tons of homes where the furniture and artwork don't match the home's style."

I take another sip and try to tear my eyes away from her long legs. "Exactly."

We talk about the real estate market and architectural design through the first bottle of wine, and it all feels comfortable—safe even. While I enjoy hearing about her preferences in home styles and décor, I want to know more about her life outside of work. I'm not sure if I'm comfortable being friends with a felon, but perhaps the more I know, the more informed decision I can make.

I set my empty glass on the coffee table. "Should we open another bottle?"

"Definitely." She stands and twists her head from side to side as if her neck is sore. "I should've brought a change of clothes. I've been in this dress and these heels since eight this morning."

"You can borrow some of my clothes if that would make you more comfortable." I take my glass and the empty bottle into the kitchen and feel my heart begin to race at the prospect of Alex wearing my sweats.

She drains her wine. "You sure?"

"Positive." I don't know why this thrills me so much. "My bedroom is the second door on the left. Most of my casual clothes are in the dresser, but feel free to check out the closet if you want a sweater or a light jacket."

"If I'm going to go through the trouble of changing…" She steps close enough for me to smell the earthy red wine on her breath. "I'm going to be here well past dinnertime."

I swallow hard and stare into her eyes. "We should order something to eat."

She touches my arm and grins. "I'll change clothes, then order Pagliacci if that sounds good."

"I love Pagliacci," I reply, keenly aware of her fingertips lingering on my forearm.

She squeezes my arm, then walks out of the kitchen. "Second door on the left?"

I watch her casually walk away. "Yeah."

Since meeting Alex at the Met, going to her condo, and then having her as a guest at my house, I've never felt this…this…at home with someone. It's like we've known each other for years. While that's technically true, by no means were we close in high school—we barely knew each other to the point of my being surprised that she even knew my last name. As I recall, we had three or four encounters when I was the ripe age of 15, and that was it. I don't know why this feels so natural; why I'm so drawn to her.

"I like your bedroom furniture." Alex returns to the kitchen in a pair of leggings and my favorite ivory, cotton-quilt sweatshirt. "It fits in nicely with the whole ski lodge theme."

"Ski lodge?" My eyes travel down her body and I have to pause before pouring a few ounces in each glass for fear I'll miss my mark entirely. "I was going for more of a Pacific Northwest vibe."

"Yeah, that's what it feels like." She shoves one sleeve past an elbow. "It's cozy."

"I hope you like the wine, too." I hand her a glass. "This is a Syrah."

She swirls the garnet liquid. "I'm still sort of a wine novice since getting out of prison, but I do love a good Washington Syrah."

"Your collection seemed impressive." I take a sip and try to tear my eyes away from Alex once again, but they're like a moth to a flame.

"I like trying varietals from different wineries." She shrugs. "There are too many to choose from to stick with just one label." She heads back into the living room, and I'm thankful because I don't know if I could've stopped gawking at the way her hair cascades over her shoulders or how her plump lips are slightly stained with red wine.

"That's partly why I haven't joined a wine club." I return to my spot on the sofa.

She makes a little sound of agreement, then glances at her chest. "I hope this outfit is ok."

I tuck a chunk of hair behind my ear. "It looks better on you than it does on me."

"I seriously doubt that." Her eyes journey down my body. "This is nice—different from the last one, but just as good."

I tuck my legs underneath me and try to change the topic to a more personal one. "Tell me more about your younger years."

"Let's order pizza first." She pulls out her phone. "Looks like the seasonal is a Wild Mushroom Primo."

"Yum," I respond. "Are you ok with that?"

She types on her phone. "Yeah, and maybe a salad?"

"Perfect." I decide to turn on my Acoustic Chill playlist and make sure the volume is low enough to not be a distraction.

"Tell me your address again." She continues typing in the app as I recite my address and zip code.

"Done—it'll be here in about 45 minutes."

"Good."

Alex sets her phone on the coffee table, and then picks up her glass and leans back. "Where were we?"

"You were going to tell me about your younger years."

"Right." She takes a sip, then dives right in to growing up in Bellingham and how she hated school but has always loved reading and writing.

I have no doubt that Alex is highly intelligent. She didn't enjoy the structure of school and having to perform, as she called it, for a grade. She seems to regret not going to college, but now that she's a realtor, she doesn't see the point of getting a degree. She asks about my education, and I fill her in on my time at Smith and when I contemplated getting a Master's degree but never pulled the trigger.

The pizza arrives and instead of eating at the table, Alex brings the box to the coffee table. She sits next to me presumably so that we both have easy access to the pizza and salad. I like that she's close enough for our legs to bump into each other when one of us leans forward to pick up a slice of pizza or take a sip of wine. Each time it happens, a surge of electricity rushes through my body.

At her urging, I fill her in on my mostly boring life, and then the topic of Larry surfaces.

"I broke up with him yesterday," I say, noticing how good it feels to finally have severed ties with him. "I wanted to do it in person, but he told me if I was going to end things, I should just do it over the phone."

She pauses mid-bite. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be—we weren't as compatible as I thought we would be when we first got together," I say. "And things kind of fizzled out over the last few months."

"Still, breakups are never easy."

"No, they're not." I take a sip of wine. "But it's over, so…"

Alex swallows the last bite of her slice. "Is there a reason you're telling me this?"

Am I subconsciously telling her that I'm newly single for a reason or am I just making conversation?

"I thought you would want to know since the whole reason we met that night in front of the restaurant had to do with Larry asking if I wanted to live together." That feels like a safe response.

"Ah," she says, but there's a sparkle in her eye as if she thinks there's an entirely different reason I'm not divulging.

Maybe there is.

"So, tell me." She crumples her napkin, tossing it into her plate and sits back. "Have you ever been in a relationship with a woman?"

I'm caught completely off guard, and my eyes widen at the turn of the conversation. "I hooked up a couple of times at Smith, but I've never been in a relationship with a woman. No shortage of lesbians or bi-curious girls there."

She chuckles.

I push my plate away and lean back, elbow propped on the back of the sofa, inches away from her hand. "I've been attracted to women over the years, but I haven't pursued anything."

She toys with the hem of my sleeve, and my pulse quickens. "Why not?"

"I don't enter relationships based on pure physical attraction," I state. "And the women I've been attracted to either weren't gay or we had very little in common."

She tugs my wrist until my hand drops, then links our fingers together. "We seem to have a few things in common."

I swallow the huge lump in my throat and my heart feels like it's going to leap out of my chest, but I told myself this couldn't happen. "Alex, I…"

She raises her eyebrows as if asking what I want to say non-verbally.

I quickly get to my feet. "I…You…This isn't a good idea."

"It's not?" She remains seated, arm draped over the back of the cushions and expression never shifting.

"You're my competition." I shake my head. "You're an ex-convict."

"Which of those things is more troubling?"

I don't know how she can keep such a steady voice.

"Both." I run a hand through my hair and begin to pace. "How would it look if we…if we…you know, and we start competing for the same listings or sales?"

She lifts her shoulders. "We're going to be competitors no matter what happens between us on a personal level."

"Wouldn't that be awkward?" I try. "I'd be upset if you won a bidding war that makes my clients miss out on their dream home."

"That's life!" Finally, there's some gusto to her tone. "It's not like we don't lose bidding wars all the time. If you take work so personally, then yeah, we're going to have a problem. If you can compartmentalize it, this could be…interesting."

I stop pacing and stick my hands on my hips.

"Look…" She leans forward. "I'm not saying we should jump into a relationship, Piper, but I like you—I like getting to know you, and I'm willing to see how this plays out."

I hold her gaze for a few seconds then look away. I'm disappointed when I lose a house to another agent, but I worry if I lose it to her, it'll pack double the punch. Then again, how many homes will we compete for? Most of her listings and clientele are in South Seattle. Maybe we'll put in bids for three or four of the same homes, but even then, aren't I professional enough to not let it affect me personally?

Alex shakes me from my musings. "The whole felon thing is a totally different story—I can't change my past."

"It scares me," I admit, taking a few steps closer. "I've never known anyone who went to prison let alone gotten involved with them."

"Neither had I," she half-jokes, then quickly sobers. "I did some illegal shit when I was younger, and I paid the price. I'm not proud of any of it, but I live with that stigma every fucking day. If that's a dealbreaker for you, I get it."

I never imagined getting to the point with Alex where we might kiss, which means I never thought about her time in prison being a dealbreaker for moving ahead. "I don't know," I answer honestly. "I need time to process everything."

"Alright." She stands, running her hands down her thighs. "Tonight was lovely. Thank you for the wine and the pizza."

I switch gears from our serious conversation to the logistics of the evening. "You paid for the pizza. I should pay you back—you were my guest."

"Don't worry about it." She sips the last of her wine, then sets the glass down. "Reach out when you're ready. If I don't hear from you, I guess I'll see you around town."

I don't want her to leave, but I also don't want to do something I might regret. Before I can say anything, she walks towards the door. "Good night, Piper."

I lift my hand and give her a small, somewhat sad smile. "Good night, Alex."

If I'm being completely honest with myself, I'm attracted to Alex and have been since high school. She wouldn't have been good for me then, but what about now? Do I have the right to hold her time in prison against her? Clearly, she learned from her mistakes, served time and has created a lucrative and happy life for herself. I have no reason to believe she wants to go back to the cartel—she seems to have learned her lesson.

I toss and turn in bed, finally falling asleep with the image of us sitting on the sofa eating pizza and talking about everyday sort of stuff. I liked how easy it was to talk to her. I liked when she innocently touched me or complimented me on my furniture or taste in wine. In fact, I like everything about Alex Vause, yet her past troubles me to the core.

Author's Note: I'm not sure if I should tell you this or not, but in my first version of this chapter, Alex and Piper kissed. Then I wrote the rest of the story and it didn't feel right. Pack your patience, my friends; you know how big a fan I am of the slow burn. I didn't think this story would get the kinds of positive reviews it has gotten so far. Thanks so much for leaving a note!