Olivia had enjoyed her week in the Hamptons with her parents. She read three books, drank a lot of iced tea and lemonade, played Scrabble, went swimming and rested. It was a great reboot before the school year began. She would report to work on Wednesday, and then students started the following Monday. It was an interesting time of year for a teacher; she was excited to go back, but also starting to mourn the freedom of the summer, for which she was very grateful.

She stepped off of the shuttle and checked her phone as soon as she was back in the city. She had been surprised not to hear from Fitz right away, and was even more surprised he hadn't responded at all. Surely he had done the math and knew she was arriving now. They had made plans to see each other tonight.

She sat down on a bench with her suitcase and debated. She could call him. They had spoken almost every day and texted regularly. Their conversations were sometimes playful, sometimes serious but always left her feeling happy. She hadn't detected a change that would make him not respond tonight.

On the other hand, she could just go home. Take a shower, relax. This is what the Olivia of a few weeks ago would have done. A guy doesn't respond? Get on with your life.

But this was Fitz, and she didn't feel like letting him off the hook. And what if something was wrong? There was no shame in calling. She took her phone out of her purse and hit his name, which was at the top of her list of recent calls.

He didn't answer. She held her phone for another few minutes, then stood up and hailed a cap to take her the rest of the way to her apartment.

Fitz had been in the shower when Olivia had tried calling. Noting the time, he figured she must have called when she arrived back in the city. He had a conflict of emotions seeing her missed call. He pictured her sitting there, deciding if she should reach out, calling and getting his voicemail. She had not left a message. He hated himself in that moment, because he wanted to see her. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted her.

He was standing in the middle of his bedroom with a towel around his waist when he realized this. He wanted her. What the hell was he doing? He hit her name and put the phone to his ear.

It went straight to voicemail. A glance at the clock, it was after 10:00. He stood there in the middle of his room frozen like a statue. When he looked up again, he knew what he had to do.

He dressed quickly in jeans and white t-shirt, along with his trusty Michigan baseball hat. His hair was almost dry. And he really didn't care if it got messed up on the trip to Olivia's. He grabbed his keys, wallet and phone and began the 20 minute walk to her apartment. Halfway there, he hailed a cab, wondering if the five minutes he saved would increase his odds of seeing her tonight. At her apartment, he greeted the doorman, who recognized him from last weekend and called Olivia's number to announce her guest's arrival.

Fitz stared at the door to the elevator lobby while the doorman waited with the phone to his ear. He finally greeted Olivia, told her Fitz was downstairs, and then listened to her response. Smiling, he hung up and buzzed Fitz in.

"Good luck, Mr. Grant," he said, shaking his head.

Olivia's door was open when he got there. He tapped lightly and entered her home.

"Liv? Hi. It's me."

She wasn't in sight. "Hi, I'm just unpacking, one sec," she called, presumably from her bedroom. He knew he hadn't earned the right to walk back and greet her there, so he sat at one of the chairs at her small kitchen table.

She came out a few minutes later with a laundry basket in her hands.

"I need to head to the basement. Walk with me?"

He hopped up. "Definitely. Let me carry it."

She stopped and looked him straight in the eyes. She was trying to figure out in a glance what was going on. His light blue eyes were serious but hopeful. She could tell, right in that moment, that he hadn't just been running late or missed her call. He wasn't going to come, and then changed his mind.

"Sure, thanks," she said, handing him the basket and grabbing her bag of quarters from a kitchen drawer.

Standing next to each other waiting for the elevator, there was an electric current between them. Fitz's muscles were somewhat flexed, and Olivia noticed his jaw muscles were flexing, too. When the elevator doors opened, he waited and let her go in first. The ride down to the laundry room was silent. When the doors opened again, she couldn't wait anymore. She stepped out and then turned to him.

"So, why did you bail?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"You'd like to discuss this in the hallway outside your laundry room?"

"Yes. Very much."

He smiled shyly and set down the basket. "Okay."

He stood back up and looked at her. She was stunning, even in cotton pajama shorts and grey velour sweatshirt. More than that, even though it was confirmed that he had majorly screwed up, he still felt happy. Even though what came next would be uncomfortable, he felt like it was worth the effort.

"First, I missed you like crazy and it's good to see you. Actually see you."

She nodded. She wasn't going to make this easy.

"Right, so that's the truth. I know we're going to see less of each other when we start working full time, and I was looking forward to tonight. Absence and fondness of heart and all that. I don't know how to explain this eloquently…"

"Just try, Fitz."

"I am. Trust me, I am. That's why I'm here."

She just looked at him with her head slightly tilted.

"That guy from the movies? He snapped a photo of us walking outside and posted it on Instagram. It's definitely me, us, but because you're so tiny and just seem to fit next to me, you're unrecognizable. We're holding hands. It made the rounds, and it's on a couple of gossip sites."

For Olivia, it was like the curtain had been pulled back. It all made sense. But she let him continue.

"My manager told me this morning. It's not a big deal, really. In fact my first thought was that at least it's not a photo or video from the subway."

They both blushed.

"But those sites are like wildfires, in a way. Once you're noticed, you kind of have to be on notice. I had been free and clear, for a long time, which granted me the freedom to just walk around, just be. I'm not sure yet, it's only been a day or two, but this could put me back to having to be more cautious. And before you say, how could you be more cautious, trust me, I have my ways."

She observed him for a moment, then took a breath. "I get all of that. And I'm sorry it happened, because I know how much you value your privacy. It's hard for me to relate, obviously, but I feel for you and I hear what you're saying. I just…"

"What?" He wanted her to continue.

"I just don't understand what any of that has to do with tonight. You're here in my basement. There's not another soul to be seen. I could have come to your place on my way back and nobody would have been the wiser. We didn't have plans to go on a walking tour of New York on a Saturday afternoon with name tags and megaphones."

He considered this, and she continued.

"If I'm being honest, I wasn't even sure that you had truly bailed. I thought maybe you had fallen asleep, or were in the shower or on the other line. So I need a little time to process that you had actually decided to stand me up."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

This was the old Olivia. This was the Olivia who had expectations for how she should be treated, how people should treat other people.

"For considering, even for a minute, that I shouldn't see you tonight."

"It was more than a minute. It was a couple of hours."

"Fine, you're right. I'm sorry. I wanted to flake, that was my initial response, and then I thought about it, thought about you, and realized it was the wrong decision. I'm happy to continue groveling if it's necessary."

"I'm not asking you to grovel."

"It kind of feels like you are. Trust me, I know I fucked up. I'm here, and I'm truly sorry, but what else can I say?"

She sighed. "I don't know. But I think you should probably go. Thanks for carrying my laundry for me. Can we talk tomorrow?" She bent down to grab the basket from the floor where it had created a physical barrier that mirrored the emotional one they had set up during this conversation.

He bent down and put his hands on top of hers, preventing her from moving.

"Fitz, move. I'm serious. I don't want to talk about this right now."

"How can that be, Liv? Five minutes ago you demanded we talk about it in a basement hallway. Now you don't want to?"

"I heard what you said. I'm not sure where to go from here. Can we please just talk tomorrow?"

"We can talk tomorrow. But I'm not leaving you like this."

"Like what?"

"You're clearly upset. Rightfully so. I wish you'd just talk to me, though. How can I say the right thing if I don't know what's bothering you?"

"It's not about saying the right thing."

"Give me a break. I just explained everything to you and apologized, and it wasn't satisfactory. Otherwise you wouldn't be asking me to leave. So what is going on?"

She had to give him a little credit. He was calling her on her shit. She had asked him to explain and was dismissing him post-explanation. Most guys got frustrated at this point and just did as she requested. Fitz was frustrated, but he had also called her Liv, and he was still here.

"This is hard for me. I'm trying to balance what it's like to see you, which is exactly how I imagined, though I didn't picture the hat, it's a nice look for you. Anyway, I'm trying to balance that with the crushing disappointment of knowing you weren't going to call."

"But I did call."

"You did. A little late."

"Better late than never?" he asked, smiling for the first time in what felt like days.

"I'm trying not to sound like some needy woman here. I'm not sure how to convey what I'm feeling or what I need you to say without sounding desperate."

"I'm desperate to hold you again."

"Fitz."

"What? Sometimes it's okay to be a little desperate."

"I was so excited to see you. I thought you felt the same."

"I do!"

"But…"

"Look, Liv. I do not want to be on those sites. I do not want talk show hosts asking me if I have a girlfriend. I do not want paparazzi following me around Manhattan, and I certainly don't want them following you or anyone else I care about. That's what I was thinking when I decided not to call you back. It has nothing to do with how I feel about you. You have to know that."

She had thought she knew that. Every signal he had sent up until tonight had told her that his feelings matched those words.

"If you really want me to go," he said, taking a few steps backward toward the elevator, "I'm not going to force myself on you and your laundry."

"Just stop. Stop for a second," she said, putting up a hand.

"Yes, Ms. Pope."

"No jokes, Fitz."

"Sorry."

"This is crazy! Of course I don't want you to go. Not really."

"Great. Let's do what we need to do down here and then you can tell me all about the characters on the Hamptons shuttle." He took two steps toward her and leaned down to grab the laundry basket.

"Wait."

He respected her command and stood up.

"I don't want you to go. That's true. I can't think of a better way to say this, so I'll just say it: my confidence is in the figurative basement because you almost stood me up tonight. I wish I didn't know that. What you've said, your explanation, it's logical. But I still feel stupid, like maybe I'm not quite enough. And I hate myself for saying that! It's definitely not something I've ever admitted aloud to a person. But it's the truth. So here were are."

"Literally, in the basement."

"Fitz! No jokes!"

"You're right, I'm sorry. Look, here's what I think. I think the only way we're going to move forward from here is to just try. If you still feel like you need some space after we move this godforsaken laundry basket out of the way and hold each other, then I'll go. But Olivia, this has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with you not being enough. You are more than enough. You are more than a guy like me dreams about. I'm the idiot here. Not you. You have to trust me on that."

He had zoomed in on the bottom line. It pained Olivia to feel like she had been duped. She still didn't have the courage to tell him he was right, but she had heard enough. She used her foot to slide the laundry out of the way. He knew what she meant.

"Thank God," he said, closing the gap between then and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She put her arms around his waist and turned her head to the side, resting it against his chest. She melted into his embrace, and he tightened with one hand and began playing with the curls of her hair with the other.

"I'm truly sorry," he whispered into her ear, sending goose bumps up and down her entire body. All she could do was nod.

They stood there for one minute, maybe ten, and then he kissed her forehead and bent to grab the laundry. She led the way and then watched with amusement as he started the machine for her.

"Big ol' movie star knows how to do laundry. Later at 10:00 on Entertainment Tonight."

"Oh shut up," he said, turning quickly and cornering her in between a washing machine and a folding table.

"That's no way to speak to a lady, Mr. Grant," she said, feeling feisty now.

"Please be quiet and kiss me," he said, putting a hand on either side of her face.

How could she not after he asked so nicely? There was nowhere for her hands except on his hips, and she had to stand on her toes to kiss him the way she wanted. The way he clearly wanted. By the time they stopped to catch their breath, her lips felt swollen and her skin felt sensitive, and she realized he must not have shaved this morning. It was an exquisite pain, and she didn't mind.

"How much longer?" he asked, nodding to the washing machine that held her clothes.

"Probably 15 minutes."

There was a small table with one chair in the corner of the room. He sat down and patted his lap. Instead of sitting there, however, she sat on the table in front of him. While they waited to switch her clothes from the washer to the dryer, she told him about the woman on the shuttle with a potato and a pair of nylons in her duffle bag and other observations from the trip. They would kiss occasionally, and when the buzzer finally sounded his hands were on her calves, her head tilted bag as he massaged her legs.

"Laundry's done," she said, stretching and standing up in front of Fitz. He put a hand on each of her legs and pulled her in between his. As she was standing and he was sitting, this left his mouth about in line with her belly button. He shook his head ever so softly, and the gentle brush of his nose on her stomach made her shudder.

"Fitz, the laundry," she said, trying to escape his grasp.

"Fuck the laundry," he said, finally succumbing to the slow build of needing her that had started as soon as he had decided to come over tonight.

He stood up quickly and took her with him, setting her on the table. As he pulled her right up to the edge of the table and she wrapped her legs around his waist, it reminded them both of his hello kiss during their Friday date at his apartment. She had her hands on his back, and his were on hers to help her keep her balance, and they kissed more passionately than they ever had. He kissed her cheeks, her lips, her chin, her neck, her eyes, her ears, her nose. She arched her back to press their bodies together, which was almost too much for either of them to take. Before either of them could consciously understand what was happening, she was lying back on the table and he was lifting her shirt and peppering her stomach with kisses. He had his hands on the waist of her shorts as he did so, and she squirmed under the contact. She wrapped her fingers around his curly hair and turned his head to the left without thinking. It felt so good. He wanted, so badly, to remove her shorts and have his way with her. But it wasn't the time or place. Maybe the time, but definitely not the place. He kissed her side, just above her hip, one more time and then stood up and offered her his hand. She smiled and rolled her eyes.

"What?" he said, turning her around and brushing invisible dust from the table off of her back.

"You're so gentlemanly sometimes, and then other times, not."

"I can't help it, Liv."

"I'm glad," she said, kissing him quickly and making her way to the washing machine to transfer her clothes to the dryer.

"We have an hour or so before those are done. Let's wait upstairs. Not that this hasn't been a lovely experience."

"Sounds good," he said. "After you."

She led the way to the elevator. The ride up was much better than the ride down. This time they stood close to each other and held hands. It wasn't a long trip, but it was enough time for each of them to consider what might happen next. They had known each other for three weeks. They had been a handful of dates and had spoken almost every day. The chemistry was intense. For Olivia, the questions were about how soon is too soon to sleep with someone? The magazines she read didn't have articles about that, and she hadn't seriously dated anyone in a while. She had a couple of one-night stands, or boyfriends of a couple of months, but nothing serious. The stakes felt higher with Fitz. And for Fitz, the questions were about the implications of sleeping with Olivia, tonight or any night. He wasn't sure how to manage, for lack of a better word, having these feelings for someone. How would it work if he wasn't living in New York? How will they see each other as often as they want when she's working full time?

Those questions were certainly valid, and they considered them for the sixty-second ride to Olivia's floor. But as she led him to her apartment, closed the door and locked it and pulled her t-shirt over her head, the questions fell to the floor with her clothing and Fitz scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom.