Isaac picks me up Sunday morning ten minutes early, carrying coffee. I’m so impressed by the sight of him in his suit that I can’t even think of something snarky to say to him, so I stand in my doorway staring at his dark, mussed hair, his dark scruff, and the fitted suit that makes him look like sex on legs.

I pretend I’m blowing off the coffee while I regain control of my mouth, making a mental note of how he looks leaning against my door frame, sipping ...