As we stepped off the stage, the roar of the audience faded into a distant hum, replaced by the click of our shoes on the studio’s backstage corridor. Alex’s hand was warm in mine, steady and reassuring. The producers had whisked us into a waiting limo, cameras optional, but we’d both opted out—thank God. “No need for an audience tonight,” I’d said with a wink, and he’d laughed, that deep, genuine chuckle that made my stomach flip.

The ride to his place in Seattle was short, the ...