I went to my coworker’s apartment to return her jacket, but I never expected to leave wanting something I’d been too afraid to ask for. I was 32 and working late shifts at a hotel in Chicago. Rebecca, 30, worked at the front desk with me. We’d flirted for months, but neither of us had admitted our feelings. One Friday night, I drove through the rain to return a jacket she’d left in my car. When she opened the door, she was wearing a loose T-shirt and shorts, her hair still damp from a shower. “You drove all the way here just for my jacket?” she asked. “You need it, don't you?” “Not until tomorrow.” She stepped aside, inviting me in. Her apartment smelled like coffee, and a movie played quietly on the television. I placed the jacket on a chair and turned toward her. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked. “Because I'm tired of pretending you don't like me.” I laughed nervously. “Maybe I'm trying to keep things professional.” “Is that really why?” I looked at her. “No.” She walked closer, her expression suddenly serious. “Then why haven't you asked me out?” “Because I wasn't sure you felt the same way.”