Rosie offers him a consolatory smile and a pat on the shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.”

I sure hope he doesn’t.

“So? Where are we going?” Emmitt asks, matching my stride as we start walking to the R train. He’s back to his British accent, which is funny to hear after a day of listening to him pretend to be American. Every time we’re together, he seems to revert back to it. I guess I’m one of the only people that knows who he is, but it’s strange to hear him go back and forth between accents, putting on a fake persona whenever it suits him.

The weather has fully cleared up, so the sun beats down on us as we cross the street. It’s early February, though, so it’s still chilly enough that I button up my mustard coat before we even leave the building.

I blow onto my fingers, rubbing them together. My breath comes out as vapor in the frosty air, and I regret not bringing gloves. “I thought it would be a cool idea to do a different New York City borough for each one of the prompts. Five photos, five boroughs. We’re going to Staten Island today.”

Emmitt falters, staring at me with an intensity that stops me in my tracks, too.

“What?” I ask, my skin itching under his gaze.

He stares at me for another beat of silence, and just as I’m considering turning away, he says, “That’s actually a good idea.”

I narrow my eyes at the use of actually. “As it would turn out, I have brain cells I like to actively employ. You should give it a try on occasion.”

He exhales out a breath, tucking his hands in his own coat pockets, but an aggravating smirk is hidden in the corner of his mouth. “I can’t even pay you a compliment without some smart-ass remark.”

I ignore him and keep walking. Ten minutes later, we arrive at the subway station, and Emmitt stares at the entrance in dismay.

“We’re taking the subway?”

I give him an unimpressed look. “How else are we going to get around New York? Do you have a fancy driver to take us places?”

Emmitt’s lips thin. “Surely we can call an Uber or Lyft?”

“And who’s going to pay for that?” I ask, lifting a brow. Before he can answer, I shake my head. “Come on, let’s not waste time. I’m not going to take a car into Manhattan when the subway is right there. Let’s go.”

Without waiting for his response, I hop down the stairs to the subway. There’s a homeless man in a sleeping bag across from us, more or less knocked out, and Emmitt inhales sharply at the sight of him, bumping into my back.