“Christ. I didn’t dress for this.” Alexander wore a brown leather jacket over a blue oxford shirt and bulky sweater, khakis and expensive leather shoes. I’d dressed to be beautiful—pretty black knit dress, hair in a ponytail (now being undone by the wind), the necklace he’d given me for Christmas and a cute red leather jacket that did nothing to keep me warm. Should’ve worn pants. And a parka.

“Well, come on,” I said. “We don’t have to stay too long. It’ll be fun.”

He followed me down the sidewalk, past clumps of grass and dead flower bushes. Come spring, this most elegant of New York’s parks would be filled with color and life, but as it was, it was a little, uh, barren.

Shit. Well, I’d make it quick. “Sunset’s in ten minutes,” I said.

“I’ll be dead by then.”

“I’ll revive your cold, hard corpse. Or at least give it a really strong attempt, then go into the Standard and drown my sorrows at the bar.”

He laughed, and my heart swelled a bit. He really was a good, kind person. Great husband material. Never too demanding, always cheerful . . . the opposite of Noah, which was probably no coincidence, and I shouldn’t be thinking of Noah, I reminded myself. I glanced at the other couple. Would they film us when I got down on one knee? Also, should I get down on one knee? These were my only black tights.

“I cannot believe you’re saying this!” Ah. They were fighting. Not a great sign.

I really wanted the light of the sunset to spill onto us, which it would in about six minutes. Being a painter who had once loved skyscapes, I was an expert on natural light. “How was your day, hon?” I asked, trying to kill time.

“Oh, fine,” he said, putting his arm around me. “Pretty sure I nailed down a sale to a hedge fund guy. He wants it made from scratch, of course.” He detailed the many requirements this guy had for his boat—private master deck, helipad, indoor garden, sauna, steam room and gym.

“So just a little wooden boat to paddle around in, then,” I said.

He smiled. “It’s a living. Are we about done, babe? I’m starving.”

“I bought cheese.” I pulled the block out of my bag. Shit. We’d have to bite right into it, since I didn’t have a knife.

“Hon. It’s forty degrees out here. Maybe thirty-five. It’s supposed to snow tonight.”

“It’s not so bad. See? That other couple’s brave. Plus, we’re Yankees. This is practically summer.”

He glanced at the other couple. “They have winter coats on.”

They did, both dressed in those down coats with patches that announced them as explorers of Antarctica. The woman crossed her puffy arms. “Are you shitting me, Dallas?” she practically yelled.