We jump apart like two teenagers. I look down at the ground, trying to keep my cheeks from overheating.

“And where are you off to with my precious granddaughter?” she asks, and though the question is formal, her tone reveals that she’s happy to see him here.

He looks down at me. “To get a slice of pizza, apparently.”

“I see. And, Lainey, will you be back before I go to bed?”

I meet Emmett’s eyes, and his expression makes it perfectly clear that the answer is no. I won’t be coming back here at all tonight.

“I don’t think so.”

I’m prepared for some kind of reprimand or a warning at the very least, but instead, she nods and comes over to press a kiss to my hair.

“Then have a nice time. And Emmett, take good care of her.”

He nods reverently and then we’re free to head out the front door and down the stoop. His car is waiting at the curb. Already his driver is en route to open the back door for us.

I tug Emmett’s arm. “Let’s walk.”

There’s no argument from him.

“I’ll be on call,” his driver tells us.

Then it’s just the two of us walking hand in hand down the sidewalk.

“Is there somewhere you had in mind?” Emmett asks.

I strain my brain to come up with the name of a single pizza restaurant in the entire city.

“No. My grandmother prefers fine dining.”

“A travesty. We’ll walk until we find something.”

“You know what I really miss? The pizza they served in the cafeteria at St. John’s.”

He laughs. “It was surprisingly good.”

It’s maybe too cold to be out on a leisurely walk, but neither of us tries to rush, and we’re hardly the only ones out here. Brave Bostonians litter the sidewalk. A few tuck their hands into their pockets and burrow down into their coats, hurrying along, but most of them look wholly unaffected by the weather. Kids with red noses and chapped cheeks play chase, darting past us while letting out peals of laughter, as if immune to the biting wind. A mom pushes her stroller while singing quietly to her baby. Emmett and I carry on, talking about our favorite food at St. John’s.

Just before we turn the corner, I look back at my grandmother’s house, and for a moment, I’m no longer down on the sidewalk with Emmett. I’m standing up on the balcony, outside my room, wistfully watching the parade of people come and go, just as I’ve done on a hundred evenings before. With a pang of loneliness, I drop my head in my hand and hunch over the railing, looking first at the woman with her stroller and her sweet baby. Then my attention is stolen by the running children and I smile, briefly feeling the same wild glee they feel as they scurry around other pedestrians. Finally, my gaze snags on the beautiful couple holding hands, the sharply dressed man with his dark hair and warm smile, staring down at the woman by his side as if she hung the moon. They’re so in love.