That night, as Tessa slipped between crisp sheets on the most luxurious sofa bed imaginable, Adam’s voice floated down the hall, followed by Jenn’s infectious laugh. She sighed and flipped onto her back. Jenn talked a good game, but Tessa knew. Behind the door of that twentieth-floor, Manhattan bedroom, a pair of hearts sang an operatic duet—smelly running shoes or no. How could she settle for anything less?

****

The next morning, Tessa gazed down a tree-lined path into Central Park.

“New York, New York—it’s a heck of a town!” Jenn executed a pirouette in the middle of Columbus Circle, punctuated with jazz hands. “I should have been an actor.”

Hazy sunlight glinted off a towering, golden statue that looked like it belonged in a European city.

A guy selling ice cream at its base offered Jenn a fist bump. “You do you.”

Jenn flashed a smile. “Here, you got your four-dollar popsicles, your three-dollar bottles of water, and your two-dollar-and-fifty-cent ice cream sandwiches that used to cost thirty-five cents in the school cafeteria. I love New York!”

She eyeballed the sign dangling from the guy’s cart and winced. Jenn wasn’t exaggerating. “My radio prize winnings will be gone in a week.”

“I don’t know. Fifteen thousand dollars buys a ton of ice cream sandwiches.”

“But doesn’t go far in rent.” She spent the early morning browsing a real estate app Jenn recommended, discovering in short order that if she were to even consider moving to New York, she needed either a really good job or to win a bunch of radio contests pronto. This whole moving to the city scheme was way more complex than she imagined.

Honestly, little about city life was as she expected. Central Park, for example, completely astonished her. It was mind-bogglingly large—a vast oasis of green in the midst of the concrete desert. From winding footpaths and whimsical arched bridges to ponds, playgrounds, and even a stone castle on a hill, the park revealed delightful surprises at every turn. And gardens—who knew city parks had gardens? Flowers teemed from manicured beds and cascading planters. Amidst the greenery, parents chatted on benches while children rode scooters, and groups of exotically pierced teenagers strummed guitars. Sorry, Mrs. Diefenderfer. Not even a little bit scary.

A subway ride downtown delivered them to Times Square and Forty-Second Street, sporting acres of neon and a family-friendly vibe. Hoofing eight blocks south, she entered Herald Square, where she and Jenn roamed the Macy’s cosmetics counters and sprinted by ladies in lab coats spraying perfume. Another subway whisked her to Jenn’s favorite neighborhood, Greenwich Village, with its eclectic mix of cafés, pastry shops, and upscale boutiques. She could almost imagine living on one of those shady streets where history oozed from four-story brownstones. Compared to Jenn’s neighborhood, the Village felt homey.