“Hello,” I said as my stomach gave a weird rumble. “Ready to start pouring in the soil?” I gestured over to the corner where two boxes were now fully built. “We just need to line them, and then they’re good to go.”

He nodded. “I was going to get some food delivered. Can I interest you in anything?”

His gaze was unreadable, set in that steady, motionless poker face, but then it shifted into a full-on smile, doing that lusty thing again to my body. His mouth was so lovely, and every time he smiled at me I imagined what his lips would feel like against my own.

“I’m so hungry I would literally eat some of this dirt right now,” I said, clutching my stomach.

“Well, you definitely don’t need to do that. I can pull the menu up on my phone.”

I shook my head at him. “I’ll just have whatever you’re getting.”

“You don’t want to look?” he said, but again, I shook my head.

“Surprise me,” I said. “I want to get back to work. I’m serious—I’ll eat anything.” I offered him a smile, and shockingly, he didn’t argue.

We’d just finished pressing the radish and carrot seeds into the soil when his phone dinged on the newly installed table. “Thank god,” he moaned, and then bolted for the door. Minutes later, he returned with a white plastic bag stacked with containers.

“Surprise,” he said, his voice playful.

I wiped my hands on my overalls and walked over to where he was placing everything out neatly in a row on the new table. Two giant paper containers, ketchup packets, napkins. Sliding onto the bench next to him, I cracked open the corner of a container. “No way,” I said as the scent of steaming hot, greasy French fries wafted up into my face. They were piled next to the biggest, crispiest-looking grilled cheese I’d ever seen. Perfection. “I thought you didn’t eat, like, anything bad for you.”

He shrugged. “I was having a craving.”

“I’m always craving a grilled cheese, so thank you,” I said, digging in. We ate in silence for a bit, and as it hit seven, the solar lights I’d hung sparked on, and suddenly our little rooftop was bathed in an otherworldly glow. I lifted my face to look up, and as I did, Hayes did the same, smiling.

“This really is the perfect meal for this view,” I said, squeezing two packets of ketchup all over my fries.

His brow furrowed. “Would you have preferred something else?” he asked, clearly concerned.

“No,” I assured him. “I’m being serious. A diner grilled-cheese sandwich and fries doesn’t get nearly as much NYC cred as a bagel or pizza, but it’s New York to the core.”

“Pizza is the best, though, right? We both agree?”