We were standing at the crosswalk on Sixty-Fifth Street, about to head into the meadow, when a bolt of blond dashed by us. She stopped a few feet away and whipped her head around. She jogged back toward us, waving both hands excitedly.

“Oh boy,” I heard Lola say quietly. We were standing face-to-face with Serena, the woman I’d met at Hayes’s office. The woman he was “spending time with.”

“Franny!” she exclaimed. She was now directly in front of us, in black running shorts and a cropped tank top, the only thing someone could wear on this disgustingly hot day while exercising. “Serena,” she said, pointing at her chest, her smile so big it could block the sun. “I’m dating Hayes?”

Cleo let out a small “Whoa” under her breath as my heart raced, rattling around so loudly I was sure the entire city could hear it over the din of traffic and sirens that surrounded us.

“Hi,” I said with a polite nod. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“I knew it was you! How’s the office coming along?” She said this with a smile on her face while jogging in place.

“Okay,” I said, still trying to process what was happening. “It’s almost done.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see it,” she said, raising a hand to her brow, which seemed to have less sweat on it than mine, despite the fact that she was the one out for a run. “Maybe we can chat sometime? I’ve been thinking of redesigning my place.”

“Sure,” I said. “Hayes has my info.” I smiled, putting on my professional-Franny face.

“Wonderful!” She was still bouncing on her toes. “Okay, off I go.”

“Okay!” I said, matching the pep in her voice, giving her a wave as she took off again.

“She’s even hotter in person,” Lola said admiringly.

I gave her a look, and she shrugged back. “What? She is. And she’s the worst kind of hot person too.”

“Oh yeah?” I said. “What kind is that?”

“A nice one,” Lola said, like she was revealing some sort of universal truth. “She’s apparently genuinely great.”

Once we’d found a free patch of grass and settled onto Cleo’s blanket, Lola whipped out her phone and pulled up Serena’s Instagram page. Over a hundred thousand people were following her every move, which included a video of her running that must have been taken sometime today.

Cleo peeked at it and then handed it to me. “I’ve never even heard of her,” she said, before grabbing some salami and taking a bite.

Lola gave her a look. “Clee, I love you, but your pop-culture knowledge is not the most impressive.”

“Hey!” Cleo protested.

“Name five microinfluencers,” Lola countered, and Cleo gave a resigned laugh.

“Okay, fine,” she said. “You’re right.”