Eleanor came over and dragged me into a corner for a thirty-minute chat with some investors well-known in the environmental space. I tried to stay focused on our conversation while also watching Franny out of the corner of my eye: Franny sipping a drink, and then another. Franny grabbing two portobello sliders and handing one to Lola with a smile. Franny chatting with Tyler and nodding along thoughtfully as Tyler pointed to different pieces in the giant floral arrangement on the new reception desk. Franny.

*  *  *

An hour later, she was next to me, chatting with the reporter from Vogue. “You two have an amazing origin story,” the reporter, a woman named Alicia, with short pink hair, said into her iPhone. “Could you tell us how you met?”

“Hayes helped me out of a sticky situation on the subway,” Franny said, looking up at me with a smile. “So it was only natural that I return the favor.”

“Let’s just say we bumped into each other,” I said, beaming. Every move I made felt too big, too obvious, too clear about the fact that Franny occupied a permanent home in my brain. I’d tried to rein it in for so long, out of not wanting to look foolish, or silly, or too in my feelings for her. But now that’s exactly where I wanted to be. I wanted to be obvious, to make it clear, not just to Franny, or myself, but to the world: I liked her.

“Sure.” Franny nodded. “I like that way better.”

“And when we lost our original interior designer at the last minute, Franny seemed like a natural fit. She came in and whipped this place into shape in no time.”

“Honestly, this was a dream space to work on. I mean, look at it.” Franny waved a hand around, and the reporter’s eyes followed.

“And Hayes and Eleanor made it easy.” She said this with a playful pat on my back, and when she released her hand I wanted to grab it and put it back. Unlike our last interview together, this felt easy. Fun. We’d gone from being totally out of sync to feeling completely in tune. I’d never felt like this with another person before, and I wasn’t ready to let it go.

Later, Eleanor and I stood by the windows, surveying the scene. “We should try to get a photo with Franny in it too.” Eleanor’s voice was in my ear as she waved at the Vanity Fair photographer, gesturing them toward us.

“Yeah, I was just thinking we should grab her.”

“Mmm, yeah.” She nodded. “That must be why you keep looking over there at her.”

Eleanor narrowed her glance at me, and it was knowing and sharp. Before I could come back with something smart, the photographer was upon us, shuffling us over into better light.