It was 5:30 p.m., and the sun was still high in the sky. My mind should have been focused elsewhere. I was supposed to head out to Seattle in a few days, for a big pitch meeting with possible investors. We needed them on board to grow the company, and Eleanor, salesperson extraordinaire, was staying behind in New York on her doctor’s orders. It was on me to nail the pitch and get them excited about working with us. Plus, we’d gone ahead and planned a bunch of walk-throughs of possible office spaces, along with meetings with analysts, the first people we’d hire to add to our new team.

But despite all the craziness at work, my thoughts were only filled with Franny. It had been five days since she’d ended things before I’d even had a chance to ask her out, six since she kissed me in the middle of the sidewalk, and approximately 98 percent of those waking hours I’d spent replaying our interactions in my head, reimagining the soft curve of her back under my palm, the brush of her hair against my chin, the warmth of her hand wrapped in mine.

I’d been so nervous on the phone with her that day that I hadn’t been able to get out the words I wanted to say: I like you. I’m glad you kissed me. I want to do it again and again and again. Maybe my silence had pushed her away. Or maybe she didn’t want anything to do with me romantically.

Either way, it was all-consuming, this urge to just lay eyes on her again, rewind things to the beginning, start all over, before the gala, and the kiss. I would go right back to that moment she walked into my subway car. I would steer her away from the door so her dress didn’t rip. I would give her my number, invite her to a proper meal out.

But I also wanted to respect Franny’s wishes. She was just starting her business; she had important things to focus on. I got it. And maybe her kiss was just an in-the-moment thing, the mix of alcohol, and the party, and the energy of the night.

Yet I still hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, and the excitement I felt that I’d get to see her tonight was causing my heart to race. I still wanted to bask in her light, in whatever way I could get it. Perhaps that made me greedy, but I’d rather have a little bit of Franny as opposed to none at all.

Knowing I’d see her soon made me move quickly, and I zigzagged my way across the West Village and SoHo at a clip until I arrived in front of the small Mexican restaurant Perrine had invited me to for this “getting-to-know-each-other” dinner.