She nodded toward the couch, moving first to slide over the fireplace screen, and then settled into a corner, curling her legs under her and grabbing the remote off the table by the bay window. I followed, planting myself on the other side of the sofa, putting our drinks and popcorn on top of a pile of Italian cookbooks that sat stacked on the floor in front of the couch. Her smart TV clicked on, and she tapped the remote with purpose until she found what she was looking for. “Okay, I’m gonna give you one last chance,” she said, fixing her gaze on me. “Tell me you’ve seen Moonstruck.”

“Francesca Doyle,” I said, “forgive me. But I have not.”

“And here you had the audacity to lecture me on my heritage while never having seen what is possibly the greatest New York love story of all time? I am sincerely offended.”

“I thought SubwayQTs was the greatest New York love story of all time.” I said it as a joke, but as the words left my mouth they felt anything but funny. They were honest and true.

“We’re a close second,” she said with a smile, running a hand through her curls. “Do you have to be up early tomorrow morning?” she asked, pointing the remote at me.

I shook my head. I was supposed to meet Perrine for a run at seven, but I had nixed that via text when Franny had taken a moment to lean over on the bridge and gaze toward the East River. It wasn’t that I’d known the night would end up here, with me on her couch, trying not to show how nervous I was. But something inside me had felt hopeful that the night would just go on forever. And so I canceled plans I would never normally cancel simply because of that feeling. Because of maybe. Because of what if. Because there was something so possible about this night.

“Good,” she said. “We’re watching Moonstruck.”

“Moonstruck,” I said, my mind scrambling to place exactly which movie this was. “With Cher?”

“Yes, with Cher. What other Moonstruck is there?” She reached for a handful of popcorn and tossed a piece in my direction.

“Hey!” I swatted her away defensively. “I’m game. But what am I missing here?”

Franny’s eyes narrowed. “Hayes…”

“What!” I said with a laugh.

“This is not only the most important representation of Italian Americans on film, but it takes place on this very street.”

“Cranberry Street.”

“Oh my god, yes, Cranberry Street. Why are you so clueless sometimes?”