“Excuse me,” I shouted, but this being New York, no one turned around. “Hey!” I said, jogging a few steps to tap the stranger on the shoulder. I’d moved so quickly I hadn’t had a chance to even process the man’s shape, the long body, the thick hair. But the second I laid a hand on him, I knew, even before he turned around.

It was Hayes.

He stopped so abruptly that I was still in motion, and I lurched into his chest, my head smacking against his shoulder and my right foot stomping hard on his shoe.

“Ow,” he grumbled, taking a step back, his hand on my elbow. “Ma’am, are you o— Oh my god.”

He tilted his head so he could see my face under my hat. “Franny?”

“You dropped some money,” were the first words out of my mouth as I opened my palm.

“What are you doing here?” he asked incredulously.

“I saw you on TV,” I explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I went to Rockefeller Center to find you.”

“But we’re in Grand Central,” he said, his brows still quizzical, face perplexed.

“I know. I couldn’t find you, so I’m on my way home. But here you are.” We stood there for a second, still. “Wait,” I said, something dawning on me. “‘Ma’am’? Do I look that old?”

He laughed, as if he couldn’t believe what I was saying. “I was trying to be polite—you startled me.”

“How do you think I feel? I was minding my business eating when you came on a TV in the bagel shop!”

It was then that I realized his hand was still on my arm, and so I stepped closer to him, desperate to breathe him in.

“Franny,” he said, cupping my face with his free hand. “Do you want to go back and finish your bagel?”

His mouth shifted into a playful smirk, and I smacked him in the shoulder and then let my hand move slowly down his chest. “No, you jerk. I just want to be here, with you.”

He smiled at this, and then his long arms were around me, pressing me into him, warm and steady, his chin resting atop my head. I reached my arms around him and held on.

“I like your jacket,” I muttered into his chest. “Gucci?” I joked.

“No, something new. Birch and Fole.”

It didn’t ring a bell. “What’s that?” I asked, pulling away to look at him.

“A sustainable and gender-inclusive clothing company focusing on ethical practices,” he said, planting a kiss on the top of my head. “I thought it sounded cool.”

“Wow, I never thought I’d see the day you weren’t in some bespoke designer suit.

“Well, I met this woman”—Hayes’s voice was soft and low—“and I’m trying to impress her.”