“Yes. Okay, I’ll get ready and go right away. It won’t take me long, twenty minutes, half an hour tops.”

“Take your time,” he says. “I want you to enjoy being in the city.” When I come out of the shower, he’s back in bed, his eyes closed, asleep or pretending to be. I close the door quietly. Out in the hall, two maids chat in Spanish beside their cart, each with one hand on her hip. It doesn’t appear that many other guests are up yet; papers lie at all of the doors. I punch the button for the elevator, then stand there, thinking. Something’s wrong. I’m the one who slept badly. I awakened many times, at least five or six, and every time I did, he was sleeping soundly. Maybe he just wants some time alone. It occurs to me to think that it’s because he regrets what happened between the two of us. But I know he doesn’t. I know it.

• • •

The bagel shop is crowded; I stand at the end of a long line, and almost immediately three more people join it. I can feel the man behind me watching me. And then he clears his throat and says, “Nice morning.”

“Yes,” I say, turning slightly, smiling.

“You live here?” he asks.

“Ashton,” I say, turning around fully. He’s a pleasant-looking sort: nice brown hair, brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. About my age, well dressed in khaki pants and a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled up. In good shape. A nice smile, too—good teeth. “I’m just staying in the city for the weekend,” I tell him.

He steps up beside me. “I live here. Right on this street, I come here every morning. Need a bagel recommendation?”

“Well …”

“The ‘everything’ bagel’s good,” he says. “Everything really is in there.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, they’re all good, really.” He scans the room, spots a table where two people are leaving. “Hey,” he says. “Want to hold my place in line, and I’ll get us a table?”

“Oh, I … I’ll hold your place. But I’m not staying. I’m bringing breakfast back to the hotel.”

“Aw, don’t do that. Come and sit with me.”

“No, I mean … I’m with someone. At the hotel. He stayed there.”

“Oh!” The man blushes. Endearingly, really. “I’m sorry, I just assumed—”

“It’s all right,” I say. “I will hold your place, though, if you want to grab that table.”

“No, I just thought if you wanted … You seem like you’d be nice to talk to.”

“Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”