Chambers Street is crowded with vendor tables but not many people yet. The phone store and clothing store with back-to-school sale signs soldier on, not yet joining the other boarded-up stores on this block. And then Michael’s craft store. The lure is strong. Not that I need any more crafting supplies, but it seems a waste to be in the neighborhood and not check out its sale selection. But I resist. I want to be first to the brunch battlefield, able to plan my strategy, as advised in The Art of War. Not that I’ve read it, just The Art of War for Writers.

My email pings. I’m taking a hodge-podge of online writing courses while I write my second novel, as I query my first novel Caper Crush, and it’s a comment from my teacher on my latest online assignment: “You’re still holding back, playing it safe. You need to scrape your emotions raw in your writing.”

I don’t think so. I felt naked enough writing that scene. And I’m not sure how much of me I want to expose for public consumption.

Up ahead, Rory is leaning against a streetlight, reading a book. One lock of his brown wavy hair has fallen onto his face, and he pushes it away to join the rest of his unruly mop of hair. He could be modeling menswear, except that the cover of the book he’s holding is bright pink and yellow. A romcom book I recommended. He wanted to read other books in my genre so he could compare my draft manuscript to the competition, so I gave him a list of my favorites. He looks up, and our glances catch.

“Like your hat, Penelope. Suits you.” Rory kisses me on the cheek.

We push open the door to The Barn. Bells jingle and the buttery smell of pancakes welcomes us. The white-washed wood gives the restaurant an old farmhouse vibe. Vintage signs with pictures of black and white cows and bushels of peaches decorate the walls. We stand in line in the small foyer, waiting to be seated.

I’ve been seeing more of Rory lately. We’re friends from college. I briefly had a crush on him then, but he started dating someone else. When he has a girlfriend, we see each other about once every other month. But he broke up with his last girlfriend about two months ago and now he calls me to get together for brunch nearly every Sunday. My best friend and roommate Zelda, who also knows Rory from college, was like: “Well, he obviously enjoys hanging out with you, but you’re solidly in the friend lane with this Sunday brunch thing.” Trust Zelda for the straight talk. It’s not that I thought I was changing lanes and moving to the speeding girlfriend lane. I’m good driving at a controlled sixty-miles-an-hour, and not hazardously heading-for-a-heartbreak on some highway of love.