She darted across the street before the light changed. She jogged down the metal subway stairs, the familiar dank smell of ammonia mixed with sweat greeting her. The countdown clock showed her the 1 train was arriving. She slid her MetroCard through the turnstile and ran down the next set of stairs just in time to squeeze onto a train. She reached around the woman in front of her to hold onto a pole, trying not to touch her, to maintain an inch of physical distance. There were definite benefits to working late and taking a car home on the client. A couple smooshed in behind her. The man had his arm tightly around the woman, holding her balanced against the jerking of the train. Audrey averted her glance and focused on the subway posters. One had a picture of a couple on a beach. That was the opposite of her summer so far, working nights and weekends. But romance suddenly seemed possible—not this summer, not before she made partner, but maybe after. Tim had reached out to hug her at the end of their Popflicks pitch, out in the hallway, under the portraits of the founding partners. But he’d stepped back as if electrocuted by that professional work-colleague boundary. Still, it was something, and it made her smile as the train pulled into her stop.

She pushed through the subway turnstile at 72nd Street. She passed by the Gray’s Papaya with its slogans in bright red letters on its yellow façade and turned the corner to walk down the brownstone-lined block. Birds chirped; a teenager walked their golden retriever up ahead. Trees grew within small, fenced-off, neighbor-planted flower beds, with different variations of “Don’t let your dog pee on me” signs.

She reached the corner Korean grocery store and admired the sea of pink roses, sunflowers, and hyacinths for sale. The bright yellow sunflowers stood especially tall outside. Eve would like those. Audrey picked out a bunch and paid the man at the makeshift counter at the end of the row of flowers.

Walking away, she slid her wallet back into her purse just as her phone rang. Winnie. Fumbling to check it with her one free hand, she bumped into a hard body and dropped her phone.

The owner of said hard body was tall with wavy brown hair and chiseled cheekbones, and he was carrying a case of beer. His fitted, worn gray t-shirt showed off his lean muscular frame.

“Sorry, I was distracted.” She blushed as she bent to pick up her phone, trying to do so gracefully in a pencil skirt and heels while holding the long-stemmed sunflowers.

“No worries,” he said, turning away from her. “I was trying to make the light.” The light glowed red.