Whoosh. A soccer ball from the game nearby rolled right next to them. Jake stood and kicked the ball back. And when he sat, talking about his soccer league, the mood was lighter. The rest of the afternoon flew by. They biked at a comfortable pace, chatting companionably and laughing—with hints of flirtation. They ate dinner at a café in Inwood, at the top of Manhattan, overlooking the river. Jake texted his dog walker to ask him to walk Biscuit.

“What are you doing in the city on a summer weekend? I thought you’d be in the Hamptons or somewhere else.” Audrey finished her dinner and sat back.

“I covered a concert last night, so it was a late night. And I promised my sister I’d babysit tomorrow so she could go out on a brunch date with her friends. And you—how are you out on a Saturday?”

That was a good question, and she bit her lip as she contemplated how honest to be. “I was planning to go into the office, but this seemed like a better option.” She smiled ruefully at Jake.

He grinned. “Then let’s make your playing hooky count. Let’s check out a jazz show in Harlem after dinner. We could go to Bob’s Place or the Smoke Jazz Club. Have you been to either?”

“No, but I’m up for anything. I’m not exactly dressed for it.”

“Well, neither am I, but it’s a casual place. We’ll be fine. Let’s go to Bob’s—it’s a classic. Bob’s started as a speakeasy in 1920. That whole area was known as swing street because of the number of speakeasys there.”

“That’s so cool. I’ve always wanted to go to a speakeasy. Do you cover jazz artists?”

“No, I prefer not to work on my weekends, if I can help it, especially since I worked last night. I just like jazz. I’ll call to make sure we can get in.”

“What music do you cover?”

“Alternative pop.” He called Bob’s as Audrey unlocked her bike.

Their headlights shone straight ahead as they cycled down the bike path in silence in the deepening dark. Pools of luminescence from the street lamps punctuated the murkiness. Across the Hudson River, they could see the lights of New Jersey. The air was cooler, but not cold.

At 145th Street, they headed east and left the park, riding single file down the brownstone-lined streets until they reached Bob’s Place.

They locked up their bikes. A man wearing a jaunty fedora was sitting on the stoop in front of the lamppost.

Jake said, “Lenny here is like the neighborhood watchman. Can you look after our bikes, Lenny?” He handed a five-dollar bill to the man on the stoop.

Lenny nodded. “You got it.”

“I’ve left my bike here before, so it’ll be okay.”