She hadn’t realized she’d increased her speed until a red light stopped her and she saw that Eric was half a block behind her.

“Damn, Delia,” he said. “Though what better way to finish than with a sprint.” He pointed across the street. “We’re here.”

The light turned green, and once again he took her hand.

Soft and smooth like Lucy’s comforter, which Delia had secretly napped under once—okay, twice. As they crossed the street, Delia seemed to let go of everything but the feel of his hand and . . . Oh no, the street’s not wide enough and don’t let go and . . . he let go.

They kept moving, but now through a park that seemed to appear out of nowhere in the middle of an area that had become increasingly residential, with three-story homes nestled in among more squat ones made of concrete. Though it was dark, Delia’s fears of being alone in the city were less than she’d imagined, thanks to the abundance of streetlights, the groups of people walking along the paths, but, mostly, thanks to Eric.

The comfort of the grass and trees now mixed in gave the neighborhood a charm she’d have almost said was worth the climb. Then Eric stopped walking and turned around. She did the same.

“Oh, wow,” Delia whispered.

Directly across from them was a row of tall Victorian houses with pitched roofs and scalloped trim across the front like loops of icing. Up a flight of stairs from the street, fairy-tale-like arched doorways adorned each house. Along the sidewalk stood short trees with cotton ball puffs of greenery atop a single, thin trunk. Lights glowed in some of the windows, casting yellow hues on the exteriors, each painted a different color, from baby blue to deep red to pink and more. And beyond the row of homes, brightly lit squares shined out of windows and from tops of skyscrapers soaring into the dark of the night, the skyline of the city stretching before them.

“That climb was so worth it.” Delia stepped forward, as if she could get close enough to not just see what was before her but become a part of it.

Eric moved behind her, holding his phone in front of them both. The image on his screen was of the same houses in the daytime, and the rainbow of colors brightened the photo even more than the sun.

“Painted ladies, they’re called,” he said. “One of the must-see sights in the city.”

“One of?” Delia said. “What could be better than this?”

Eric’s hand brushed her shoulder as he pocketed his phone, and a spark of electricity suggested the answer to her question.

Just as she was about to turn to face him, a bus came roaring down the street, a voice calling from the window even louder than the roar of the engine.