I shrugged. “Former dancer.”

“Former?” I nodded, not wanting to go into it. “And now you act.”

“I do.” Suddenly, anxiety about making it to the play on time flooded back in. “We’re still good on time, right?”

Cary pulled out his phone and turned it so I could see the time. “More than. Want me to set a second alarm?” I could tell he was kidding, but it actually didn’t sound like a bad idea to me. I was about to suggest it when his phone rang again. “Same number as before,” he said, shaking his head. “They’re being persistent tonight.”

“Maybe block that number?”

“Good call.” He pressed a button on his phone and the ringing stopped. He dropped his phone back into his pocket and tipped his head toward the nearest storefront. “So that’s where I work.”

I looked at it, and my eyes widened. MAVERICK CLEANERS was written on the awning in a font that looked familiar. There were little wings on the side of it, like the Top Gun logo.…

I turned back to Cary, suddenly putting it together—why his outfit had been ringing a bell all night. “No. Way.”

Cary grinned and unzipped his jacket—and I could see that he was wearing a white T-shirt with his jeans, with a pair of aviators tucked over the top, to complete the look with the brown bomber jacket. “Yeah. The owner came over to the States in the eighties and got very into Tom Cruise movies. But this one was his favorite.”

“So he makes everyone dress like off-duty fighter pilots?”

“What do you mean?” Cary asked, his eyes wide and innocent. “This is just what I like to wear. What’s wrong with it?”

For a moment, I believed him—but then he broke, and started laughing. “You almost got me.”

“He thinks that it helps to have a gimmick,” Cary said with a shrug.

“I mean,” I said, gesturing to his outfit, “I will certainly never forget this. So it’s working on me.”

Cary laughed and held the door for Maverick Cleaners open for me, and I stepped inside to a small, overheated space. “Welcome,” a woman behind the counter, who looked like she was in her thirties, said before she saw Cary.

“You made it,” she said, shaking her head and looking up at the clock on the wall. It was shaped like a man’s dress shirt, with two tails of a tie making up the clock’s arms. She raised an eyebrow at me. “You got laundry to drop off, doll?”

“No,” I said, then took a breath, trying to think how to explain what exactly I was doing there.

“That’s my friend Kat,” Cary said, and I smiled involuntarily, even though I had a feeling he’d just called me that because saying girl I just met tonight because she got locked out of my uncle’s apartment building and who I bought bodega snacks for was pretty inefficient. “She’s going to help me out.”