I followed Mateo up the stairs and out of the subway station, then blinked, surprised that the park was right there, just across the street. “God knows what Margaux is doing on the Upper East Side,” he said, shaking his head as he pressed the button for the light to change. He set Brad down on the ground, and he immediately started straining against his leash, darting back and forth, trying to sniff three things at once. “It’s usually impossible to get her out of Brooklyn.”

“That’s where she lives?”

Mateo nodded. “Dumbo. There’s the light.” He started to cross the street as I steeled myself to start walking again. “Stephanie?” he asked, seeing I wasn’t with him.

“Yeah,” I said, hurrying to join him and trying to ignore my current inner monologue of gahhhhhhhhhhh. “It’s actually Stevie.” I had reached my quota of Stephanies for the night. The only person who had ever called me that was my grandmother, give or take the occasional substitute teacher.

“Oh,” he said, holding on to the leash as Brad lunged forward and we made it across the street, and Mateo started walking toward the park entrance. I knew there were streets that cut through the park for cars, but I’d always loved that most of it was just for people. And even though it was night—and cold—the park was bustling, with bikers and runners in cold-weather gear, people pushing strollers, hot dog and pretzel vendors just outside the park entrance. “Sorry about that.”

“No big deal.”

“While we’re doing this,” he said, “it’s actually Matty. I mean, that’s what my friends and family call me.”

“Oh,” I said, embarrassed that I’d been calling him the wrong name all this time. “Got it. Sorry.” I held out my hand. I knew I didn’t deserve a fresh start, but I was hoping he’d give me one. “Nice to meet you, Matty.”

He smiled and we shook. “It’s a pleasure, Stevie.” He nodded ahead of him. “This way.”