“But it’s an election year, so I’m pretty busy anyway. I’ll probably download the apps again when it’s over. I mean, I barely even have time for hobbies right now.”

The words washed over her as she said them, the heavy truth they contained: she could barely remember the last time she did something that qualified as a hobby. Her mind filtered through all the things she used to do that were totally disconnected from work, wondering when enjoying herself fell so low on her list of priorities.

“God, what even are hobbies?” he asked, echoing her own thoughts.

She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you go upstate to race your beloved Audis?”

“Ah.” He chuckled “I do, occasionally, I guess you’re right. But, hey, you run.”

“Running is not a hobby. It’s a reluctant necessity.”

They both laughed, and she wondered what her one real hobby might be, if she had the disposable income to do whatever she wanted.

“But yeah, I’ve sworn off the apps forever,” he said, returning to their previous topic of conversation. “I’d rather die alone than have another two-week text exchange that goes nowhere.”

A shiver of relief rippled down her body. “Better to be alone than with the wrong person,” she said, repeating what she often told her mother.

“Tell me about it.”

“But I’m sure,” she started, tearing at a piece of bread, “I’m sure you do just fine without them? The apps?”

Her heart raced at her own words, simultaneously curious and terrified at the prospect of hearing him detail his dating life.

“I get a lot of interest,” he answered, a simple statement of fact. And it would have been ridiculous to pretend otherwise: handsome, wealthy, and almost frighteningly put together, he would be at the very top tier of New York City’s dating scene. “But the actual dates…”

“Yeah?” she asked, breathless with nerves.

“Just… dating is one thing, connecting is another.” He sipped his water before setting it down again, turning the glass in the diffused sunlight. “I think the women I take out like me more on paper than in reality.”

His eyes flicked upward to meet hers and she scrambled for something to say, something that would emphasize his desirability—to other women, of course, certainly not to her.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone soon,” she said, offering a diplomatic smile. “You have so much to offer.” The compliment sounded supremely awkward, not unlike what a guidance counselor might say to a promising student.

He appraised her silently, raising his eyebrow the tiniest bit before running his thumb along his lower lip and giving her a subtle nod. Her eyes followed his every movement, darting between his long, tan fingers and his full lips.