“Okay, first of all, you want to walk uphill?” He gestures in front of us. “Voluntarily?”

I laugh. “Sure. Exercise is good for you.”

He shakes his head, but he walks with me when I stride up the sidewalk. “Second of all, Karl isn’t pretty. Karl is an old gray-haired man with bushy whiskers who yells at kids to get off his lawn.”

I squint up at the gray mist all around us. “I think that’s actually an accurate description.”

“So, tell me what happened. With the meeting.”

“Oh. Yeah. I got fired.” The words fall out without effort. Huh. I remember when that was difficult to admit. Many, many Mondays ago.

He stops walking. “What?”

I stop a few paces away, turn around to face him, and shrug. “It’s fine.” I’ll be back tomorrow, anyway. If I want.

“You’re really blasé about this.” His eyes search mine and he takes a step closer. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I laugh. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

His eyes narrow. “Did you stop by the edibles place on Mission and eat some gummies before work today? Is that why they fired you?”

I roll my eyes and grab his arm, tugging him along the sidewalk toward the bus stop, moving faster than the morning traffic lurching along the street next to us. “Am I really that different today?”

“Yes. Not that you’re, you know, uptight or anything normally. It’s just, most of the time you seem sort of stressed.”

I open my mouth to respond but he rushes to explain.

“Which makes sense, since I usually see you at work. Everyone is stressed at work. I mean, it’s work.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and tosses me a lopsided smile. The gesture is familiar. He always puts his hands in his pockets when he’s nervous.

I blow out a breath. “I’m not offended. You’re right. I’m normally a wound-up ball of tension. But I guess today I just decided to . . . let go for a minute. You know? Come on, there’s a hop stop up here.”

We stand at the curb, waiting for the red double-decker bus to appear. Tourists stream around us, a family of four waiting a few feet away, a tour group of elderly people lining up behind us.

“Have you done this before?” he asks.

“Once. With my sister.”

It’s a tour bus, but with tickets, you can hop off at any of the stops to look around and then get on the next bus that comes by.

He opens his mouth to ask something but stops when the bus pulls up to the curb.

We let the family and the elderly brigade go ahead of us, and then I take the narrow steps that lead to the top of the bus.

“The top? Are you sure? It’s a little cold.” But he follows me anyway.