“You seem like you’re doing fine with me.”

I smile. “That’s different.” The bus stops and I glance around. We’re in the shopping district on Fillmore. “Are you hungry?”

He smiles. “I could eat. And I know exactly where we should go.”

“Ta da!” He holds two hands up to the sign above the sidewalk, a black painted metal placard that has letters cut out in all caps. Jane, it reads.

I laugh. “Perfect.”

We eat sandwiches. I get turkey with brie and Alex gets a club with avocado aioli and we split them, each taking half.

“You love stealing my food, even when you aren’t hungry.”

His expression turns quizzical. “How did you know that about me? I’m a terrible food thief. It’s not one of my finer qualities.”

I shrug. “Must be intuition.”

After lunch, we walk up Fillmore, passing seafood restaurants and peering in the windows of upscale boutiques with displays of headless white mannequins in sleek European styles. The street is lined with trees, the breeze tickling the leaves above us. I shiver and Alex steps closer. We have to stop at one point when we find a bathroom because I’ve been holding it for three blocks.

When I emerge a few moments later, I think I’ve lost Alex, because he’s not among the random people meandering the Fillmore early on a Monday morning. I start walking back toward the bus stop to see if he’s waiting there, but then halt in my tracks.

He’s walking out of Athleta.

“Here.” He hands me a black zip-up hoodie that probably cost more than my psychic reading. “For the ride back. So we don’t get chilly.”

“You didn’t have to,” I say, but I take the garment anyway. He bought me a sweater. I was cold and he bought me a sweater. I guess I shouldn’t have expected any less from Alex.

His smile is lopsided. “I wanted to.”

I meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

His smile grows. “Shall we?” he asks, motioning toward the bus stop.

We stay on the bus all the way over the Golden Gate Bridge, the air colder and more aggressive than it was within the city. I lean my head back, gazing up at the burnished red arches, the fog threading its way through the cables, the tower disappearing into the mist above us. We sail underneath the monolithic structure and Alex leans his head next to mine.

On the other side, the bus veers off the main road and eventually stops to turn around at Vista Point.

We have about twenty minutes to look around before the bus leaves again, so we get off to stretch our legs.