The air is heavy with moisture. I forgot to grab a jacket. My hand clenches on the handle of my briefcase. Random people pass me on the sidewalk. A couple holding hands. A man jogging. A group of teenagers laughing. Are they laughing at me? Probably. I’m standing on the sidewalk alone, out of it, clothing ripped. I can’t even imagine what I might look like right now.

Alex comes jogging back, holding up a safety pin. “Here.”

I take it, our fingers brushing, eyes locking for a heated split second.

Alex wouldn’t be greedy in bed, like Mark. He would never use anyone for an escape. Oh no. I bet when Alex takes a woman to bed, he takes his time and makes sure everyone is satisfied.

Not that I’ll ever know.

The acidic taste of regret rises in my throat.

Setting my briefcase on the ground, I twist to work on my shirt.

“So, how did the meeting go?” he asks.

I pinch the fabric together with one hand and slip the safety pin in. “Not great.”

“Oh no. I was going to tease you about the hard-on comment, but now I’d feel like a dick.”

He smiles, waiting for me to respond to the joke, but it’s not in me.

“Are you all right? Are you not feeling well, is that why you’re leaving? You seem a little . . . distracted.” He glances back at the building behind us. “You never take a day off.”

“I’m fine. I—”

I want to tell him. The words are poised at the tip of my tongue, ready to dive into the open. I want comfort. I want reassurance it will all be okay.

But I can’t tell him. I’m itchy with embarrassment. Everything is all wrong.

I want to run away and run into his arms all at the same time. I need to get out of here.

Finished with the safety pin, I pick up my briefcase. “I’ve got to go.”

“Do you need a ride somewhere?”

“No. I’m fine. Thanks though. Bye, Alex.”

Goodbye forever, an overly dramatic voice in my head intones.

Wild laughter threatens to erupt out of my mouth, but I choke it down and keep walking. Maybe I should be crying. I mean, everything I’ve been working for is over in a blink, but it’s like it’s too overwhelming to process.

I don’t know where to go. Back to my empty apartment? I don’t think so. I pass by the Embarcadero train station and keep walking.

I barely remember crossing Broadway, but I end up in North Beach down by the piers, a wide stretch of sidewalk punctuated every hundred feet or so by wooden docks and a variety of stores and restaurants.

I don’t know what to do with myself. I have no one to talk to.

Even if I did, my phone is broken.

My phone.