“It’s been so long,” he said, and then winced when he was needled by an elbow he was becoming very familiar with. “Oh. Sylvie, this is my neighbor Cat. Cat, this is my friend Sylvie. We grew up together in Sleepy Hollow.”

“Old friends!” Cat exclaimed happily, looking back and forth between the two of them. “That’s so cool. I’m...not really in touch with anyone I grew up with, except for my sisters.”

Sylvie gave Quentin a chagrined smile. “I wouldn’t exactly say we were friends.”

It was true. Quentin would never have said it aloud to her, but for some reason he and Sylvie had never quite clicked. She’d always been nervous and quiet around him. He opened his mouth, unsure of what to say next, when Sylvie cut him off.

“I always had way too big of a crush on Quentin to be his friend.”

His mouth clapped closed with a hollow thunk. He stared at Sylvie. “Oh. I—Really?”

He wasn’t sure why but something about his delivery made both women laugh.

“Really,” she said with a smile. She drummed her hands on the bar top. “All right, what can I get you guys?”

They ordered and Sylvie brought their drinks with a wink before moving off to help other customers.

“Wow,” Cat said after a second. Quentin could feel her eyes on the side of his face.

“What?” he asked, turning toward her as he sipped his beer.

“I think she short-circuited you.”

“I mean...” Quentin said as he flattened his hair yet again. He searched for something to say. Something witty. Something un-dorky.

He came up with absolutely nothing and that made Cat laugh even more. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you they had a crush on you before?” she asked.

“Um. No.”

Cat’s big brown eyes widened in surprise. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

Again, Quentin was struck dumb. This really wasn’t his night for elocution.

“Ooh!” Cat said, tugging at his elbow. “I think the show is starting. We can come back afterward so you can get lover girl’s digits.”

There was too much there to respond to, so Quentin just let himself get tugged along into the back room of the bar.

Two hours later he and Cat were walking home side by side. They’d stopped by the bar to say goodbye on their way out and now Sylvie’s phone number tingled Quentin’s fingertips where he touched the napkin in his pocket. But it wasn’t Sylvie he was thinking about as they crossed a bridge over the Gowanus Canal, the water an inky, noxious stripe below them. It was the woman walking beside him that drew his thoughts.

Cat reminded him of clementines in the height of their season. The brightest, zingiest fruit he could think of. He didn’t want to simplify her down into just her positive attributes. Of course she was—like all people—a complicated amalgamation of hidden puzzle pieces and gardens of melancholia, he was sure of it. But her general vibe was phosphorescent, tart, addictive, a little overwhelming.