In a New York Minute(96)

“I like your jacket,” I muttered into his chest. “Gucci?” I joked.

“No, something new. Birch and Fole.”

It didn’t ring a bell. “What’s that?” I asked, pulling away to look at him.

“A sustainable and gender-inclusive clothing company focusing on ethical practices,” he said, planting a kiss on the top of my head. “I thought it sounded cool.”

“Wow, I never thought I’d see the day you weren’t in some bespoke designer suit.

“Well, I met this woman”—Hayes’s voice was soft and low—“and I’m trying to impress her.”

“I bet she likes you no matter what you wear,” I said, tilting my head up to smile at him.

“Well, that’s good, because she’s going to be seeing a lot of him, and he mostly likes to wear old sweats from college.”

“What if she likes him best when he’s naked?” I asked, enjoying this game we were playing.

“I think they can work something out,” he said with a nod of his head.

“Good,” I said.

I reached a hand to his face and rubbed my thumb against the soft stubble of his cheek. He leaned forward and kissed me softly, letting his teeth graze the edge of my lips.

“Hayes,” I murmured as I shifted to kiss his face, then his neck.

“Yeah?” He slid his arms back around my waist.

I pulled back and looked at him. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Franny.”

“What do we do now?” I asked.

“I don’t have any plans,” he said, reaching for and finding my hand, giving it a squeeze. “Are you headed back to Brooklyn?” Hayes asked, his eyes studying me.

I nodded. “Will you come with me?” I said. “Is that weird to ask?”

He shook his head, his face so serious it melted my heart. “It’s not weird at all.”

We walked down the steps to the subway, swiping our MetroCards through the turnstile. “A very sweet old man gave me his MetroCard this morning so I could come find you,” I said as I put it back in my pocket. “Maybe it’s my good-luck charm.”

The platform was quiet, the weekend rush yet to pick up. Nearby, a few people milled about, peeking down the tracks waiting for the train. In the distance, a saxophone wailed. It was New York in its purest form, unassuming and peaceful and wide-awake.

“I’ve replayed the moment we met so many times,” he said, his thumb making small circles on the top of my hand. “I would have acted differently if I could go back and do it again.”

“Like how?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“I would have introduced myself, for starters,” he said. “I thought you were so pretty.”

“I thought you were”—I shrugged, made a bored face—“just okay. But I did give you the nickname Hot Suit behind your back.”

He laughed and pulled me close to him, nipping me playfully on the neck. “I’ve missed you so much,” he said, lips pressed against my skin.

“I know I told you last night,” I replied, “but I’ll say it again: I’m sorry I pulled away, and I’m sorry I stopped talking to you.”

He leaned back and lifted a hand to my chin, tilting my head so our eyes met. “But you didn’t. I found your note in my pocket, after things ended between us. It was exactly what I needed to hear from you, at the exact right time.”

The downtown train interrupted us, roaring past until it screeched to a stop. We got on together, stepping through the doors and sitting. The car was almost entirely empty.

“I think about you every time I get on the subway. About the day we met. And everything after.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and I leaned into him, so solid and warm.

“Let’s try it again,” I said, smiling at the idea blooming in my head.

“What do you mean?” He gave me a skeptical look, one I’d grown to know and love. It was the look he made when his brain was working, analyzing, searching for logic. It was so Hayes it made my heart ache with love for him, and all the ways he was exactly, perfectly, himself.

“Meeting each other.” I ran my hand down his thigh, giving it a squeeze. “Let’s get it right this time.”

Hayes laughed as he ran a hand through his hair. “Okay.”

“Franny Doyle,” I said. I stretched out my hand, and Hayes shook it. “I just got laid off, and I’m freaking out, and I think you are very handsome, even though I won’t be able to admit it for a long time.”

“Hayes Montgomery the Third. Though I leave out ‘the Third,’ because it’s pretentious and embarrassing. I find you charming and gorgeous, which I also find infuriating, because I like being in control of my emotions, and everything else for that matter.”

“Pleased to meet you.” We kept our hands locked together even though we’d stopped shaking. “We should hang out sometime. What are you doing next week?”

Hayes paused, the smile on his face shrinking slightly. “Actually”—he held my gaze with his—“I was thinking about going to Italy.”

“Wait, what?”

“Remember the silent auction, at the natural history museum? The Italian vacation you kept eyeing?”