He hadn’t realized how anxious he was until he was touching her. The connection was tenuous, but the tension from the scene with his mother began to seep away. When traffic on the narrow walk forced them close, he used it to edge his hand around to the curve of her waist, creating a very different kind of tension. The kind he liked.
New York streets were never empty, but the bustle of rush hour had settled, putting enough space between them and other passersby to give the illusion of privacy.
“Are you hungry? Have you eaten?”
She paused, then said, “I could eat.” As if she knew this needed clarification, she added, “My brother brought home Chinese, but I had just started when you texted.”
He started to say he was sorry, but he wasn’t. “You live with your brother?”
“When he is in town.
