It’s a beautiful day today.

It could be the last beautiful day of the fall, and I’m taking advantage of it to spend the day outside. Central Park is lovely this time of year, and even if I don’t have an apartment overlooking the park, it’s even better to be inside the park. Just taking a walk through the many winding paths is a refreshing experience. It’s almost cathartic. Every breath I take feels like I’m expelling toxins from my soul.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’m here because Joel is here.

I’ve been seeing his avatar hovering in the vicinity of the park a lot lately. The fall is winding down, so he and Olive must be taking advantage of the last of the good weather before the depths of winter set in. Two weeks ago, his avatar was in the exact area where a folk music festival was being held. Last weekend, I saw him hovering over the jagged square marked off for the Central Park Zoo. And today he’s here again.

It’s easy to follow him around the park. It’s a big, open expanse of space, but with lots of trees and shrubbery that I can quickly leap behind if need be. I’m getting quite good at tailing him—maybe I can get a job as a private detective.

I don’t know why I’m doing this. Why am I torturing myself by watching Joel with Olive, and analyzing how much he likes her? Obviously, he likes her. He’s out with her all the time, even though they’ve only been dating a short period of time. They hold hands. He stares lovingly into her eyes. He has moved on. I should move on too.

But I can’t shake the feeling that Olive isn’t right for him. She doesn’t seem like a nice person. Granted, I’ve never interacted with her, but I can tell from looking at her. We may never have met, but I know a lot about her. I’ve watched her business—seen how she treats her customers. I’ve seen her go home to an apartment that must cost far more than she can afford. There’s something not right about this girl. Call it gut instinct.

He’s making a mistake. She’s not going to make him happy. Not like I could have.

Today I don’t have to watch him with Olive. He’s out with the boys. They’re tossing around a football in a field, laughing when a throw goes too short or someone fumbles an easy catch. He’s with two of his friends

—Pete and another man I don’t recognize. They’re having a good time. I

remember when he used to come home from a day out with his friends, looking flushed and happy.

My phone buzzes in my purse. I pull it out and see Nonna’s name on the screen. I hesitate for a moment, because I have a bad feeling she’s going to yell at me. But I also worry she’s calling because she fell and is injured—she’s very old, after all. In the end, I take the call.

“Hello?” I say.

“Where are you?” Nonna demands to know. Well, she clearly isn’t sprawled out in our apartment with a broken hip.

“I’m… taking a stroll in the city.”

“No!” she snaps. “You are following that boy, Jo-el!” Damn. How does she know that? “I’m not following Joel.”

“If you want a date,” she says, “my friend Tina from book club told me about her son, Antonio…”

“Nonna…”

“He’s a very important man! Tina says all these club owners pay him for protection.”

I frown at the phone. “Are you saying… he’s a mobster?”

Nonna is quiet on the other line. “Oh. Do you think that’s what that means?”

Oh my God. “Look, I have to go.”

“Patatina.” Her tone softens. “You are so beautiful. Stop doing this to yourself.”

“I’m just taking a walk, Nonna.”

“Fine. In that case, you bring home a cannoli. You want to follow that fool around town, you have to bring home a cannoli.”

“Okay.” It’s a small price to pay.

While Joel and his friends are taking a break, the man I don’t recognize wanders over to the hot dog cart. I thought I knew all of Joel’s friends, but I’ve definitely never seen this man before. He has dark hair and eyes like mine and similar coloring to my own, but I don’t think he’s Italian like me—I can spot a fellow paisano a mile away. Maybe Greek? Before I can stop myself, I’ve wandered to the hot dog cart and gotten in line behind the man, trying to get a closer look.

“Mustard only,” the man is telling the hot dog vendor. That’s how I like my hot dogs too. “And a bottle of water.”

The vendor prepares the hot dog, and the smell of it makes my stomach churn. I skipped lunch today. I’ve been skipping a lot of meals lately. Even when I cook up a storm, I can’t eat any of it. But at least Nonna is putting on some weight. She was too skinny before.

“That’ll be ten dollars,” the vendor tells Joel’s friend.

His eyes widen, as they should. Ten dollars for a hot dog and water? “Ten dollars?”

The vendor nods.

Joel’s friend looks at the cart, searching for a price that isn’t there. “That seems like… a lot.”

The vendor shrugs. “That is the price, my friend.”

This guy is clearly not a native New Yorker, because instead of calling the vendor on his bullshit, he reaches for his wallet and pulls out a ten-dollar bill. He is going to pay ten dollars for a hot dog and water. I can watch no more.

“You are not paying ten dollars for a hot dog and water!” I speak up. I address the hot dog vendor, my arms folded across my chest. “Four dollars. That’s fair.”

The vendor narrows his eyes at me. “Five dollars.”

“Four dollars.” I square my shoulders. “Four dollars or else I report you for not having prices displayed on your cart.”

The vendor looks at me like he wants to wrap his fingers around my neck and strangle me. But he knows I’m right. “Four dollars,” he says grudgingly to the man.

The man is looking at me now, a smile playing on his face. Up close, he is much more attractive than he was from across the field. There’s a dimple on his left cheek when he smiles. “And I’ll pay for whatever this young lady wants,” he adds.

My cheeks grow warm. “I don’t want anything.” “Of course you do,” he insists. “You were in line.”

I can’t tell him that I was only in line to get a better look at him. “You don’t have to pay, I mean.”

“Well, you saved me six dollars,” he points out.

“You want something or not, lady?” the vendor snaps at me. They’re both staring at me, so I mumble, “Just a water.”

I accept the water grudgingly. I need to get out of here before Joel sees me. I don’t want him to figure out I’ve been following him. If he does, it won’t be good. At the very least, he’ll delete the WhereAmI app from his phone.

“I’m Dean,” the guy says before I can hurry away. He’s still smiling at me with that sexy dimple. Joel used to look at me that way.

“Oh,” I say.

He’s waiting for me to tell him my name. But if I tell him my name, he’ll report back to Joel, and he’ll know it’s me. And then Joel will

wonder what I happened to be doing at that exact same place in the park as him.

But before I can figure out what to tell him, the guy Dean snaps his fingers and says, “Sophia Loren.”

I blink at him. “Excuse me?”

He fumbles with his hot dog. “Sorry. I was trying to figure out who you look like. I’m a sucker for old films and Sophia Loren was this great Italian actress from… well, a long time ago.”

“I know who Sophia Loren is,” I say. I love old films too, and Marriage Italian Style is one of Nonna’s favorite movies. I bought it for her on DVD several years ago. “I don’t think I look like her.”

“I disagree,” Dean says, his dark eyes serious even though he’s still smiling. “You’re a dead ringer.”

“Well, thank you,” I say, even though it’s not true.

His smile widens. “This is the best day ever. I got to meet a girl who looks just like my favorite actress. And she saved me six dollars on a hot dog and bottle of water.”

“Yes, but then you blew two of those dollars on a bottle of water for that girl.”

“Worth it.” He raises his eyebrows. “But you know what would really make this the best day ever?”

I’m afraid to hear.

“If that girl would let me have her phone number,” he says.

I swallow hard. Dean isn’t really my type, but even if he was, I can’t consider giving my number to a guy who’s friends with Joel. I don’t even know why I’m talking to him.

Dean takes a bite of his hot dog, waiting for me to say something. He’s watching me, and I can’t help but notice he’s got long eyelashes for a man. It makes his eyes look even darker than they are. Smoldering.

“I can’t,” I finally manage.

At first, I think he’s going to argue with me, but he doesn’t. “Okay,” he says. “I understand. But how about just your name?”

I shake my head.

He clutches his chest with the hand partially holding the water bottle. “Ouch.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “Nothing personal, but…” “You’ve got a boyfriend.”

“No,” I say. I don’t know why I was truthful about that. I should have told him I had a six-foot-four Navy SEAL boyfriend. That would have gotten rid of him quick. “It’s not that.”

“Then…” He smiles again, popping that dimple. “You’re saying I’m too ugly. Is that it?”

“No.” I can’t suppress the tiniest smile. “It’s not that. At all.” “Well, that’s a relief.”

“It’s complicated,” I mumble. “Trust me.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Not even a name? A first name?” I shake my head again.

“An initial? How about a syllable? I’ll take one syllable. It doesn’t even have to be the first syllable.”

He’s cute. I must be crazy to be turning him away. “I’m sorry.”

He sighs, his smile slipping slightly. “Okay, fine. I’ll have to be satisfied with knowing I got to see Sophia Loren’s doppelganger in the flesh today.”

“I don’t look like Sophia Loren,” I say, but I don’t think he hears

me.

He takes one last bite of his hot dog and gives me a funny little

wave. I watch him jog off to join his friends, but I duck out of sight before Joel knows it’s me.