It ends up being a great dinner and a great date. The best Cassie has had in years, although to be fair, she can count on one hand the number of dates she’s been on in the last few years.

Is it as good as the first date between Bea and Marv? She doesn’t know. She wasn’t there for that date, although she has to assume it was a good one since they were married only six months later.

Joel won’t let her see the number on the check when it arrives. He yanks it away before she can even attempt to reach for it and hands it back to the waiter with his credit card. She doesn’t want to think about how much the meal cost, considering how many plates are stacked up in front of them, and they had two glasses of wine each. She tried to take the salmon plates, even though he told her to get whatever she liked. Well, she does like salmon.

The sun has gone down, and the air has gotten brisk when they leave the restaurant. Her formerly comfortable dress is no longer warm enough, and Cassie feels goosebumps prickling her arm.

“You’re cold,” Joel notes. “I’m fine,” she insists.

“I’d give you my jacket, but I’m not wearing one.”

“I’m fine,” she says again, even as her teeth start to chatter.

Joel looks down at her. He’s about six inches taller than she is—a perfect height for her. Or maybe she’s a perfect height for him, even if she’s not generally perfect like Francesca.

“Come on,” he says.

He takes her by the arm. He’s not quite holding her hand, but close enough that the goosebumps on her arm multiply. She barely notices where he’s leading her until they’ve ducked into a tiny gift shop on the corner. Her elbows brush against various license plates with names on them, snow globes with the Statue of Liberty within, baseball caps in every color, and yes, sweatshirts.

“I can’t afford an overpriced sweatshirt.” Cassie worries she sounds like a broken record, but it needs to be said. She’s got plenty of perfectly good sweatshirts at home.

“Good thing I’m buying it then.” “Joel…”

“Don’t make a big thing about it.” He reaches out and fingers one of the first sweatshirts in the rack. “What do you think? Are you a New

York City Gurl?”

“Oh God,” she laughs. “You know, I’ll get mugged if I walk around in one of these.”

He examines the second shirt in the rack. “Well, how about New York Mom?”

“I feel like maybe you don’t want a second date.”

He takes a step back. “Okay, point taken. So… which one do you like?”

She’s reluctant to buy a sweatshirt here, but it is quite cold. Plus, she’s not sure if Joel will let her leave without one. She thumbs through the rack and finally selects a navy blue Yankees hoodie.

“You’re going to look adorable in this,” he tells her as he pays for it. “Unlikely.”

She’s right. When she slips the hoodie over her head, she’s immediately sorry she got it. It’s big and bulky and ugly. But when Joel looks at her, a smile spreads across his face. “See? I was right. Adorable.”

She rolls her eyes. At least it’s warm.

They stroll around the neighborhood. He suggests ice cream, but she’s stuffed from sushi. She wonders if she should invite him over. Is that what people do on dates these days? She can’t remember the etiquette.

Sometimes on sit-coms, a character bemoans a long dry spell without sex, which is always around five or six months. Cassie’s dry spell is two years. Her last boyfriend was named Harry—she met him when she was out getting drinks with some friends. He had a job in advertising and was trying to break into the industry, which apparently required him to drink a lot because he was always slightly drunk when they got together after work. At first, he was sweet as he courted her, but the longer they were together, the more irritable and demanding he became. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or his personality, but it got to the point where they couldn’t get through an evening without fighting. There was one night when she and Harry were out to dinner, and the waiter gave them a table he didn’t like, too close to a boisterous group of college kids. Cassie had suggested switching tables, but instead, Harry bitched and moaned about it through the whole meal. He ruined the night. She realized at that moment that it wasn’t the great love story like between Bea and Marv. It was a horror story. (Or at the very least, dark

women’s fiction.)

She broke up with Harry that night.

After a bad relationship, being alone came as an incredible relief. Cassie basked in her newly rediscovered ability to spend a night out without Harry’s moodiness. She was happy being single. It was far preferable to being with someone like Harry.

Then it started to become a dangerous habit. Every time an attractive man would approach her, she’d think back to Harry and all the other unsatisfying and often miserable relationships she’d had. And she’d shake her head no. She preferred to focus on her business and enjoy having fun with her friends.

But now it’s bordering on too long. There are times when she aches for another person’s touch so badly, she can barely sleep. Other days, she doesn’t miss it. Right now, she can’t think about anything but the way Joel’s hand felt on her arm. She knows she won’t be able to go to sleep tonight if they don’t share a kiss.

“Do you want to share a cab home?” Joel suggests after she inadvertently lets out a yawn.

Her heart skips a beat. “To… my home?”

One corner of his lips lifts. “We get one cab, they drop you off first, then they drop me off.”

“Oh.” She isn’t sure if she’s relieved or disappointed. She’s glad at least that he’s being a gentleman and not pushing to come over after only one date. “Okay.”

Except it turns out he lives in the opposite direction to her. He puzzles it out for a moment, and finally declares, “I’ll get you a cab, and I’ll find one of my own.”

“That’s okay,” she says quickly. “I’ll take the subway.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” he says. “I’m not letting you take the subway home all alone at night.”

“It’s not that late.” “Yes, it is.”

Cassie looks down at her watch and… wow, it is rather late. Were they really talking together at the restaurant that long? But still. It’s Friday night. The subway won’t be deserted.

“I’ll get you a cab,” he says again.

“Listen, buddy.” She pokes him gently in the chest. “I take the subway home from here every single night. It’s Friday night—there will be plenty of people on the subway. I’ll be fine.” She tugs at the hood of her sweatshirt. “I’ve even got my warm hoodie.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts.” She raises an eyebrow. “I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself. Do you respect that?”

He looks at her for a moment before his face splits into a grin. “Yeah, I respect that.”

“Good.” She returns the smile. “Because I’d hate to deprive you of a good night kiss.”

The smile fades from his face. “I’d hate that too. Am I still in the running?”

She nods. “I think you are.” “Well, good.”

He gazes at her with those vivid eyes and she shivers, even under her hoodie. He leans in, she tilts her face toward him, and it turns out six inches taller than her is the perfect height for kissing. His lips linger less than an inch away from hers for a fraction of a second and she’s the one who bridges the gap, pressing her lips against his. His breath is warm and her entire body melts against him as they engage in a good night kiss she never wants to end.

Maybe she should invite him over after all.

But no. There will be plenty of time for that. No need to rush.

When they finally part, Cassie notices she’s breathing hard. And Joel seems equally breathless. It takes her a moment to remember where she is and why she’s here.

“Could I…” She can hear Joel swallow. “Walk you to the subway?”

He’s itching to get her into a cab, but she’s not going to give in. She stood her ground, and she meant what she said. She takes this exact subway home every night. It will be fine.

Joel walks her to the subway station. One block away from the station, he reaches out and takes her hand in his. Her heart leaps when he does that. It’s been so long since she’s held hands with a man. Too long. And far longer since she’s held hands with a man she really liked.

She wonders if the last person whose hand he held was Francesca. He kisses her one final time before she sinks into the subway station.

The kiss is not at all tarnished by the scent of urine that seems to cling to every subway station in the city. It takes all her willpower to send him on his way.

While her body jolts with each bump on the subway ride downtown to her apartment, Cassie replays the kiss in her head. She closes her eyes and relives it over and over. Every time, she gets that leap of excitement in her chest. She can’t wait to see him again. He promised he’d call

tomorrow, and she’s certain he will keep that promise. Maybe Joel really will be her Heathcliff. Her Marv.

Cassie has ridden this subway hundreds of times, but it’s usually several hours earlier than this. She hates to admit that it isn’t as crowded as she thought it would be. As she’d like it to be. She glances around the subway car at the other occupants. A homeless man in a ratty coat sprawled across four seats in a restless sleep. Three teenage boys at the far end, talking smack about some girl. And at the other end, an attractive woman in her thirties with long, dark hair.

There’s nothing specifically threatening in this car, but Cassie hugs her purse to her chest, willing the train to move faster. It occurs to her now that she left the rose Joel bought her on the seat in the sushi bar. Well, it’s too late to get it now.

The boys stand up as the train grinds to a halt. They get out at the door next to Cassie, and one of them leers at her just before they get off the train. “Wanna join us, baby?” he asks.

“No, thanks.” Cassie rolls her eyes. The boys are harmless—she can tell that much. But there’s still something in the train car making her uneasy.

She glances at the woman at the far end of the train. The woman is staring listlessly out the far window. It should comfort her to see another woman on the train, but it doesn’t.

When the train finally comes to Cassie’s stop, she leaps out of her seat. She hops off the train, minding the substantial gap between the car and the platform. The tight feeling in her chest loosens up as she gets off the train, until she notices the platform is even more desolate than the train was. She strides purposefully down the platform toward the stairs.

As the train dashes off to its next stop, she can’t help but notice the car she’d been in is now entirely empty.

It is a two-block walk from the train station to Cassie’s home. Usually it’s a quick walk, but at this moment, those two blocks seem endless. She shivers under her Yankees hoodie, wrapping her arms across her chest. Why didn’t she let Joel get her a taxi? Stupid pride.

She starts to walk down the block, past the animal shelter, past the drug store, past the bank. Everything is closed now. And when she’s halfway down the block, she notices something.

With every one of her own steps, she hears a second set of footsteps. There’s someone behind her.

Well, why shouldn’t there be someone behind her? After all, it’s Friday night—it’s reasonable there should be other people on the street.

Except there’s something in Cassie’s gut telling her whoever is behind her isn’t an innocent partygoer. It’s a dark feeling in the pit of her stomach. There’s someone following her.

When her Grandma Bea was alive, she used to sometimes read aloud stories in the newspaper about disappearances. Girl went out on a jog and never returned. Cassie strained her memory, trying to think of one story of a missing girl her age that ended well. She couldn’t.

The stories never scared Cassie. She was too smart to let anything happen to her. What sort of idiot goes jogging at five in the morning anyway? That’s just asking for trouble.

Why didn’t she let Joel get that taxi? Stupid, stupid…

There was a policeman at the subway station. Maybe she could run back there and try to find him. But then he might insist on escorting her up to her apartment. And she can’t risk a cop getting a look at what’s in her apartment. That would potentially be… bad. Very bad.

Cassie starts walking more rapidly. It isn’t until she crosses the street that she’s outright sprinting. One more block to her apartment building. One more block. She reaches into her purse for her keys as she walks, wanting them ready but also anticipating they could be used as a weapon if need be.

By the time she reaches the front door of her building, she’s panting. She yanks her key out of her purse, but her hand is shaking too badly to fit the key in the lock. She’s certain she’s about to feel a hand cover her mouth, but she inserts the key on the second try and the door to her building swings open. She slides inside and slams it closed behind her.

It’s only after she hears the lock click back into place that she dares to turn around. She peers through the window by the door, trying to see whose footsteps had followed her all the way home.

There’s no one there.