Years ago, we went to New York in the summer and the rain fell on us. We were window shopping after dinner at a restaurant where the dress code had compelled me to wear heels, a bad decision considering we were walking all these blocks. So we set out to find the solution inside American Apparel. We bought the cheapest comfy walking shoes we could find in there — flip flops — just to be greeted by pouring rain and thunder once we left the store. We turned back around to go inside — of course, the store had just closed.

We ran down the block, giggling like idiots because we were so bad at this new city thing, and chased three cabs before one picked us up. We laughed at the absurdity, both of us with our sopping wet hair, clothes drenched with New York summer rain.

Somehow we were starving again, so we picked a nice sit-down restaurant. Yelp gave it five stars, so it sounded like a good idea. The place looked modest from the outside; just a plain grey door planted in the middle of a bland grey wall. But you pulled open the door and we quickly discovered that the inside was anything but grey.

We were kindly seated by the prim and proper waiting staff, and we looked around at the beautiful decor and our eyes glazed over as we read the beautifully written descriptions of gourmet selections. I had learned to appreciate good copy on a menu from you.

But I looked at you across the table, your white cotton tee still soaked and your hair all disheveled from running down the concrete streets with me. And you looked up from the menu and returned my gaze with that knowing smirk.

“This place is wonderful… for another night.”

So we came up with a new game plan. We agreed to just enjoy dessert here and save room for a real dinner. We shared bliss over two spoons and a thirteen dollar bowl of caramel-chocolate-popcorn-ice-cream-sundae by the warm glow of the candlelight, pinky fingers out and everything.

And once we left that pretty place of crystal glass and organic farm fresh free range everything, we ran through the drizzle, down the block to Shake Shack to grab burgers and fries. We headed back to the hotel with our spoils to enjoy them over an episode of Breaking Bad under the warm, plush covers.

We watched with the excitement of five year olds over Christmas morning presents, entranced by the genius of the episode. We barely noticed that sleep was crawling onto our backs and ready to take us down. And then the episode ended. With our limbs already entangled, bodies pressed together, and my cheek resting in the warm, smooth nook of your neck, we drifted off to sleep together.

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