Times Square(21)

"I just really like for my morning cup of coffee to go the right way."

"Next. If you eat more than half a bag of gummy bears it hurts your stomach, but you never stop at half a bag. You eat the entire bag and then complain for at least an hour about how much your stomach hurts."

"Oh, that." I shrug. "That's just part of my charm."

"It's something," he agrees.

"So you want to take me to the Hamptons instead of the friends who flirt with girls barely out of high school?" I joke because I have a way of ruining a perfectly good moment.

He glances at the timer next to the traffic light. They have them at every intersection of New York, it seems—a small neon light counting down the seconds until impatient pedestrians can cross and then the clock resets again. The tourists I've noted will generally wait for the traffic light to give them permission to cross before stepping into the street. Locals are more likely to step off the curb the moment the last car has spun past.

"Guys from work," he says with a shrug. "I didn't realize they were that bad. Or maybe I did," he adds. "Maybe I should have."

"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm being rude."

"You're fine."

"Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything."

"Forget it, it's going to come out weird." I change my mind as I swing our joined hands together as we walk down Hudson.

"It can't be weirder than a conversation about how cute our future children are going to be."

"So that," I start because that's what I want to ask him about. "Do guys really think about that stuff?"

"What stuff? Having a family? Some guys do. I do."

"Huh," I say, because honestly it surprises me a little. Men have always been a bit of a mystery to me in that regard. I assumed women were the ones who thought about babies and school districts and just sort of dragged the men along. When I was engaged I was the one who did all the planning, and I thought that was normal. Not that we got very far into it anyway.

"Guys worthy of your time think about that stuff."

"Worthy of my time. I like that. So full disclosure," I say, drawing in a breath. "You remember that I was engaged before?"

"Yeah," he replies, squeezing my hand.

"That weekend you want to go to the Hamptons is the weekend I was supposed to get married. Before I cancelled the venue and gave back the ring, that was the weekend. I haven't thought about it in a while but then at dinner your sister brought up the holiday weekend and I just thought I should mention it."

"His loss," Max replies and I fall a little bit more in love with him. "I'm sorry that he hurt you," he adds, "but I'm not sorry that it led you here. To New York. To me. I'm not sure that I would have found you in Iowa." He grins when he adds the part about Iowa and pulls me a little bit closer to him.

"Yeah, me too." I smile in response. And I am. Happy, that is. I can see now how much better of a fit I am with Max than I ever was with Brad. I loved Brad, I thought I was going to marry him and spend the rest of my life with him. But I'm grateful that I didn't. That it didn't get that far. I might have chosen a different way to end it, but looking back I can't say it wasn't for the best that it ended. This thing with Max might be new, but it's easy. It's so much easier between us, like I've known him for years instead of weeks. He's so transparent with me, I never feel like I have to guess what he's thinking or what he really wants.

"So, full disclosure," Max repeats before a random passerby interrupts and asks where the nearest subway entrance is. Max directs them over to the Christopher Street Station and then the light changes and we cross the street. Then we run into the drugstore and I realize he never finished his sentence.

"Did you want to tell me something?" I ask as we exit the store.

"Yeah, we were dangerously close to being out of condoms," he says, holding up the bag.

"No." I roll my eyes in his face. "Before. When we were interrupted? Also, I'm on the pill by the way."

"Okay, whoa," he says, holding up his hands. "There's no 'by the way' about that statement, Lauren. Because if that was a green light to fuck you bare then that was the focal point of everything you just said. That's all I heard anyway. I've already blacked out on the rest." He turns me in the direction of his apartment with a firm hand on my back and nudges me to walk, his hand remaining in place as we go lest I might slow my steps and need to be prodded. "Should we get a cab?"

"Your apartment is literally around the corner," I say, pointing. "It's a tenth of a mile and with the one-way streets it would take longer to cab than walk, and why am I even entertaining this question with a response?" But I laugh because I know he's half serious and I love that about him.