I took a sip of my coffee, needing something to do with my hands.
“So what about now?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. “Is the timing right?”
I looked at him, at the way he was watching that made my pulse skip. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re both just nostalgic.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying me in that way he had that made you feel like you were the most interesting thing he’d encountered all day.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think it’s just nostalgia.”
The directness of it caught me off guard. Most guys I’d met—not that there had been many—played games or tried to be mysterious or at least pretended they weren’t interested even when they obviously were. Archie just said what he thought.
“You’re very sure of yourself,” I said.
“Not really.” He laughed, and the sound was self-deprecating. “I’m actually terrible at this. I haven’t been on a date in over a year and even that was a disaster. My friend Jake says I’m too intense and it scares people off.”
“Are you intense?”
“Probably. I tend to care too much about things that I’m not supposed to care about.” He paused. “Sorry… that sounded less pathetic in my head.”
I laughed softly. “No, I get it. Caring too much is exhausting.”
We sat in that moment, the café noise fading into background static while we looked at each other across a small table littered with coffee cups and napkins.
“So,” I said, needing to redirect before the silence stretched too long. “Real estate development,” I said. “Do you like it?”
He was quiet for a moment, turning his cup in his hands. “Honestly? I’m trying to like it. Or at least trying to make it into something I can live with.”
“What does that mean?”
He was quiet for a moment, like he was deciding how honest to be.
“I’ve spent the last few years realizing good intentions don’t mean much when the business model itself is the problem.”
“That sounds frustrating.”
“It is.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I keep thinking if I can find the right approach, I can make it work differently.”
“That’s better than not trying,” I said. “Most people in positions of power don’t even bother with reform. They just maintain the status quo and call it business.”
Something crossed his face that looked like relief, like I’d said exactly what he needed to hear.
“What about you?” he asked. “How’s law school treating you this time around?”
“Hard,” I admitted. “I’m the oldest person in most of my classes, which makes me feel ancient in law-school years. And I’m constantly behind because I didn’t do the whole law review thing the first time around, so everyone else has connections and internships and I’m just trying to keep my head above water.”
“But you’re doing it.”
“I’m doing it,” I confirmed. “One more round of exams and then I’m actually a lawyer to protect people’s rights.”
“That’s good,” he said. “The world needs more lawyers willing to fight for people instead of corporations.”
We talked for another hour, conversation flowing easily between serious topics and lighter ones. He told me about auditing classes at NYU, about how he was trying to understand legal frameworks better so he could be more effective at his job. I told him about working at the legal aid clinic, about howsatisfying it was to actually help people instead of just reading about helping people in textbooks.
The café started to empty out as afternoon turned to early evening. Students packed up their laptops and headed out, the remote workers finally admitting defeat and calling it a day. We’d been sitting there for almost two hours, though it felt like twenty minutes.
“I need to head back now,” I said reluctantly. “I have case files to review before tomorrow.”
“Yeah. I have a meeting later anyway.” He stood when I did, and we gathered our things.
