She's exactly on time.
I spot her crossing the plaza toward the museum entrance. Her hair is down. Usually pulls it back for work, ties it up when she's focused. Tonight it falls past her shoulders.
I don't wait for her to reach me. I close the distance, slide my hand along her jaw, and kiss her.
She makes a small sound against my mouth, her fingers curling into my jacket.
When I pull back, she's smiling.
"Good start," she says.
"I thought so."
Her hand finds mine. "Hi. So what are we doing?"
"Walking tour. Architecture at night."
Her expression shifts. Recognition, then something warmer. "Tom."
I squeeze her hand and start walking.
***
St. Patrick's Cathedral glows from within. Floodlights angle up to catch the gothic arches and rib vaults. Long shadows stretch across stone. A faint trace of incense and old stone hangs in the cool air, softening the edge of the city noise outside.
I stop halfway up and step behind her, arms circling her waist.
"Look up," I say quietly.
She tilts her head back, resting it against my shoulder. The curve of her head fits perfectly into the hollow above my collarbone.
"The arches," she murmurs. "The way the light hits the stone."
I bring my arm up over her shoulder to point, my chest pressed against her back. "They light it from the bottom," I say, my voice dropping near her ear. "It makes the whole building look like it's glowing."
"It's beautiful."
I press a kiss to the side of her neck. She shivers.
"Are you trying to distract me from the architecture?"
Her voice is low, amused.
"Maybe."
She laughs and leans back harder against my chest.
We stand like that for a moment. Just breathing. Looking up.
Together.
***
Rockefeller Plaza is quieter at night, but there is still a steady hum of people working through it.
The Art Deco geometry is razor-clear under the spotlights, every line and angle bright against the night. We pause near the Prometheus statue, gold leaf catching the glow from the rink below.
Sam's hand rests flat against my chest.
