"You're not talking about buildings," she says.
I meet her eyes. "No."
Silence.
She takes my hand and squeezes.
I pull her close and kiss her forehead, her hair soft against my lips.
We stand like that for a long moment, the bridge humming under our feet, the city spread out behind us.
Then we keep walking.
***
Our boots scrape against the uneven DUMBO cobblestones as we cross into Brooklyn.
The neighborhood is quieter over here. The streetlights cast warm pools across the pavement, and when we turn down Washington Street, the Manhattan Bridge frames perfectly between the buildings, its cables sharp against the dark.
Sam stops. Looks around. "This is perfect. All of it."
"I'm glad."
She turns to me, a small smile pulling at her mouth. "I don't think it's done yet."
"No?"
"No." She steps closer, sliding her hands up my chest. "There's one more thing."
"What's that?"
She pulls me down by the front of my jacket.
My brain shorts out. She kisses me hard enough that I lose my footing, stumbling a half-step forward until I'm flush against her. My heart slams against my ribs, breath catching as every thought I had about pacing this date perfectly goes out the window. Her hands are locked in the fabric at my chest, completely in control, pulling me down to her level.
I slide my hands around to the small of her back and pull her flush against me, kissing her back just as desperately, letting the cold air and the streetlights fade out entirely.
When we finally break apart, I have to take a breath just to steady myself.
"That's a good way to end a tour." I grin.
"I thought so."
I steady myself, hands settling at her waist. "Let me take your picture?"
She nods.
"Here?"
"Here."
I step back, framing her with my hands first. She's standing on cobblestones, the Manhattan Bridge behind her, warm streetlight catching her face.
I raise the camera.
Click.
"Can I see?" she asks.
