A photo. A guy on the subway, reading a paperback. Sitting between his feet is a massive, fluffy Golden Retriever, completely zipped inside a blue bag with four holes cut out for its legs. The dog looks majestic.
The caption:Strict compliance with the MTA 'enclosed container' rule.
I save the photo to my camera roll, then open the folder I created last Thursday. Seven photos now. All from Tom.
I close the folder. My thumb hovers over the screen for a second before I set the phone down and finish getting ready.
***
Wednesday afternoon, we're in the glass-walled conference room reviewing slides for Thursday's check-in on my laptop.
Tom's standing at the window with his arms crossed. My phone buzzes. A calendar notification I already dismissed twice.
Tom glances over. "You color-code your dentist appointments?"
"That's the building inspector callback window."
"Pale blue tag."
"Time-sensitive."
"As opposed to all your other calendar items, which are...?"
"Categorized appropriately."
He grins and turns back to the window. I send him my schedule for the rest of the week.
He pulls out his phone. I watch him in the window's reflection, scrolling, tapping, rearranging something.
"You just moved your lighting walk," I say.
"Yep."
"To Thursday at two-thirty."
"Yep."
"That's right after my site visit."
He doesn't look up from his screen. "Seems like good planning."
I save the updated presentation file and close my laptop. He adjusted his entire afternoon to match mine.
***
When Tom and I get back to the site on Thursday, it's practically deserted.
"Let's confirm the final alignment between your digital model and the images I shot and the drone captured."
Tom's standing near the rusted Ironworks skeleton at the north edge of the lot, camera in hand, reviewing the last series of shots on his screen. The late afternoon light cuts across the empty dirt footprint, turning everything gold and amber.
I should leave. I have three emails waiting and a zoning call at four-fifteen.
I walk over to him instead. "Lighting's good," I say.
He glances up from his camera. "Eighty-two degrees. Almost magic hour."
"Almost."
