Eve meets Danny in a park at sunset for an outdoor concert, and though it’s their first date, it doesn’t feel like a first date because they’ve been friends for ten years, so they spend the whole opening act making jokes about their fellow concertgoers—“Oh my god, has Gen Alpha brought back deerstalker hats?”—while the sides of their arms brush suggestively, and by the time the headliner comes on, they have fallen into an easy comfort, which she likes—she likes that the music means something to him the same way it does to her, and she likes the way his lips silently shape the lyrics, and she likes the way the New York summer heat clings his shirt across his shoulders and his chest, but then (!) what she finds she likes even more is taking off that shirt—in his bedroom, with the hum of the city fluttering through the windows as he kisses her collarbone, stomach, hip—and by the next morning, she is certain of her feelings, ecstatic with them, but she’s worried she’s been too much too fast until he kisses her softly at the subway station and asks, at the risk of showing, like, all his cards, if she is free for dinner, and she knows she is in love with him, or at least as in love with a person as you can be on a first date, which sounds ridiculous, but then again, maybe the people who think it’s ridiculous just don’t have love stories as good as this one.