Page 75 of I'm Looking for a Man in Finance
Hallie:
You really are sooooo generous, Mr. Old Fashioned.
Did hanging out with someone for three consecutive days count as serious? I wasn’t sure. Maybe I could ask the random man who’d ridden all the way from Midtown to Soho with me on the subway. He wore a gold wedding band, and his screensaver was a photo of his family at whatlooked like Coney Island in the summer. You can learn a lot about someone when you’re crammed next to them on the subway for five stops. And surely someone in what appeared to be a successful marriage would know when a relationship started crossing into the land of serious.
Normally, New Yorkers don’t talk to each other on the subway—it’s practically blasphemy to do so. I’d rather line up for a bagel at Dunkin’ Donuts than strike up a conversation with a stranger on public transit. But between the strange new confidence I’d been walking around with and the emotional spiral I currently found myself in, I was willing to break protocol. Desperation does that to a girl.
“When do you think a relationship can no longer be considered casual?” I asked the man once I’d worked up enough courage.
He startled, blinking at me like he wasn’t sure if I was speaking to him or into the void. “Uh,” he said, clearing his throat. “Have these two people been dating for a while?”
I shrugged. “Actually, dating for just about a month but have known each other for a couple of months.”
He tilted his head thoughtfully. “And did hanging out multiple days in a row come on suddenly?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Popping by the other’s place if they’re in the neighborhood. Grabbing lunch or dinner just because.”
The man snorted. “Then I’d say that yes, it’s becoming serious.”
The subway began to slow as a female robotic voice announced my stop.
“Thanks for your input,” I said as I stood to leave.
“Does he treat you well?” the man called after me just as I stepped toward the doors.
I paused for only a second before answering. “Yes.”
“Do you like spending time with him?”
“I do,” I said, nodding solemnly.
“Then I’d say go for it.” He gave me a wink as the subway doors slid shut, whisking him off to somewhere else in New York City.
Fairy godfather? Subway sage? I wasn’t sure what to call him. But somehow, he knew exactly what I needed to hear.
I wasn’t sure why I needed confirmation from a stranger about my relationship with James. Deep down, I already knew everything he pointed out. James treated me better than anyone I’d ever met, and the second our date ended, I was already counting down the hours until the next.
People swarmed around me as they moved toward the stairs, and I paused for a second to watch the train disappear into the tunnel. This was my favorite part about living in the city. Getting lost in the sea of strangers, all headed somewhere, all chasing something. New York truly was the city that never slept—constantly moving, living,thriving.
I fell in line with the crowd and let it carry me up the escalators and out into the hustle and bustle of Soho. With its cast-iron facades and cobblestone streets, the neighborhood felt like a beautiful contradiction—equal parts polished and gritty. Tourists flocked here for designer boutiques and high-end art galleries, but it wasalso the perfect place for a brand-new restaurant that, according to the article Anthea sent me this morning, could be a contender for a Michelin star by the end of the year.
Just a few weeks ago, I would’ve felt completely in over my head. But spending time with James when he made me feel seen, valued, and genuinely cared for had changed something in me. That, paired with the buzz around my recent articles and the subtle nods of approval from Anthea, had become fuel for a kind of confidence I hadn’t felt in a long time. I was still figuring things out, sure, but I was willing to take the shot I was being given. And if the last few weeks were any indication, I had a pretty strong feeling I’d nail it.
The Social Eatery was more than a restaurant, it was a communal experience. Long tables designed for twelve meant you were sharing more than just food. You were sharing space, stories, and bites with strangers. Dishes came out family style, with overflowing bowls and plates to share and pass around. It was a bold concept, especially in New York City.
I’d been a little nervous that James might have imagined a white-table-cloth dinner for two accented with candlelight. But when I saw him looking through the arched windows with awe on his face, my worries vanished. And, okay, I had to fight off the overwhelming desire to kiss him.
