“Yeah, exactly,” Oliver says, his eyes soft. “I wonder if kids still love balloons like that? Do people still hire balloon artists?”
“No idea.” I laugh. “But I love how they’ve set it up so we can see it at night.”
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” he says, his arm brushing mine as we stand there.
“What about your gallery?” I ask, nudging him gently.
“You know what? That’s a brilliant idea.”
He pulls out his phone, snapping a quick photo of the Balloon Dog, then turns it toward us for a selfie.
After a few more moments spent admiring the art, Oliver checks his watch. “We need to keep moving,” he says, his tone light but urgent.
It’s just after nine, and before I can ask where we’re heading next, he speaks again.
“This is the best date ever.”
“How many dates have you been on?” I tease, my stomach twisting nervously as I try to ignore the unease crawling inside me.
“You answer first,” he says, clearly amused.
“No, I asked first,” I reply quickly. “I don’t care, Oliver. I promise. You’re with me now.”
He looks down at the concrete, thinking for a moment, before meeting my eyes again. “None since I was in my twenties. But none of them were like this.”
I smack his arm playfully. “Sure, sure.”
“I’m serious,” he says, pulling me to a stop in front of the gallery. His hand runs through my hair, soft and tender. “I’ve never had this kind of connection before.”
I know exactly what he means. The way my heart races whenever he’s near, the way I can’t stop smiling when he looks at me, or how my stomach flutters when he kisses me. I’ve never experienced anything like this either.
We walk toward the Meatpacking District, where vibrant street art is splashed across every surface. We stop to snapphotos of three different pieces, but one mural in particular catches my eye. The Love Letter Mural by James Goldcrown. It’s a massive, spray-painted heart, full of intricate patterns and rich colors.
“At night, the colors really pop against the buildings.” I’ve been here before but never seen it like this. The city lights make it seem alive. I feel the love radiating from the piece, almost like it’s speaking to me.
I hold on to Oliver a little tighter, feeling the positive energy around us. The cool breeze ruffles my hair, and the crisp scent of the city at night feels almost magical.
We stop to take a photo in front of the mural, and I squeeze his hand, feeling so happy, so full.
“Where to next?” I ask, my excitement bubbling up again.
“You’ll see in five minutes,” he says, grinning. We walk hand in hand to the subway.
“I can’t believe I’m on the subway with you,” I say with a laugh.
“Why?” Oliver asks, clearly amused.
“You just... seem too cool for this,” I admit, trying to find a polite way to say it.
“You mean too rich?” he teases.
“Yeah,” I say sheepishly.
“I have been on the subway, but rarely do it now.” He shrugs. “But I want to experience everything with you.”
He pulls out his phone, snapping a picture of me standing on the subway. I’m not self-conscious at all. Then I pull him close and kiss him as he takes another shot of the two of us together.
“I’m so glad you pushed me to leave the bed tonight,” I admit. “This has been incredible.”
