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“I am. Thanks for insisting I join you.”

“I didn’t really have to twist your arm. You didn’t waste a second getting downstairs.”

Running is a good way to clear my mind, and lifting weights helps maintain my muscle mass, but I rarely combine them. Yet getting down seventeen flights of stairs to beat her clock was worth the soreness I’ll feel tomorrow. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I shrug. “It was no big deal.”

We approach the coffee shop where we met last week. It’s closed at this hour, but we still stop to take a peek. It’s become a regular stop when I need something better than what’s served at the office. She sits on the bridge ledge of the windowsill as she comes to the end of her cone.

“I shouldn’t probably admit how boring my life is, but it’s nice being out of the apartment.” She sits, contentedly listening as I continue rambling. “I miss having an outdoor space, a patio to spread out on, or a short drive to the beach.”

“Have you always only lived in Los Angeles?”

Nodding, I look down the street and then back at her again. “I spent a few months in Seattle before I moved to New York.”

“The other CWM office,” she says, filling in the blanks. “The other night, you said you were here for two years. What is that deadline?”

“Imaginary. It’s just a mental note I keep.”

“Because it’s that bad living here?”

“No, because I left everything in LA, and some days, I get homesick. That doesn’t sound very mature—” I turn to face the sidewalk to block her gaze that’s determined to read me like a book.

“Being homesick isn’t about maturity. It’s about where your heart longs to be.” Popping to her feet, she takes her sweater from me and puts it back on. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Heading toward my place again, I look around at all the apartment buildings in the area, curious where she lives. “What about you? Is your heart in the city?”

“I’m open to change, but there’s no reason to right now.”

My curiosity getting the better of me, I finally ask, “Where do you live?” She raises an eyebrow along with one side of her mouth but doesn’t say anything. I add, “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable. I’m just guessing it must be close, considering how fast you got to my building.”

“I’m close enough.” I leave it at that, knowing I don’t have a right to more than she’s willing to give. “Does anybody call you Andy?”

Annnndthat comes out of left field. Entertained by how her mind works, I reply, “No.”

“Did they ever?”

“Sure, when I was young and played baseball. Andy Christiansen sounded like a much cooler name to me at the time. My grandparents also called me that.”

“When did it change?”

Each step I take has me slowing while searching for a thoughtful response until I stop. I glance at her. “You know, I don’t remember. It wasn’t something that I chose. It just sort of happened.”

Nodding, she takes in my answer for a long moment, and then she says, “Andrew’s a tricky name.”

I laugh. It feels good to be kept on my toes. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

Without missing a beat, she walks quicker, matching the pace of her words. “Andrew is so grown up, but Andy is more like a kid’s name. Where do you fall in the scheme of things? And what do you feel about that?”

“I guess I’m somewhere in between. And . . .” My name is currently the last of my concerns. Do I care? All I know is that I’m falling into bed alone.Where on earth did that thought come from?But right now, I’m not so lonely with her.

She says, “And?”

“And nothing.” She chuckles as I continue wondering how my name changed without me noticing.

“If you could have any nickname, what would you choose?”

“I thought nicknames were something other people gave you?”

“I like Drew. I mean, oddly enough, I like the formal name, too. It’s a win-win. Andrew is reliable, the guy you’d trust with not only your money but also your life. So, I think you’re golden with either name you choose.”