Chase"s touch disoriented me and I"m certain he noticed my odd behavior when I fled the reservoir. His smirk assures me he knew of my attraction when I turned and waved good-bye. I snicker at my girlish behavior and a young woman standing on the train platform peers quizzically from her iPad.
I exit the subway in the west village and make my way to Buvette"s—a small Parisian restaurant—for brunch with the gang. A few feet inside the door, I find the group seated around two tables pushed together to accommodate my six friends, my confidants, my anchor, I couldn"t exist without them. I"m the lone wheel unadorned by a male counterpart unlike my friends—one married with twins, the other in an exclusive relationship for several years. Hannah and Paul, Michelle and Taylor sit watching as I ente
