Take Me to Church

“Excuse me, I’m looking for Church Street.”

I approached the tall man on the corner. He turned to me and I saw that he was young. Maybe 18 years old. 22 at most. Dressed smartly in an argyle sweater and tie, I wondered where this kid was headed. A shock of curly hair stuck out from under the brim of his tweed flat cap. He looked like he’d just stepped off the set of a depression-era film. He was certainly handsome enough to be an actor. He smiled, his baby-soft cheeks spreading up to wide cheekbones. His chin jutted forward.

“It’s just a block this way. I’m headed there myself,” he said and started walking.

I followed, surprised at his confidence as he swaggered along the sidewalk, escorting me, a woman at least twice his age. He looked at me again, a grin turning up the corners of his mouth, a gleam in his eye. Was this kid flirting with me? What was he thinking? Embarrassingly, I felt myself blush and smile in response.

“What’s your name?” he asked, surprising me again with his forwardness.

“Sarah,” I answered. “And yours?”

“Em,” he responded.

“M? Just the letter? Cool!”

He giggled. “No. Em. E-M. It’s short for my full name.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s your name?” I asked, wondering why he hadn’t just told me outright.

“I don’t always tell people, because my name doesn’t always fit me right. But I guess I’m telling you. It’s Emily.”

Emily? I almost stumbled. This...