I looked out over Central Park, my iPhone held low in one hand. I kept the thumb of my other hand hooked in my pocket.

There was only a tiny smudge of light left in the world at that moment. A distant redness that I couldn’t view directly because my condo was in a building on the Upper West Side, and it faced east into the park.

I could see the remnants of that sunset dappling the waters of the lake. Mostly the trees and the fields swam in ever-broadening shadows.

I looked out at all this but didn’t really see any of it. I didn’t see it because even just speaking to Rachel over the phone left me feeling electrified.

Like I’d just grabbed a live wire.

I could have kept talking to her. I didn’t have to let her go, I thought. But I did, I knew.

Because work was so important to her. If I kept her on the line she would have resented it. Resented me. And I didn’t want that. Couldn’t have that.

I reached up and tugged the half-Windsor knot of my tie loose, so that I could then pop the button on my collar.

My pulse beat quickly in my throat, which I rubbed. The skin was rough and stubbly against my palm.

My phone buzzed and popped an alert. A text alert. My heart slammed hard for a second in false excitement and then calmed.

I checked the screen, found a reminder notice for tomorrow’s board meeting.

My phone constantly hummed and vibrated with a million little reminders and emails and texts and calls.

Nothing after nine in the evening though, unless it meant do-or-die for the company. I’d made that clear in my first year after making it really big. After receiving a stock valuation and going public.

A line needed to be drawn somewhere. Not a line, a wall built. People just stepped over lines. Usually without even seeing them.

So I watched the electric lights of Manhattan come to life while the sunlight drained out of the island, the whole time marking in my mind where I thought Rachel might be, tugging up the cuff of my sleeve to check the time on my Mariner.

She’s likely at the station now. That train is usually on time...

Must be over the river...

Next stop, Bushwick...

I didn’t go so far as to pace back and forth in front of the window. But I did wait. I rarely waited for anyone, these days. I would wait for her, though.

My iPhone trilled in my hand. Incoming call. I thumbed the answer button that appeared and lifted the phone to my ear. I could already feel my smile starting to pull at my cheeks.

“Did you doubt me?” she said.

“Doubt you? Never. Doubt the train schedules or the traffic lights? Yes.”

I walked over to an overstuffed leather wingback and sank down onto the cushion. I didn’t lean back, though. I was too energized. Another restless night for me.

It had grown pretty dark in my condo by then, but I barely noticed and didn’t mind.

I didn’t care.

She laughed, the sound slightly tinny but still wonderful over the phone. “Why the call? Too tired of dealing with autocorrect?”

“Oh, I turned off autocorrect as soon as I got the phone,” I said.

“Can’t stand someone trying to put words in your mouth? Or on your screen, I guess. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” I replied.

“So why the call?” she reiterated, “Oh, I’m home safe by the way, if you didn’t figure that out already.”

“Because texting can be so cold and impersonal. I wanted to know you as more than just words on a screen,” I said.

“Hey! There weren’t just words. Are you impugning my ability to string emojis together like hieroglyphs?” She put on a tone of mock offense.

It was my turn to laugh, “No, you’re a master with those. I wanted to talk to you, not type something at you. And you haven’t hung up.”

“Yet,” she said.

“So I’ll get to the point. I wanted to tell you that I’ve come to look forward to talking to you every day pretty much more than anything else. I wait all day, running through a thousand different anecdotes and jokes that I think you’ll like. And sometimes I’ve worried that we have nothing else to talk about but then we do.”

“I like our talks a lot, too,” Rachel said. I caught the guarded tone in her voice right away.

“I want to see you again,” I said, “Tell me that you don’t want to see me and we’ll stop this. All of this. Because I thought I was okay with just talking but now I know I’m not. And I think that you’re feeling the same.”

“We shouldn’t,” she said, “See each other. You know that.”

“That’s not an answer,” I replied. I pushed up from my wingback chair and went back to the window. I put my hand against the cold smoothness of the glass and glared out at the park.

“Goodnight, Neil,” Rachel said.

“Goodnight,” I replied. I killed the line.