I have a rule of thumb if I like a woman.

Call me crazy. Call me old-fashioned.

But here’s what I do.

I ask her on a date.

I know, I know. I’m old-school, especially since I use the phone to do it.

I don’t send coy texts. I don’t Snapchat her a Wassup? And I don’t try to weasel a hookup. I call her and invite her out. I try to choose an activity that suits her. For the athletic ones, I might suggest a bike ride. For the casual gals, maybe an afternoon at a craft beer festival. For the Louboutin-styled lady, I find sushi or the latest hip eatery that fits the bill. There’s no need to half-ass anything in life, especially a first date. I go all out and make sure we can truly get to know each other. Find out if we’re compatible.

I haven’t asked Mia out, though, and it’s not because of Max. Not really. The guy is a total softie inside. Plus, he’s not, ya know, a dickhead who’d pull that whole don’t date my sister because she’s my sister bullshit.

The bigger reason is she’s not around that much. I suppose I’m not, either. But she’s really not around. She doesn’t even live here. She lives in San Francisco, and though she makes it to New York enough for me to have developed a wicked attraction to her that shows no signs of abating, she’s not here enough for me to realistically pursue dating her. Or mating her. Or more.

We pull up at a trail near the town of Cold Spring in the Hudson Valley, and I try to shove all thoughts of attraction out of my head. That involves some seriously intense mental gymnastics, since Mia is completely fetching in her khaki shorts, white sneakers, and a sky-blue scoop-neck shirt. When she unzips the light hoodie that she’s been wearing, I read her T-shirt. It says “I’m sorry for what I said when I was hungry.”

After I harness up Zeus, I nod at her shirt and say, “Good thing I packed two servings of surprise food for you. I take it this means you’re one of those people for whom hangry is a real word?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “You know how some people are before coffee?”

I nod.

“That’s me unfed.”

I laugh as we head for the trailhead, enjoying the sun shining brightly above. “We need a food mood ring for you. It would detect your probable mood based on what fuel you’ve consumed, and it would warn me when stores are dangerously low.”

“I had oatmeal and blueberries this morning, so the arrow should still point in the pleasant range, but in a few hours, it’ll drop precipitously into disagreeable.”

“Good thing I’m prepared.”

Mia makes eye contact with my backpack. “Looks like you’re prepared for everything.”

I know too well the risks of getting lost in the woods, so I’ve packed some of the basics. Better to be safe than sorry. “I am.”

I gesture to the soft dirt path that unfurls ahead of us at the base of the hill before it winds into a more wooded section. “After you.”

She holds up her hand as a stop sign, then points at me, accusatorially. “Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be the nature guide?”

I run a hand through my hair. “Yes, but the way I see it is if I send you ahead, you’ll be my canary so I’m aware of any jagged rocks, quicksand, snakes, mountain lions, or even the occasional man-eating twig.”

She shoots me a steely stare. “If the twigs are man-eaters, then they’ll be aiming for you.” She spins around and takes off in a sprint, initiating a full-on, all-out, shotgun-has-fired race. “Catch me if you can!”

Holy shit.

She’s a blur.

She glances over her shoulder, waving to egg me on.

I’m fast, too. I could catch up in seconds. The trouble is, Zeus is allergic to running. Sure, he can tear off in hot pursuit of a small, and likely, tasty bird. But that’s about the extent of his speed footwork. He’s not playing Mia’s game. Instead, he puts one white paw in front of the other and walks.

And walks.

And walks.

“Dude, you’re cock-blocking me,” I mutter to the cat.

He lifts his face and utters an au contraire meow.

“Can you try to at least jog?”

If cats could laugh, Zeus would be doubled over as he strolls after the woman.

“How about a trot? Maybe a power walk?”

A minute later, I’ve caught up to Mia, who’s laughing, her hands on her hips. “I’ll take my medal now, please.”

“And what event is that in?”

“In leaving you in the dust,” she says, shaking her hips back and forth, like a badass trash-talker. I see taking Mia out of the city has made her even feistier.

“I had a handicap. My cat.”

“Aww. Poor Zeus.” She bends to scratch his ears. He stretches up into her palm. “I’m sorry Patrick is blaming you for him being slow.”

I roll my eyes, shaking my head in amusement. “One, I’m not slow. But two, you’re a jackrabbit.”

She rises. “Not a cheetah?”

“Anyone can call you a cheetah. Not everyone knows jackrabbits are the seventh fastest land animal. However,” I say, gesturing to the gray boy by my side, “the humble house cat is not on the list at all. Hence, we stroll today.”

She shrugs and smiles, a grin full of mischief, as we begin our trek. “‘I took a walk in the woods and came out taller than the trees.’”

She’s quoting Thoreau. She’s not helping things at all. I was a lit major in college, and his work inspired me. His writings on nature were my drug. Nope, there’s very little Mia can do, it seems, to make me not want her.

“That’s a good one. But my favorite of his is, ‘If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.’”

“I love that. I even love the simplified version you see in those inspirational quotes.”

“Live the life you’ve imagined,” I begin, and she jumps in to finish with me. “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.”

I smile, impressed.

Her smile spreads, too, shifting from playfulness to warmth. “There’s a shop at SFO Airport that has magnets with all sorts of popular business and life quotes. You know—dream big, work hard, innovate, pivot. I always stop to read them, since they give me a warm glow. But I love that one best. Because I want that life.” She glances at the cat. “Speaking of dreams, it’s one of mine to say I walked a cat. May I?”

I hand her the leash, and she beams. Just fucking beams. And that smile hooks into me, lighting me up, so I step closer, lower my voice, and say, “The reason I said ‘after you’ at the start of the trail is that I’m a gentleman, and I still believe that ladies come first.” I stop, reining in a smirk. “Go first, I mean. Ladies go first.”

Her pupils dilate, and she blinks. Then, her shoulders rise and fall, more dramatically than before. Good. If she’s going to beguile me with quotes from my favorite philosopher–poet, then perhaps I’ll tease her with a little wordplay, too. Of the dirtier variety. The kind that’ll make her imagine. Make her feel. Make her wonder.

“That’s considerate of you. And I do like gentlemen,” she says, a slight catch in her breath when she says like.

Maybe if she weren’t flying home in mere days, I’d follow that with a flirty reply. I’d test the waters, ask what she meant, and if all signs pointed to go, I’d act on it. After all, this is a perfect setting for a kiss. The sun is rising overhead. The sky is a paint can of blue. A canopy of trees frames Mia.

Sunshine, lip gloss, and her. That’s what I’d taste if I pressed my mouth to hers the way I want.

But she’s given no indication she wants a kiss.

I step around her on the path, pointing to a gnarly twig for her to avoid.

“Man-eating variety?” she asks as we walk.

“That one likes speedy women, so be careful.”

“Thanks for the warning. And since you were right about twigs, does that mean you were accurate about snakes on this trail?”

Her voice is calm and even, unlike the way most people talk about snakes. Usually the word comes out in a chilled whisper.

“There are some, sure. We’re outdoors. But you don’t see them too often, and I know how to handle them, so you don’t have to worry.” I study her face, looking for signs of fear. I don’t see any. “You’re not afraid of snakes, are you?”

“Let’s put it this way—I’m not about to curl up on the couch and share popcorn with one, but I can deal with them.”

Something furry, not reptilian, rustles in a bush ahead, and Zeus goes bananas. He lunges, jerking Mia with him, yanking her as he charges after his favorite thing in the world. The one thing he’ll run after forever—a squirrel.

“His greatest dream is to have squirrel for a meal,” I say as Mia gently tugs him away.

“Let me guess. He hasn’t yet achieved that?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. But hope springs eternal.” I cycle back to the conversation. “So, snakes don’t scare you off. What are you afraid of?”

Her answer is immediate. “Balconies,” she says, shuddering.

I arch a brow. “Balconies, as in decks?”

She nods vigorously.

“I’d never have guessed. Max’s apartment is on the twenty-fifth floor.”

She raises a finger as she sidesteps a low branch. “Aha. Therein lies the issue. I’m not afraid of being up high. I’m afraid of standing on a balcony.”

Awareness dawns on me. “You either have the fear of the balcony crumbling under you, or the one where you’ll fling yourself off.”

“The second one. It’s so weird, isn’t it?” she says, her voice full of seeming surprise that she feels this way. As if she doesn’t entirely know what to make of this fear of hers. “I know logically I won’t. I love life, and I don’t have suicidal tendencies. But when I’m on a balcony, I’m supremely aware that I could hoist my leg over and jump off. It’s such a strange fear, Patrick.”

Her tone is intense, but what strikes me the most is the way she says my name. As if there’s a special intimacy to this confession.

“I’ve never admitted that to anyone,” she says, under her breath, almost astonished she gave this fear voice.

I’m pleased—proud, if I’m honest—she chose me for this confidence, but curious as to her reasoning. “Why haven’t you told anyone?”

“Most people wouldn’t understand it,” she says, as a monarch butterfly flutters past my head, flapping its sun-yellow wings. I point to it as she talks, and she smiles, watching it fly away before she goes on. “Most people would worry it means I’m going to launch myself overboard, but that’s not it. It’s just that my brain can see all the horrible things unfolding. Even though I know rationally that I won’t do them, the mind still lets the images unfurl. And that’s how I feel when I stand on a balcony and look down. I feel all the things that could happen, and some ancient human curiosity pokes and prods at me, saying test it out, even though of course I don’t want to.”

“So why’d you tell me if you think sharing this will make people think you’re crazy?”

Her eyes are a darker green than I’ve ever seen before as she answers. “You’re different. You’re not like everyone else.”

And that’s one of those things people say that can rock your world or upend it.