I gasp when I spy Tyler standing under the arch of the clock tower. He hasn’t spotted me yet, so I have a chance to check him out long and slow. The wind and rain from the night before had died down, and the weather’s on the cool side, but not freezing.

He’s wearing a black leather bomber jacket, and his legs are encased in thin black jeans over black boots. The warm blue chambray shirt is open at the collar, and a beaded necklace with an antique Chinese coin hangs around his neck. His hair is trimmed shorter on the sides, but full and wavy on top, and he’s clean shaven.

If you ask me, he doesn’t look like he’s homeless. Could he be pretending for publicity’s sake? Homeless veteran donates entire benefit check to war orphan’s charity.

If so, that would make him a poseur and a phony. I pat down my hair. I’m only meeting him for shopping, not a date, even though I took care to apply lipstick and eyeliner and changed into a bold geometric print handkerchief hemmed dress.

Tyler turns as I draw near, and the way his eyebrows rise when he spies me sends a sizzle of excitement up my spine. It’s the recognition of attraction, the scent of desire, the activation of the primitive mating urge.

His gaze dances over the interlocked diagonal Navajo patterns of my dress. Simmering warmth invades my belly, and I loop my hand around the elbow he offers.

“Hungry?” he asks. “There are quite a few gourmet shops in there with tasty snacks, organic and fair-trade.”

Try expensive. I’m not about to spend the meager amount I saved for Bree, Mom, and Ella’s Christmas gifts on oak-aged balsamic vinegar or smoked chili chocolate truffles. But we’re here, and it’ll be fun to enjoy the sights and smells and pretend to be gourmands.

Tyler leads me through the arched entrance into a tunnel-like steel structure. The ceilings soar high and open with skylights over the bustle and noise of the holiday crowd. A dazzling array of sights and heavenly scents emanate from the storefronts. Long lines queued for basic necessities like coffee and bread.

“Isn’t this place amazing?” Tyler asks, leaning close to speak in my ear. “What would you like? There are raw oysters, artisan breads, truffles.”

“Let’s see if there are any samples.” I squeeze into the olive oil shop where they have bits of bread crust for dipping and tasting.

“Hey, don’t worry about sampling,” Tyler says. “I’ve a bit of money and want to buy you something you’ve never tried before.”

Truthfully, there’s not much I hadn’t enjoyed when I was an investment banker where we drank thousand dollar brandies and laced our bread crusts with caviar. But Tyler doesn’t know this, and I’d rather keep it this way.

“You don’t have to,” I reply. “Let’s walk around and enjoy the sights. We can play a game. You point to something, and I’ll guess whether you’d like it or not.”

We wander from the organic honey display to the stalls selling goat cheese, marvel at the variety of rustic breads and rolls, and sample bourbon-bacon jam on apple biscuits. I’ve seen it all before, and whatever Tyler points to, I’ve a reasonable shot of guessing what a guy from middle America would try, mainly comfortable, American staples like plain biscuits and milk chocolate, hot dog rolls and bland cheese.

“How’d you know I wouldn’t like the Swiss chard blend with Andalusian goat cheese, lobster mushrooms, pine nuts and raisins?” He sticks his tongue out and hands me the empanada he sampled.

I pop it into my mouth. “Mmm … You need to broaden your horizons.”

“Ha, try sitting in a desert chowing down on MREs, packaged army rations, for ten years.”

“I’ve heard Afghan food is quite delectable. The spices are fragrant, and the cooking method is healthy.”

“Never had a chance to mingle with the natives.”

“Then you must go with me to Little Kabul. The kebobs are to die for.” Oops. Did I just say ‘to die?’

“I’m not sure I ever want to go back to anywhere named Kabul.” He exits with me from the empanada shop. “I’m quite satisfied to be back in the good ol’ USA.”

Me? The more hyphenated foreign place names, the better. The only thing I regret about my new, downsized lifestyle is the inability to travel. Someday, I’ll get back into financing and give Bree the opportunity to study abroad and visit all the wonders of the world.

Tyler takes me past a store selling macarons, petite sandwich-like pastries in a plethora of delightful colors and flavors. I pick the mango hot curry, and he gets the plain vanilla. Figures.

“I’m curious about you,” he says. “You seem to be quite at home among this crowd of well-heeled yuppies.”

“I doubt they’d like to be called yuppies.” I laugh. “Hipsters, progressives, trend setters, but definitely not yuppie.”

“Oh, excuse me,” he says, munching on the tiny meringue cookie with the buttercream filling. “Last I checked when I deployed, it was yuppies.”

“We haven’t had yuppies since the eighties. I bet that was back before you were born.”

He quirks his eyebrow. “You’re trying to find out when I was born.”

“I already know. 1982.” I stuff the rest of the crisp, spicy cookie into my mouth. “Same as me.”

“Perfect.”

I wonder what he means by that. We’re the same age. So? The macarons go too fast. They’re really tiny and expensive. Tyler asks me what my mother and Bree’s favorite flavors are and gets back in line to buy a gift box. I wonder where he’s getting all the money.

He shows me the tiny box. “I bought Bree a candy-cane flavor and your mother the double toffee chocolate. There’s a surprise for you too.”

“You didn’t have to.” I hesitate before remembering my manners. “Thank you. It was sweet of you.” And spendy too.

“It’s Christmas.” He takes my hand, and we walk out of the shop. “How was work this morning? You don’t have Christmas break?”

“Not in my line of work.”

“How so?” His tone is casual, but I can tell he’s curious. Part of me doesn’t want to admit I’m in a cleaning service. I mean, I did work in financial services, and this morning I was working the books for the preschool.

“Year end tax planning. We have to make sure we understand the tax situation before the end of the year and make adjustments, take last minute deductions, that kind of thing.”

“You’re an accountant?”

“Part time and volunteer. That was Bree’s preschool I help out with. In exchange, they lower her tuition.”

“What do you do at nights? Your mother says you leave Bree with her every evening.”

I let go of his hand and stop in the middle of a courtyard in front of the statue of Gandhi. I notice he’s missing his glasses again. Vandals break them off as fast as the city can replace them. I take a deep breath, wondering why my mother’s so open with him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” Tyler says, as he leans against the concrete base of the statue.

“It’s okay, we’re trying to get to know each other, so it’s a fair question. The truth is I have a degree in finance from Princeton, but I’m now working as a custodian.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” He puts his arm around me. “Lots of people were downsized.”

“Yeah, true.” I shrink under his scrutiny. “You know what? I’m thirsty. Shall we get something to drink?”

“Good idea.” He scans the sign boards advertising organic smoothies. “I could get you one of those gluten-free, kale, avocado, chia seed concoctions.”

“No way. Hot apple cider toddy with a shot of Jack Daniels for me.” We weave through the crowds back to one of many bistros hawking drinks.

Tyler’s so attentive, making sure my drink’s wrapped in an insulated cardboard holder, sweeping stray strands of hair from my face, even dabbing the side of the cup with a napkin so nothing drips on me.

I can’t help but blush as I notice women darting glances our way, probably wondering why such a striking man is hooked up with me.

His entire focus is on me, as if I’m the only person in the universe. It feels so nice, so different from the way men treated me in the past. Hurried, rushed, one eye on their phone, like every minute was on the meter. But then again, I was that way too. Never one to take time out to smell the roses, walk in the rain with nothing to do but breathe.

“I enjoyed the afternoon and the treats.” My voice comes out too whispery.

“Same here.” He sweeps my hair aside, and right in the middle of the crowded shop, he zeroes in on my lips and kisses me.

Holy moly! His lips and mouth feel too good. I’ve never been ambushed by a man before. Never so unsuspecting and oblivious to his intention. Sure, I’ve only been staring at those lips while sampling the food, and yes, I’m partially melted by his invigorating, strong presence and the heat in his eyes, and the vision of us as a couple, strolling off into the sunset, or sailing on a yacht on warm, balmy seas.

But pounced on and kissed? This doesn’t happen to Kelly Kennedy, the tough-nosed former investment banker, now, a scrappy, single mother who works two jobs.

He turns to deepen the kiss, and I gasp as he slides his tongue between my parted lips. He tastes sweet and fragrant, vanilla tea and almonds, but the scent of him is woodsy, strong, and stimulating, like leather, coffee, and musk.

My body reacts like a flash fire, and I’m hot, needy, and clingy, overwhelmed and engulfed by his spell.

Clap, clap, clap. Seems we have an audience, or maybe the other patrons want us to get a room.

Tyler doesn’t jerk away from me like a guilty child caught with the cookies. He cups the side of my face and lingers, giving me one last soft peck.

“Lovely Kelly,” he whispers. “Another time and another place.”

Is that a promise or a hint of regret?

The sights and sounds of the busy bistro intrude as I back away. I can’t help the feeling of awe of what just happened. No man, no where, has ever moved me, rearranged my heart and priorities and mind and goals in the space of a single kiss.

“What’s wrong with the here and now?” I make an attempt at banter.

He leans in for another kiss and takes my hand. “Let’s go somewhere and get Bree her present.”