The Last Seat on the 6:15

Nora ran for the train the same way she ran everything in her life a little too late, entirely too optimistic and made it through the closing doors with exactly one second to spare, breathless, triumphant, and completely out of open seats.

Except one. Next to a man with headphones in, a paperback open on his lap, and the specific energy of someone who'd clearly hoped no one would sit there.

"Is this taken?" Nora asked, already knowing the answer, already lowering herself into it before he could object.

He pulled one headphone out, glanced at her, and something in his expression shifted not annoyance, exactly, more like recognition of a person he'd have to actually deal with for the next forty minutes. "It's yours now, apparently."

"Thank you for your resigned generosity." Nora settled her bag at her feet, glancing at his book. "Is that any good? I've been meaning to read it for months and kept getting distracted."

"It's good if you like being emotionally destroyed by page two hundred," he said. "Fair warning."

"I contain multitudes. I can handle it." She held out her hand before she could think better of it. "Nora."

He looked at her hand for a beat too long, like this wasn't a normal thing strangers did on trains, then shook it anyway. "Sam."

"Well, Sam, since we're apparently doing introductions where are you headed on this fine, chronically delayed train?"

"Home, hopefully. You?"

"Same, in theory. My sister's wedding rehearsal starts in" Nora checked her phone, wincing, "forty-two minutes, which I will absolutely not make on time, but I'm choosing to remain positive about it."

Sam almost smiled. "That's an admirable amount of denial."

"It's a skill. Takes years to cultivate."

The train rattled forward, and somewhere between her recounting the wedding-planning disaster her sister had spiraled into and Sam reluctantly admitting he was reading the book for the third time because he apparently enjoyed suffering, forty minutes passed faster than either of them expected.

The intercom crackled: Next stop, Elm Street.

"That's me," Sam said, marking his page, standing with visible reluctance.

"Wait," Nora said, surprising herself with how much she meant it. "This is going to sound forward, but can I get your number? I feel like we were robbed of finding out if you actually recommend that book or if you're a masochist."

Sam paused in the aisle, considering her with an expression that had gone from resigned to something warmer. "Little of both, honestly." He pulled out his phone. "Give me yours. I'll text you so you have mine."

Nora recited it, watching him type, feeling unreasonably pleased with herself for a decision made with zero forethought and complete confidence anyway.

"Good luck at the rehearsal," he said, the doors opening behind him. "Try not to be too on time. Ruins your whole personality."

Nora laughed, watching him step off, and looked down at her phone as a new message came through before the doors had even closed.

New message: For the record, I do recommend the book. Also I don't usually give my number to strangers on trains. You're an exception. Not sure what that says about either of us.

Nora smiled at her phone the rest of the ride, forty-two minutes and one missed rehearsal be damned.

to be continued... 🚆💛