Brad had been watching me watch our neighbor every time he stepped onto the elevator.

We lived in a 20-floor high-rise, circa 1970-something. The place had retro charm but was well staffed and maintained. It also happened to include a cornucopia of people. Old, young, middle-aged, flamboyant, boring, and in between. It was a true melting pot, and Brad and I loved it.

The object of my attention was about 30 — a good 15 years younger than me — and dressed like he’d stepped out of a men’s magazine, one my husband would never bother to pick up. But I would. I liked all kinds of magazines. And all kinds of men.

That day I had to stifle a smile as he got off on the fifth floor to head home to his apartment.

“You should approach him,” Brad said once the doors had... Read More