It just so happened that my home in Manhattan was situated on the corner of a busy intersection where there was always a never-ending parade of fancy streetcars, primped carriages, and just about every type of person the city of New York had to offer. I think most people would hate to live on a street where there is so much commotion--my mother complained about it often enough--but I embraced it with open arms.

I could sit for hours in the drawing room, watching the swarms of people pass by the windows; I would never get bored. People just fascinate me, because not one is the same as the next and they all have their own story to tell.

Seamlessly I worked my way into the current of people traveling toward the nearest corner. Waiting for a break in the carriages, I was surrounded by the black overcoats of businessmen still trying to find their way to work. Impatiently, I jingled the coins that were trapped in my fist and listened with my trained ear for the one voice that I wanted to hear above all others; the voice that haunted me in the dead of the night.

"Extra! Extra! 'Nother tenement up in flames. Six people dead. Police suspect foul play."

Although it was impossible for me to see him, I knew who belonged to that voice; he was one of the many newsboys that sold for the likes of Mr. Pulitzer and Mr. Hearst. He was the newsboy who alway sold on my corner. I like to think of him as my newsboy, though he is anything but mine.

I stepped forward, crossing the street with the crowd; my fingertips tingled with anticipation. The crowd split, hurrying off in different directions and I got the first glimpse of him, waving a single copy of the newspaper over his head--the rest in a pile by his feet--shouting at the top of his voice. His eyes swept through the streams of people, trying to lure them into a purchase.

He caught my gaze and our eyes locked onto one anothers. He held that same expectant gaze that I had grown to love over the past year. We exchanged smiles; it was nothing more than a pleasant acknowledgement, but my heart fluttered with a desire that would never be fulfilled. Swallowing those feelings, I asked him the same question that I ask everyday,

"May I have one newspaper, please?"

He nodded with a smile and passed a single copy of the newspaper to me. I took it and then dropped the two nickels into his ink-stained hand, wishing that it could be my hand in their place. His voice filled my head with the words that would linger in my mind for hours when I returned home.

"Thank you, miss," he said with his bright smile.

My heart gave another flutter as I thanked him. Slowly and almost unwillingly I turned to leave. I struggled to resist the urge to turn back to him--to have the conversation with him that I have replayed over and over in my mind. I wanted to, but I knew it was best if I did not.

And then the unexplainable happened. I will never know how it happened, or perhaps why, but the bracelet that I was wearing slipped from my wrist. And being in a silly, lovestruck daze, I was none the wiser. I just continued on my merry way, back across the street toward home. Just as I had stepped onto the opposite corner, I heard his voice again, calling out urgently over the hundreds of other voices. When I looked back over my shoulder and I saw him weaving through the crowd, I realized he was shouting at me.

Instantly I seemed to lose all feeling in my limbs as I waited for him to catch up, wondering what he could possibly want.

"Excuse me, miss? Ya dropped yer bracelet," he said breathlessly, holding out the silver band in his hand.

I tried to hide my delight with an expression of confusion and sincere gratitude; I was grateful for his discovery, but I was more intrigued by the extended interaction we were about to have. I took the bracelet from, hooking it back around my wrist.

"Thank you so much!" I gushed, unable to help myself. "I did not even notice it was missing! It was kind of you to return it. Is there anything I might do for you?"

The words just spilled from my mouth before I had been able to think them through properly. I held my breath as he seemed to be deliberating my daring proposal; he had no idea that I would have done anything he asked of me.


A/N: I would love to know what you think so far! Thanks!