In a New York Minute(29)

“And we’ve decided to go out again,” Lola said. “So now I guess we’re telling you.”

Well, this was a turn of events. I opened my mouth to say my goodbyes and let them get back to it when Lola cut me off.

“Wait,” she said, her eyes shifting from apologetic to suspicious. “Why are you here?”

“I told Cleo I’d peek in. I had no idea this was happening.”

Lola dug her phone out of her purse. “No signal,” she said, holding the screen in my direction.

“Okay, well. Have fun, you two,” I said, giving Lola one last “holy crap” look.

“Yeah, enjoy yourselves,” Hayes said next to me, which made me laugh. I’m sure they’d do more than that. “We’ll leave you to it.”

His hand ever so gently rested on the small of my back, a slight nudge toward the door that lasted just a second—so barely there I almost missed it. But in that instant, it had felt both achingly familiar and shockingly new. His touch sent a ripple of excitement through my body so strong that the aftershocks bounced around my stomach as we walked out of the bar and into the arms of the city, together.





Chapter Six

Hayes



Outside, the sun was long gone but the city was still bright, lit up against the backdrop of the night sky. Franny’s mouth was agape as she fished around in her bag for something. “Well,” she said, her attention focused on finding whatever it was she was looking for. “This is not how I expected my night to go.”

I patted my pocket to make sure my key and credit card were still there. I caught her eyes, and for the first time since we met on the subway that morning in May, I got a clear look at them. Somehow, though they were the coolest of greens, they were lit up, bright and electric. “I didn’t either,” I said in agreement. I looked at my watch; this little detour had knocked twenty minutes off my run.

“So, your best friend…,” I started, not knowing exactly what I was going to ask.

“I mean,” she said, and her mouth opened in a confused smile, “what the hell?”

“Well, it sounds like they didn’t make the connection until—”

“Until after they started making out?” she said, giggling.

I stood there, hand at my neck, still slightly stunned by the entire situation.

“Of all the women in New York, she picks up your cousin. In a bathroom. Your cousin.”

She seemed surprised, but also like this was the best news she’d heard all day. “Sometimes this city is magic.”

My brows raised as I dug a hand through my hair. Still sweaty. “New York City is just a small town with a lot of people in it.”

“Didion?” she asked, a pleased look on her face.

“Didion?” I asked back. “No. I just, made that up.”

“Wow, impressive. You should consider switching careers.” She gave me a look and then stuck her tongue out at me.

“Cute,” I said. My voice was sarcastic, but it was also true. She was cute.

“Sorry, I’m just…,” she said; then her tone shifted into something more serious. “Today’s kinda turned into a bummer. Though seeing your face as you figured out what was going on back there did make it a lot better.”

And with that, she perked up again.

“Oh yeah?” I asked. “What did my face look like?” I was genuinely curious.

She opened her mouth in a wide, horrified O and shifted her eyes back and forth. She looked absurd, like that Kit-Cat Klock, with the moving eyes, that Perrine had in her kitchen. I laughed, not just at the ridiculous face she was making, but at the way she did everything so freely. I wasn’t used to being around someone like her, a person who sparkled so bright it felt like their energy could rub off on you, just a bit.

Her mouth shifted into a smile. “I should head back to Brooklyn,” she said.

“Where do you live?” I asked.

“Brooklyn Heights. I’m going to walk over to the N train.”

“Let me,” I started, then rephrased what I wanted to say after she caught my eye, her brows raised. “May I walk with you?” I asked. “I’m going uptown.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding her head along with the syllables, her lips pressed together.

We walked an entire half block together in silence. I tried to avoid her gaze, keeping my eyes on the lush green of the trees, my focus on the infectious sounds coming from outdoor cafés: laughter and clinking of drinks. Normally, I loved New York City when it hinted at summer. But my thoughts quickly switched back to my empty, sterile apartment, and I racked my brain for something else to think about. I was about to ask her how work was going when she stopped abruptly and gasped.

“What?” I asked, looking around, genuinely confused.

“Italian ice,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, pointing to the white food truck parked on the corner. “This is exactly what I need tonight. If I’m gonna go broke, I’m gonna do it with Italian ice.”

She started toward the truck. “You don’t have to wait,” she added. “But I’m getting some.”

I wanted to wait, since it would mean more time with her.

“I don’t mind,” I said, though I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten ice cream or a Popsicle from an actual ice cream truck, much less Italian ice. Middle school?