In a New York Minute(70)

“Okay, then,” she said as she tugged me closer. “Let’s go get that table.”





Chapter Twenty-One

Franny



Relief. All I felt was relief. What a strange, intoxicating sensation. Why had I resisted this in the first place? It was warm, and easy, like the summer air outside. The first margarita slipped down my throat like an oyster, smooth and fast and without thought. By the second drink, brought out with our dinner, Hayes’s cheeks were bright and red, the edge of his calf resting between my legs under the table. It felt electric and daring, a breaking of the rules. They were just our legs, and having them touch was totally G-rated. But something about the heavy weight of him against me below the gray marble top of the café table, while our hands rested chastely above, felt more erotic and dirty than anything I’d ever done before.

“I’ve never seen Grease.” Hayes wrinkled his nose in embarrassment. We were swapping stories, small facts about ourselves, our families. A few minutes ago, he’d asked, “What is something that everyone else has done but you?”

So far I had seen his “I’ve never played golf, even though I look like I have” and raised him with “I’ve never been to Disney World and don’t want to.”

And now, this horrifying reveal. “Grease,” I gasped, in exaggerated horror, “is a classic.”

He shrugged and took a pull of his beer. “I’m a monster, what can I say.”

“Do you know any of the songs at least?” I asked, truly horrified.

“Something something summer romance, something something at the high school dance?” he guessed, shimmying slightly in his seat, dancing along to a totally botched attempt at “Summer Nights.” The sight of him like that, the top of his collared shirt unbuttoned, his hair slightly ruffled, the small hint of sweat on his brow, being so unabashedly and unselfconsciously silly, tripped my heart up. I burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” I said in between gasping hysterics. “You’re a disaster.”

Hayes was doubled over too, his grin wider than I’d ever seen it. It revealed an entirely new face, one that was bright and boyish. It made me do a double take, like when you see someone you think you know on the street, only to realize it wasn’t them at all. Except in this case, it was still him.

“That’s probably why my marriage ended,” he said, swinging his drink back again.

I stared at him, surprised. “Sorry,” he said. “Too much gallows humor? TMI?”

“No, not at all.” I reached my hand across the table, gave his forearm a squeeze. “And I know that you’re joking, but I don’t really think you’re a disaster.”

He smiled at this. “Ever since my marriage ended, Perrine’s constantly trying to psychoanalyze why my relationships never last long. Doctor brain.”

I ran a finger along the bottom of my glass, where the base met the warm, stained wood of the table. “And what has the doctor concluded?”

Hayes shifted uncomfortably in his chair and laid an arm across his chest, stretching it with the other. “Oh, you know, some diagnosis that involves me needing to open up, work less, consider being more vulnerable.”

“Well,” I said dismissively. “She’s just a surgeon. What does she know?”

And with this, Hayes straight-up snorted and let out a laugh so hard the couple behind us turned their heads to give a disapproving stare. We made wide, obvious eyes at each other, mocking our neighbors, and sat in an easy silence for a moment, drinking.

“And what do you think?” I asked quietly, taking him in.

He was silent for a minute, looking over my shoulder and then back at me. “I spent a long time after my divorce thinking I was a person who just wasn’t good in relationships. But lately, I’ve been realizing it was because I was with the wrong people. Not that I’m not partially responsible for things not working out, of course. But I’m learning to ease up on myself a bit about it.”

“Is that what happened with Serena?” I kept a cool face as I asked this, but inside I still felt that swell of not-quite-good-enough nerves.

“Oh yeah.” He nodded. “We were not at all a fit. But what I realized is that sometimes it can feel safer to be with the wrong person than to find someone who really feels right.”

He looked at me and then looked away, taking another swig of his beer. Thank god he couldn’t see how my heart was thundering around my chest. He pointed his glass at me. “That was too serious. Your turn.”

“Okay, don’t judge,” I said. “I’ve never had gelato.”

“You’re half-Italian.” Hayes gave me a puzzled look, his brows pinched. “How is that even possible?”

“When I was a kid, I just preferred Popsicles over ice cream. Italian ice, remember?”

“But gelato.” He was still aghast. “Not even once?”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “I mean, my mom’s family is Irish!”

Hayes tipped back his cup and gulped down the dregs of his beer. “Come on,” he said, pushing his chair back and grabbing his credit card from where the server had left it.

I stared up at him from the table. “You’re going to make me go get gelato, aren’t you?” I felt a smile sneaking out from behind my pursed lips.