Ready for You (Ready #3)(31)

I spoke quickly to divert her attention, “Hey, what’s up?”

“Oh, I was wondering if you wanted to go down for lunch. I mean, if you have time.”

I glanced down at my watch and grimaced. “I’m actually running late.”

She nodded and smiled, but I could see the disappointment in her eyes.

“I’ll make it up to you tonight, I promise.”

“Okay, no problem.”

She looked lost and bewildered, and I felt like a jackass.

But I was not her boyfriend, and I needed to remind myself of that. It was not my job to make her smile and laugh, not anymore.

I closed the door and finished getting ready.

I thought about those sad eyes for the rest of the day.

Chapter Ten

~Mia~

I didn’t know why I had been surprised when he said we were staying in Manhattan. Don’t a lot of people stay in Manhattan when they go to New York City? I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of that.

Why should it matter? It was a gigantic, huge city.

Yet, there I was, lying on the bed with my greasy leftovers from room service and a giant foldout map, looking at the streets of Manhattan.

“Three blocks,” I said to no one.

Three blocks—that was the current distance between my parents and me.

The parents I hadn’t seen in eight years. The parents who had never bothered to contact me in eight years since moving out of my childhood home without so much as a forwarding address.

I was stupid to come here. But when Garrett would ask me to do things, I found it hard to say no. When he’d started talking about doing the things I’d never done as a kid, I’d felt myself melting for Garrett Finnegan all over again.

I’d spent many weekends in this city as a child, but I’d never seen a single part of it. I’d never been to Central Park or gone ice-skating. I’d never seen the lights of Times Square at night or had tea at The Plaza—and I’d stayed at The Plaza.

Garrett wanted to make up for that even though it wasn’t his place, and I wanted to let him. But now that I was here—staring at this map, knowing my parents were in the same city and sharing the same space—I wanted to run. It was what I was good at after all.

I needed to do something, anything to distract myself from the map sitting in front of me. I stood up, grabbed my purse and key card, and made a dash toward the elevator.

One taxi ride later, I ended up at the Met. I’d always loved art, and The Metropolitan Museum of Art seemed like the best way to spend the afternoon. It didn’t require talking or interaction with others—just quiet observation. I could roam through each room as quickly or slowly as I wanted, enjoying each piece of art as I went.

Around the second hour of my visit, I came into a room filled with children on a field trip. They had a docent leading them, patiently asking them questions and answering theirs. They were very well-behaved for being so young. I quietly snuck behind them and immersed myself in the painting on the far wall.

“She’s pretty,” a little girl said to my right.

She was petite with long brown hair and a cute button nose. Her eyes were green, and she had the same uniform on as every other child in the room.

“Yes, she is,” I said in reference to the ballerina in the painting.

“I want to be a painter when I grow up.”

“You do? I think that’s wonderful. Do you paint at home?” I asked.

“Yes, Mommy bought me all sorts of paints. She even got me an easel for Christmas!”

“Wow, you are a very lucky little girl! How old are you?”

“Seven,” she answered, holding her fingers out to show me.

My heart lurched for a second, and I nodded. “You are very grown-up for your age.”

“That’s what my daddy says. He says I was born middle-aged. What does that mean?”

I snorted a bit, but I covered it up with my hand.

“I think your daddy just finds you very mature for your age.”

She beamed, obviously understanding the meaning of the word mature.

Someone called the group, and the little girl said her good-byes, waving as she went.

Then, I was alone again.

I wasn’t much in the mood for being alone anymore after that, so I headed back to the hotel. The taxi pulled up to the curb just as Garrett was walking up to the front entrance.

He looked handsome in his dark gray suit and teal tie. He had a laptop bag strapped over his shoulder and looked the part of sophisticated businessman. Just as he was about to enter the hotel, he turned and caught my eye as I was stepping out of the cab.

He didn’t say anything. He just watched as I took the few steps closing the gap between us.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

“Where did you spend your day?” he asked, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.

I didn’t even think he’d realized he’d done it until my breath faltered. He hastily tucked his hands in his pockets.

“I went to the Met.”

“Ah, good choice,” he said, abruptly turning.

We both stepped forward and entered the hotel. We talked about the museum during our short elevator ride. He asked me several questions about which pieces were my favorite, and he told me his.

“So, you have something to make up to me?” I said as I slipped the card into my door to unlock my room.