by Jen Morris
I turn and watch the streets around us change as we leave the Village and head uptown. Slowly, the low, residential buildings give way to more skyscrapers and office blocks, more glass and steel, until eventually, we pull up outside the beautiful facade of Grand Central Terminal.
I rummage in my bag for money to pay the driver, but Michael just hands over his credit card with a smile.
“I’ve got it,” he says, and my stupid brain adds a point to the mental “date” column it seems to be running.
Stop it, now.
We step out onto the sidewalk and have to cross the road and walk back to take in the facade, it’s so huge. It’s like something out of ancient Rome, with its massive stone columns and arched windows, completely at odds with the modern buildings surrounding it. Above the main entrance is the clock and winged statue; beautiful and iconic.
“Will you think I’m a total dork if I take pictures?”
Michael laughs, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. “Not at all.”
I pull my phone out and snap some photos of the facade. Then I turn around to take a selfie in front of the building and Michael reaches for my phone.
“Here, I’ll take it.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling a blush spread over my cheeks despite the cold air. “Okay.” I pose in front of the building, trying not to feel like a total fool with him watching me.
He hands the phone back with a smile. “You want to go in? It’s really cool.”
I nod and follow him back across the road and in through the glass doors onto the concourse. It takes me a second to adjust to everything—the echo of footsteps and voices, the cavernous ceiling above us, the dim lighting—but when I do I just gape around in awe.
This place is spectacular. The curved ceiling stretches what feels like miles above us, painted in the most intense green-blue, overlaid with intricate gold detailing of the zodiac. At each end of the marble concourse is a stone staircase leading up to a balcony, and there are huge arched windows along the walls. All around me, people are milling from doorways to corridors leading off to different tracks, and an announcement comes on over the loudspeaker which makes it feel like I’m in the middle of some grand airport.
“Wow,” I breathe, wide-eyed. Even though people are weaving past me, hurrying to get to important places, I’m rooted to the spot, trying to absorb everything.
“I know, isn’t it beautiful?” Michael watches me for a moment, then gives me a gentle nudge. “I’ll go grab us a coffee. What do you want?”
I break out of my trance and turn to him. “That’s okay, I can—”
“No, you wander around and take it in. I’ll grab something from over there”—he gestures to a coffee stand—“and be right back.”
“Okay. Um, just a cappuccino, thanks. Here.” I reach into my bag for cash but he shakes his head.
“I’ve got it. You go look around, I’ll come find you.” And he wanders off to the coffee stand while my mind does another mental tally in the “date” column.
Still, it’s hardly a date if he’s running off at the first chance, is it?
With a sigh I turn and wander, trying to absorb everything around me. Everywhere I look there’s someone doing something interesting, or some beautiful detail in the marble and stone. I climb the stairs at one end and snap a few photos overlooking the concourse, trying to capture the magic I feel at being here.
A few moments later Michael appears at my side, handing me a coffee. “I got you a muffin too. I hope you like chocolate.”
I take the muffin and coffee with a surprised smile. “Thank you. That’s really sweet.”
He gives a little chuckle. “I’m a sweet guy once you get to know me.”
I let my eyes linger on him. He is sweet, I’m coming to see, and it’s killing me.
Fixing my gaze back on the concourse below, I sip my coffee, watching the people milling about. “I love to people-watch,” I say after a while.
“Yeah?”
I nod. “I like to imagine who people are and what their lives are like. I wonder about where they’re going and what they’re thinking.”
Michael scrubs a hand over his beard, watching the people below. “Most of them are on their phones with their earphones in. They’re probably all zoned out.”
“Maybe. Or maybe they’re texting someone they love to tell them they miss them, or they’re checking their dating app to see if anyone has connected with them, or they’re putting on their favorite song to cheer themselves up after something bad has happened…” I trail off, and when Michael doesn’t say anything, I look down at my coffee with a grimace.
Way to get carried away, Alex.
But Michael angles his body towards mine. “Maybe,” he murmurs. There’s a warmth in his eyes, a tiny line between his brows as he contemplates me, like he’s trying to figure something out.
“I know it’s silly,” I mumble. “But—”
“It’s not.”
I feel his gaze on me while I sip my coffee, and when I finally glance back at him, he huffs a laugh, looking down at his cup with a funny little smile. My heart stumbles and I force myself to look away before I put any more scores in my mental “date” column.
I focus back on the beautiful architecture around us, trying to ignore Michael’s presence right beside me, trying to pretend I’m not desperately wishing he would lean over and kiss me under the ceiling of stars.
18
Well, Times Square was just as chaotic and crazy as it was the first time I attempted to visit. But somehow, with Michael there, I felt fine. Mostly it was just crowded with tourists and people peddling souvenirs, but it was fun to see the lights and everything.
And Michael was even cool with getting a big pretzel from one of those street vendors, which surprised me. He’s a real New Yorker and I thought he might turn his nose up at something so cliché, but when I said I was going to get one, he grinned and bought one for himself, too.
The highlight, so far, has to be Top of the Rock. And I can see why he chose it over the Empire State Building. Because when you go up Top of the Rock, you get to see the whole skyline, including the Empire State Building.
And it’s breathtaking.
I knew there was a reason I chose New York, but while I was busy running around the West Village I’d let myself forget about the rest of the place. This city, though, it’s something else. It’s alive, it’s buzzing with life and possibility. God, I know it’s so cheesy, but it does feel like the place where dreams can come true.
By the early afternoon we’re down at Rockefeller Plaza, watching the ice-skaters on the rink below. Across the rink stands a huge Christmas tree, lit from head to toe in a rainbow of sparkling lights, above the famous gold statue. The whole place feels like something out of a film, but I find myself thinking I’m not going to get the happy ending I’ve always wanted. I hate to admit it, but it’s true. Just because I’ve realized happily ever afters are only for romance novels, doesn’t mean a tiny part of me isn’t still wishing for it.
I sneak a glance at Michael. He’s leaning on the railing watching the skaters below, his eyes creased at the corners in that little smile of his. I know I’ve been pretty obsessed with his looks since I first laid eyes on him, but with every passing moment I’m learning more and more about the kind of man that he is, and I can’t help but like him—the real him, underneath his handsome exterior. It’s kind of freaking me out. He’s so oblivious to my feelings, even though I’m quite sure they’re all over my face every time I look at him.
Either that or he’s just politely ignoring them. Perhaps that’s closer to the truth.
He turns to me now, catching me staring. The crinkles around his eyes deepen and I turn away as heat spreads across my neck.
Fuck, I’m just mooning over him like a schoolgirl with a crush on a teacher or something. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid—slipping into fantasies and daydreams. All it takes is a few hours in the company of a hot guy and I
turn right back into my old self. I spent all morning pretending we were on a date, for Christ’s sake. What is wrong with me?
“You all good?” Michael asks, bumping his shoulder against mine. His breath comes out in a white cloud in front of us.
I force a bright smile. “Of course.” I pull my phone out and take a few pictures of the ice rink. When I turn the phone around for a selfie, he reaches for it. I try my best to look normal as he takes my picture, but I’m not sure I quite pull it off.
Then he stands beside me, switching to the front camera and leaning close. And there on the screen of my phone is the pair of us, side-by-side, in front of the ice rink. Michael grins into the camera, and I watch as my own face lights up, gazing at the two of us together. We’d make a cute couple. Before I can stop myself, I’m imagining what it might be like if he was my boyfriend, taking a picture of us for a holiday card or a photo frame to put on the mantelpiece.
He smiles as he hands the phone back. “Send me those.”
“Oh. Sure.” I flick through the pictures and he leans over my shoulder, looking too. My breathing goes shallow with him so close, with his warmth pressing against my back. It takes all my strength to keep my eyes on my phone—to not turn around and slip my arms inside his coat and snuggle into the heat of him.
“That one.” He points to one of the selfies of the two of us. Then he reaches over and flicks back through the photos until we get to the ones he took of me. And I definitely do not look normal—I look manic. But Michael adds, “And that one.”
Confusion swirls through me as I forward both the pictures. I don’t know what he wants with a picture of me posing like an idiot. Maybe he thinks it’s funny, like all the other things about me he finds so amusing.
I pocket my phone and lean forward on the railing, gazing across the rink. “The tree is beautiful. It must look amazing at night.”
“Yeah.” Michael leans back beside me. “It’s stunning in the dark.”
I feel myself wilt a little. I’d love to see it, but I’m not sure I’ll come back uptown alone at night just for that.
My gaze lands on the skaters below and I turn to Michael hopefully. I might not get to see the tree sparkle in the dark, but there’s something else we could do.
“You want to skate?”
He raises his eyebrows. “What, now?”
“Sure. It would be magical, ice-skating here.”
He chuckles. “You’ll need gloves. Do you have gloves?”
I nod, gesturing to my bag. “Do you?”
He taps his coat pocket with a smile.
“Can we?”
“Well, we could.” A self-conscious laugh chuffs out of him. “I’m not very good. My balance is terrible. It’s hard to skate when you’re this tall.”
I trail my eyes over him. He is tall—I’m guessing six foot four, or so. But still, he’s pretty built and he goes to the gym, so I know he’s fit. Much fitter than me, that’s for sure.
“Seriously?” I give him a teasing smile. “I thought you were really athletic. You can handle it.”
“How do you know I’m athletic?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “You just look—”
“Super fit?”
“Shut up,” I mumble, glancing away.
He shuffles closer on the rail, nudging his shoulder against mine. “Let’s do it.”
I turn to him, and there’s a flutter behind my ribcage because he’s so close. “Really?”
“Yeah. It’s your first winter in New York. Let’s ice skate at Rockefeller Center.”
A thrill runs through me and I push away from the railing, looking around for the entrance to the rink.
“But no laughing at me,” he adds, attempting a serious face.
I shove him with a giggle. “Oh, I’m not promising that.”
19
If ever there was a perfect scenario in which I would make a dick of myself in front of Michael, it would probably be on ice. The rink looked so magical from up on the Plaza, but now that we’ve got our skates on, I’m seriously questioning this decision. I haven’t been ice-skating since I was a kid.
But I’m pleasantly surprised to find that it only takes me a few goes around, holding the railing, to find some confidence. Turns out it’s kind of like riding a bike, and it’s not long before I can push away from the side and glide across the ice, even if I am a bit wobbly. I barely notice the cold anymore as I look around, trying to take in the fact that I’m here, ice skating in New York City.
Michael, however, wasn’t kidding when he said he couldn’t skate. I didn’t realize how difficult his height would make this, but he can’t find his balance properly and he sticks close to the sides. It’s odd to see him so out of his depth—this big guy, afraid of falling on his ass. Everything is turned on its head and I’m the one who’s capable, who’s watching as he flounders. I can’t say that I don’t enjoy the shift in the power dynamic.
Still, after a while I start to feel bad. Every time I glance over he sends me a weak smile, and I can tell he isn’t having a good time.
I skate across and lean against the railing beside him. “We can go now if you want.”
“What? No way. I’m having fun.”
I look at his hands as they grip onto the railing for dear life, and stifle a laugh.
He follows my gaze. “Yeah, okay,” he says with a chuckle, loosening his grip. “I’m not great. I warned you about that. You’re a natural, though.”
I flash him a grin, doing a little twirl on the ice, my coat swirling out around me. His cheeks dimple and he pushes off the railing towards me. My heart almost stops as his gloved hand slides into mine, and we tentatively set off to do a loop together.
Together.
Wow. It’s like I’m in a dream, ice skating at Rockefeller rink, hand-in-hand with him. Any minute I’m going to wake up on the sofa in my old flat, with drool down my face and the imprint of the TV remote on my forehead.
But that doesn’t happen. Instead, I try to keep Michael steady as we make our way around, loving the way his big hand feels in mine, the way he tightens his grip when he feels like he’s going to fall.
We make it around the rink without touching the sides, Michael beaming at me the whole time. I giggle at his expression, at how proud he is of something so silly.
He squeezes my hand. “Thanks for making me do this, Alex.” His whole face is alive in a way I’ve never seen and I squeeze back, my heart somersaulting in my chest. It would be so easy to pull him towards me, to reach up and press my lips to his. I practically have him captive, after all. He could hardly make a getaway on those unsteady legs.
I give in to the daydream edging its way into my mind: Michael’s strong arms tightening around me and pulling me close, the warmth from his touch rushing over me despite the ice. I imagine what the brush of his lips might feel like over mine, how his eyes would crinkle in that sweet way as he gazes down at me, so gorgeous that I can’t see anything else. My stomach fills with butterflies at the thought and a little ache tugs at me.
But Michael drops my hand and I swallow, forcing myself to push the image away. I’ve spent way too much time writing my romance novel.
I watch as he carefully skates a few feet away from me, testing his legs. Then he turns, his eyes bright as they meet mine. He goes to push off and skate back to me, but something happens and he loses his balance. I watch in horror as he wobbles, his arms windmilling at his sides, his skates slipping out in front of him as he tries to stop his fall.
But it’s inevitable. His legs shoot out from under him and he lands on his back with a huge thump.
“Michael!” I skate over and drop to my knees beside him, my pulse whipping through me.
He’s gasping for breath and I realize he’s winded from the fall. I grab his arm, helping to pull him up to a sitting position. People whiz past us, and I can feel the wet from the ice seeping through my tights, but I don’t care. I’m too worried about him.
He manages to suck in a breath, and I feel him squeeze my hand again. That’s when I realize I’m holding his hand and clutching his arm in concern. I try to loosen my grip but my hands won’t listen.
“Whoops,” he says with an embarrassed smile. He attempts a laugh but it turns into a wince.
“Have you hurt yourself?”
He rotates his left shoulder and nods.
“Fuck,” I mutter, glancing around. There’s no way I can pull him to his feet by myself.
“It’s okay. I can get up.” He drops my hand and winces again as he awkwardly clambers to his feet.
I push up to stand and take his arm, helping him over to the exit where we climb out. He takes a seat at a table, but I’m too worried to sit. I hover beside him, wanting to rub his back and soothe him, but not wanting to hurt him more.
He tests his shoulder again, grimacing in pain, and guilt chews through me.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, wringing my hands. This is all my fault. He said he didn’t want to go and I forced him.
He looks up at me. “What? Why?”
“Because I made you skate. And, shit, now you’re going to have to go to the hospital and it’s going to cost you a fortune in medical bills because you have no bloody public health care over here.” I rub my forehead. He has every right to be mad at me—I couldn’t blame him.
But Michael’s eyes just glitter in that amused way they do when he thinks I’m being silly. “I have insurance,” he says, rotating his shoulder again. “But I don’t think it’s that bad. Maybe just get me some ice?”
“Erm…” I glance at the ice rink and back at him, and he laughs, then winces. “Okay, okay,” I say, looking around for one of the skate-rink attendants. At that moment a guy in a blazer comes running over to us. There’s a lanyard around his neck with his name—Barnaby.
“That was quite a tumble!” he says jovially, but there’s an air of nervousness about him.
