“This is the most fun I’ve had in years, I swear.” He stops again, taking me by the hand and pulling me in. “There’s this picture from Times Square that’s pretty famous …”
I don’t have time to catch up to what he’s getting at before he has me bent back over his arm. I barely even have time to close my eyes before he’s kissing me just like in the old photo of the sailor and the nurse.
CHAPTER EIGHT
By the time we reach Central Park, Paxton is carrying his getup. It’s one thing to wear it in the square with so many bright lights and passing cars and people taking goofy pictures.
Not that the park is any less crowded on a night like this. The perfect night for a walk, clear and cool.
“I guess you don’t need to be told there’s been, like, a million movie scenes shot here.”
“I’ve gotta admit, I had no idea it was so big.”
“Oh, sure. You could walk around every day for a week and find something new every time.”
“Isn’t it dangerous at night?”
“It used to be a lot worse back in the day—at least, that’s the way my parents made it sound whenever I asked if I could hang out here with my friends. Back before I was born, it must’ve been much worse.”
“My mama was very cautious with her boys. Wanted us to be strong and tough but didn’t so much want us to get out there with the oil workers, risking getting hurt.”
“I’m sure that couldn’t have been easy for any of you to deal with.”
He grins. “Daddy wouldn’t have it. She was acting like a woman—like a fool, I guess he meant. I don’t share that opinion,” he’s quick to add.
“I hope not.”
“Nah, Daddy’s in the past. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell him for a long time. He didn’t settle down until he was in his late forties. I was born just after his fifty-first birthday, and I’m the oldest.”
“He’s that old?” I have to clap a hand over my mouth after that one.
His eyes widen. “Uh, yeah, he is.”
“Sorry,” I whisper, cringing. “I saw him at the ball, and I thought he was in his sixties.”
“He’s the healthiest person in the world—if you listen to him anyway.” He snickers. There’s fondness there though; it’s obvious. “He takes an ice-cold shower every morning of his life, gets plenty of fresh air and exercise. He also smokes cigars, laughs at the idea of eating vegetables, and drinks a glass of whiskey after dinner every night. If not more.”
“You must have good genes in your family.”
“That’s the truth. His daddy was a hundred and three when he passed, and the one before that was in his late nineties and on his fourth wife by the time he went toes up.”
“Strong stock? Is that what they call it?”
“Yeah, that’s what they call it. You sound like a rancher already.”
“I’m a quick study.”
Somehow, his hand finds mine, and that’s nice. Strolling together like this with the glow of countless lamps lighting our way, we might as well be in an old Hollywood romance.
Except for the kids goofing off on their skateboards and a random dog pooping not far from where we’re walking. Things like that never happened in the old movies.
“What does the rest of your week look like?” he asks in a soft voice.
“I’ll be working whenever I can get the words down. Otherwise, I don’t do much.”
He lets out a snort like he doesn’t believe me. “No way.”
“Yes way.” I shoot him a look. “Why so skeptical?”
“You’re in the middle of the whole world here. There has to be a thousand things to do every night.”
“I’m sure there is,” I allow. “I’m more of a homebody. I probably work too much, and most of that work ends up getting done at night. The actual writing part anyway. I edit myself better during the day.”
“I admire your dedication. Not everybody can push themselves to work so hard without a boss breathing down their neck. I wish I had a handful of people like you working under me.”
“I do have an editor who does her fair share of breathing down my neck now that you mention it, but I know it could be much worse. She’s not a micromanager, thank goodness. I can’t stand being micromanaged.”
“Another way we’re alike. It drives my father crazy when I push back on the way he wants to manage everything. It’s time for him to step down, you know?” He lets me lead him down another path, taking us closer to the pond.
“I bet he doesn’t like that much.”
The man I observed at the ball was boisterous, magnetic, energetic.
“If you want to put it mildly, no. He doesn’t like it. But he’s back in the past. His thinking, his methods. We’re suffering because he won’t …”
I wait for more, but he goes silent for a long time. After the way he raised his voice, the sudden silence is deafening.
“I’m sorry,” he eventually sighs. “I didn’t mean to get worked up. I tend to do that when I’m talking about him, about the business.”
“You don’t have to apologize. And if there’s anything you want to get off your chest, I promise it won’t end up in any book ever.” I make an X over my chest with one finger.
He holds my hand a little tighter. “Thanks. But really, I’m not out with you to talk about work. Any man stupid enough to waste time with you on complaining about work is too stupid to run a company, I’ll tell you that much.”
“You should be the writer. You have a way with words.”
I look across the water, toward Gapstow Bridge. “You should see it out here in winter. When there’s snow on the ground, in the trees. When everything is so still and quiet from the snow muffling the noise. Sometimes, you can actually hear the flakes landing. It’s incredible.”
“It sounds incredible.”
We sit on a bench, facing the water. It seems natural, leaning against him. Letting his arm close around my shoulders. Letting my head touch that shoulder, resting it there.
It’s probably wrong to let myself fall for him so soon. I know it.
But I can’t help it. He’s as close to perfect as I’ve ever known in my entire life. He makes me laugh, makes me feel good, just by being with me. He can laugh at himself. He’s smart, and he knows who he is.
And oh my goodness, he makes my body hum, when he looks at me.
Like now, when I look up into his eyes.
“You know, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met,” he murmurs while taking my chin in his hand.
“I doubt it.”
“It’s not a line.” He tips his head to the side. “You think I would pull an ordinary line on a writer? I’m smarter than that.”
It gets a smile out of me anyway. “Thank you then.”
“That’s better. You’d need to learn to accept a compliment if you’re planning to spend any time with me. I believe in appreciating the good things in my life.”
“Am I a good thing in your life?” I wish it were easier to breathe. I wish it were harder to fall into the dark brown pools of light that are his eyes. I can’t help myself. I can’t even look away.