“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Al said. His brow furrowed as if he was thinking of reasons why the old fairy tale standard could work out. I didn’t give him a chance. I was on a roll.
“You know what really hurt?”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.” He leaned against the railing that enclosed the observation deck.
“It was the lying,” I said. “They’d been together six months before I caught them, and I never understood why he couldn’t have just told me, and left. Why lie? Why do people lie? The truth always comes out and someone always gets hurt.”
He looked thoughtful. “There are different sorts of lies.”
“A lie is a lie is a lie,” I countered. I started to shiver.
“Even lies of politeness?”
“Yes.” I was feeling very stubborn on the issue.
“Or lies of omission?”
“Those are even worse than lies of politeness.” I had a sudden pang of conscious. I had not told Bri about Al during yoga or over tea afterwards, but that wasn’t a lie of omission since she’d asked me if I’d met someone out of my league and I had determined that while Al was in some regards—he was even more handsome today than yesterday—but he wasn’t in others, plus, I really wasn’t sure what this thing was between us so was I lying? No, I didn’t think so.
“I see doubt in your eyes,” he said.
I shivered again. “Nope, no doubt.”
“You’re freezing. Come here,” he said. “Let’s get you warm.”
He took my hand and moved us to an empty section against the building that was out of the wind. We stood, looking down at the Hudson, and he tugged me in front of him. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling my back against his front. His warmth enfolded me immediately and my shivering subsided.
“I have a confession,” he said. “When you asked me if I believed in love at first sight or fairy tales and happily ever afters, I prevaricated about with whom I recently became infatuated.”
“Meaning you lied,” I said. My disappointment was sharp with jagged edges that cut deep. I went to step away from him, but he held me tight.
“Just hear me out, please,” he said. His voice was a soft sexy sigh in my ear. Oh, my.
“You said your feelings were unrequited,” I protested. “I thought that meant you were pining for someone who didn’t feel the same.”
“Well, given that meeting you the way I did felt like getting clobbered upside the head with a cricket bat, I could hardly pull enough wits together to admit that my infatuation, an affection that did not appear returned in the least, was for you, now could I?”
I spun around in his arms so we were face to face. “You meant me?”
“Of course, I meant you,” he said. “I have honestly never met anyone like you, Molly Graham, and I am quite smitten.” There was a note of tenderness in his voice that warmed me all the way down to my toes. The man had said smitten. I swooned just a bit on the inside.
I could hear Bri’s voice in my head, ordering, “Aim high.” I knew Al did not meet her specifications but I simply didn’t care. The only thought in my sluggish brain? I was standing on top of the Empire State Building in the arms of a handsome man with a toe-curling accent and bright blue eyes and all I could think about was how much I wanted him to kiss me.
I looped my arms around his neck. “Is this the moment I inform you that you’re mistaken? That, in fact, your feelings aren’t unrequited?”
His wide grin was a thing of beauty.
“I think this is the perfect moment for such a confession,” he said. “But such transparency has its penalties.”
“Such as?” I pulled him closer, for warmth, but also because I quite desperately didn’t want him to get away.
“Can I kiss you, my belated valentine?” he asked.
“Yes, please.” My answer came on breathy exhale.
When he lowered his lips to mine, I was shocked at how cold our mouths were, but the chill melted as swiftly as a snowflake when the heat between us sparked to life. I clung to his shoulders while he fit his mouth to mine. He increased the pressure of the kiss while his hands pulled me closer, locking me snuggly against him.
I learned the taste of him, peppermint and black tea, as his tongue teased my lips apart until I opened to him completely. He deepened the kiss, wooing me into a senseless haze of lust and longing. Normally, I would have panicked and broken the kiss to fill my lungs with air, but with Al I simply didn’t care. Compared to the feel of his mouth against mine, breathing seemed vastly overrated and I was totally okay with that.
Chapter Six
I dashed through the staff entrance to the Museum of Literature early on Monday morning, which was unusual for me. I hadn’t been able to sleep as I woke up to the sound of birds singing, the sight of flowers blooming, and...okay, none of that was happening in February, but I felt like I was the heroine in a big budget romcom, and it was all because of Al. Truly, I had been surprised that the people on the subway didn’t break into song and dance as I flitted by.
“There’s a special delivery for you on your desk,” Jones said. “It just arrived.”
The security guard was standing in the doorway of his office adjacent to the staff entrance, sipping from his usual I heart NY mug. No one got in or out without the formidable Jones seeing them.
“Special delivery?” I frowned. I hadn’t been expecting any new books for the collection. Then I saw the twinkle in Jones’s eye, and I knew something was up. I headed for the lobby and the staircase that would lead up to my office. By the time I reached the upper hallway, I was puffing for breath since speed walking is not really my thing.
Jones had a master key so he could get in and out of our offices when expensive items for the collections came in. I sensed this was not one of those.
I unlocked my door and pushed it open. On my desk was an archival box with a single blood-red rose sitting on top. I gently picked up the flower. There was no note, but I knew who must have sent it. Al.
The flower’s scent, a rich myrrh and vanilla, filled my office with its perfume. I tapped the petals against my lips and then set it aside. I was surprised to find my fingers were shaking as I pulled off my winter gloves and set them beside the rose. How long had it been since anyone had given me a romantic gift? My memory didn’t reach back that far.
I pried the lid off and found a folded notecard. The handwriting was squared and firm. The message simply said: Believe.
The object inside was wrapped in gold tissue paper. I pulled it out and tore the paper away with a gasp. It was a children’s book in French entitled La belle et la Bête. I opened the cover and discovered it was a pop-up book. Beauty and the Beast rendered with incredibly fragile cut outs that sprang to life when I turned the pages. I could no longer doubt love at first sight as I was definitely having it right now for this book.
There was a knock on my door. Before I could hide the book or the rose, Bri walked in. She glanced at the desk and then at me. “Well, well, well, what have we here?”
I’d never had an anxiety attack before, but I was certain there was one coming on. My heart was racing, I was sweating, and I couldn’t breathe.