“I’ve just aged out of fairy tales and happily ever afters. I loved them as a child, but you have to grow up someday,” I said. We strolled side by side. “I mean, they’re nonsensical, don’t you think?”
We turned onto the Bridle Path and the night enfolded us in its dark embrace interrupted only by the evenly spaced old-fashioned streetlamps.
“Actually, I’m a huge fan of fairy tales, oral histories, myths, and such,” Al said. “Still, until quite recently, I would have agreed with your doubts about love at first sight.”
And just like that the teeny tiny spark of interest I’d been harboring for this man fizzled.
“Girlfriend back home?” I asked. Because I like to torture myself like that.
“No.” Al shook his head. He was leaning back, staring up through the bare branches of the trees overhead.
“Someone you’ve met through your studies in New York?” Yes, I knew I should put the pole down and stop fishing, but I seemed to have an inexplicable inability to do so.
“Something like that.” He smiled. The crooked tooth, the way his eyes crinkled in the corners, and how he tipped his head to the side when he listened, it was all too much. I wasn’t prepared to deal with someone this handsome and charming. I mean, how was a woman supposed to resist?
“So why are you asking me to show you New York?” I asked. “Why not your love at first sight?” I sounded bitter. Ugh. I forced my mouth to curve up as if I were smiling, but even I knew it was terrible. I’d probably strain a cheek muscle from the effort.
“I fear my affection is unrequited.” He shrugged. We walked in silence for a bit while I digested this information.
“I’m sorry,” I said. That was a lie. I wasn’t the least bit sorry. Maybe Bri was right, and I should aim higher than a doctoral candidate of dubious means, but I liked Al and I was pretty darned relieved that whoever he’d had his heart set on wasn’t interested in him in return.
“Enough about me. You’ve suffered enough,” he said. We passed under the lamplight and I noted the way it highlighted the coppery strands in his dark hair. “What’s your story, Molly?”
“Me?” I asked. “There’s really not much to tell.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said. “And I want to hear everything.”
I couldn’t remember the last time a man had asked me about myself and seemed genuinely interested in the answer. It was sweet and I decided right then that even if Al never saw me as a potential romantic possibility, we could at least be friends. The nice thing about this was that as a friend, I didn’t have to feel guarded around him. I could let it all hang out. Given how we’d met and the amount of me he’d already seen, I suspected this was the beginning of a fabulous friendship.
“You know what?” I said. “I’m in.”
“In?” he repeated. He looked around as if trying to figure out what I meant since we were clearly outside.
I grinned. “I’m in, as in, yes, I’ll show you New York, every nook and cranny.”
“Excellent!” He hugged me tight and I found my face squashed against the cold wool of his coat. Despite the many layers between us, it was impossible not to notice how well we fit together with my head tucked under his chin and his arms around my back. It was the safest I’d felt in a really long time.
I had the urge to burrow into his coat and just hang on, which was crazy because I hardly knew this man. Before I could do something that stupid, Al released me and stepped back.
“Sorry!” He held me by the shoulders and stared into my eyes. “I got carried away. Won’t happen again.”
“It’s all right,” I said. I gave him a mock frown. “This time.”
He looked uncertain but then he caught on that I was teasing and laughed. He clapped his hands together. “All right, Molly Graham, where do we begin?”
“Pilgrimage to Strawberry Fields, of course,” I said. I glanced at his dress shoes. “I hope those shoes were made for walking.” I turned and headed toward the west side of the park, leaving him to follow me or not.
Chapter Five
We shared a moment of respectful silence by the Imagine mosaic in Strawberry Fields, the memorial built in honor of John Lennon. I hoped Al was a Beatles fan, if not, I’d have to reconsider our budding friendship. While people milled around us, we stared down at the black and white mosaic and I decided to test my theory.
“What’s your favorite Beatle’s song?” I asked.
“Lennon’s I’m Only Sleeping,” he said. “And you?”
“I’m a George girl, so it’s Here Comes the Sun for me.”
“Excellent choice.” His stamp of approval made me unexpectedly flush with pleasure. I realized I wanted him to like me as much as I was starting to like him. Hmm.
The temperature was dropping swiftly and we were half frozen. I glanced at my phone to check the time and saw that it was after eleven. Naturally, hot chocolate was required, accompanied by pie, coconut cream for me and cherry for him, at a small café. This was followed by a nightcap of whiskey at a speakeasy-style jazz club off 53rd Street.
I hailed a cab—a life skill in the metropolis—to take Al to his sublet on the upper east side. We stood awkwardly at the open door of the taxi. After a night of easy conversation, I suddenly felt self-conscious and weird.
“Well, I’d better go catch my train.” I gestured to the subway entrance behind me.
“Wait!” Al said. “I need your number, if you’re still willing to show me the sights.”
He pulled out his phone and opened his contacts. I told him my number and he typed it in, reading it back to me to verify. Then he grinned at me and that one snaggle tooth of his charmed me all over again.
He opened his arms and I stepped in for a hug. When I pulled back, there was a second, a nanosecond really, where I thought he might kiss me and I was surprised by how badly I wanted him to.
“Hey, were you planning to go today or tomorrow?” the cab driver yelled.
Al leapt back, clearly not accustomed to the yelling-speaking voice that was the normal tone for the inhabitants of the five boroughs.
He climbed into the cab. I waved before I hurried to catch the train to my apartment in Brooklyn. By the time I crawled into bed and snapped off the light it was two-thirty in the morning. Between the gala and Al, this was more socializing than I’d done possibly ever, and I slept the sleep of the truly exhausted introvert that I was.
Sunday morning was spent as usual—drinking coffee and doing the NYT crossword. Only today I was trying not to overly scrutinize the previous night in my head. It was a struggle. Honestly, Al had been the best non-date date I’d ever had.
My phone sat silently face-down on the table. It didn’t chime or buzz or light up. I checked the battery just in case it was dead. It was at ninety percent. I shuffled to my room, trying not to sulk as I got dressed for my weekly yoga class with Bri.
I knew I was being ridiculous. I mean, it wasn’t as if Al and I had made specific plans when he put my number in his phone. Still, my disappointment was deep, which was absurd, especially given that he’d admitted to having feelings for someone else.