“The bleeding has mostly stopped.” He places a roll of gauze against the pad and wraps my knee securely. His movements are sure and quick, his hands steady. I marvel at them while he works. They’re so big. And solid. And calloused. I expect his touch to be rough and clumsy, but his hands are unbearably gentle. “I’ll clean it when we get to the cabin, but this should do for now,” he says as he finishes up.
I roll my eyes. “I think I can clean my own cut.”
“Come on, Paige. Just give me this one.”
“Right. I forgot this is part of your whole chivalry shtick.”
Fitz scoffs, obviously displeased with my characterization of him.
“It’s very charming. I totally get why you do it. Of course all the girls are gonna fall for the white knight who bandages their knee,” I tease.
“You think that’s why I do all this romance stuff? To get girls to like me?”
“Obviously.”
“Well, you’re wrong.”
“Then why?”
“If I tell you, you’ll think I’m an even bigger jerk than you already do.” He avoids my eyes as he carefully tapes the gauze down.
“Hey. Wait. I don’t think you’re a jerk.”
He looks up, and oh. His eyes are a storm.
“Maybe not, but something feels different between us since we got here, and I can’t tell if you’re upset … or something else.” He finishes with the bandage and rests his hand lightly above my knee, precariously close to my thigh. My breath hitches in my chest when he doesn’t move. His gaze snags on mine and we hold eye contact for so long it tips into something more. “Tell me you don’t feel it too.” His hand slips, just an inch or two, sliding up my thigh. I swallow as his pupils dilate, turning his eyes black. I’ve been waiting my entire life to be looked at like that.
No.
I’ve been waiting my entire life for this boy to look at me like that.
He leans into the aisle, his breath shallow and ragged, but he stops short. If this is gonna happen, I have to meet him halfway.
I’m not sure I can.
Two days ago, Fitz was kissing Molly.
But now he’s not.
Does it matter how many girls he’s dated or why? What does it mean that he’s leaning toward me now? What does it mean that he has a history of getting swept away in moments of obvious romance?
I’m starting to spin out.
His eyes search mine, understanding dawning on his features. He gently sets my foot on the floor and scoots to the edge of the train seat. He takes both my hands and looks me square in the eye. “Find the rainbow.”
My heart swells painfully in my chest. He always knows exactly what I need, and I love him for it.
I love him.
Of course I love him. I’ve loved him for so long I don’t remember what it’s like to exist in a world where I’m not in love with Fitz Wilding. So why am I acting like this is a difficult choice?
“The seats are red,” I say, without taking my eyes off him. “Your hair is brown … Your eyes are a perfect blue gray.”
He fights a smile. “That’s not how a rainbow works.”
“I don’t care.” I lean in.
“First stop, one tourist-trap Christmas tree. This way.” Harrison points down the paved path away from the skating rink, and I hurry to keep up with his brisk pace. We come to a fork in the trail and he veers right without missing a beat. I crane my neck to the left, wondering what’s at the end of that path. The travel-hungry part of me is eager to slow down and take notes on the way the skyline peeks through the empty twisting branches, or how the park feels almost mythical, too pretty to exist in such a bustling city, but Harrison’s obviously in a hurry to get this over with. I use my phone to snap as many pictures as possible, text a few of them to Fitz, and promise myself that I’ll come back and explore further before the trip is over.
We exit the park too soon and my attention snags on a horse-drawn carriage. It’s white with red velvet seats and a retractable red top. The driver is wearing a black suit and top hat, and it’s all so ridiculous that I have to ride in it immediately. I put my hand out, stopping Harrison in his agitated tracks. “Can we?”
“No.”
“C’mon! I’ve never been!”
“Not happening.”
“I bet you haven’t either, have you?”
He sighs through his nose. “Fine. But only if we drop something else from your list.”
I bite my lip and smooth the list still curled tightly in my fist. What am I willing to give up for a carriage ride through Central Park?
“I suggest nixing the holiday window displays. It’s just weird, fancy stuff in the windows of stores neither of us could ever afford.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I slip my phone out of my pocket and pull up Magic 8, turning to shield the screen from Harrison.
Should I trade holiday window displays for a carriage ride?
Better not tell you now.
“Hello—? Are we doing this?” Harrison calls. He’s got one foot on the step of the carriage, waiting for my decision.
“Fine. We’ll skip Bergdorf’s.” I pocket my phone and my list and join Harrison in the back of the carriage.
“Good choice.” He nods approvingly while the driver gives us a knowing smile.
“Where would you like to take your lady?” the driver asks slyly.
“She’s not—”
“I’m not—”
“We’re not—”
We practically trip over ourselves trying to set him right, but I don’t think he fully understands, because when Harrison instructs him to “just drive around wherever,” the driver tips his hat and looks weirdly smug about it.
“ ‘Drive around wherever’—how romantic.” I roll my eyes.
Harrison looks panicked. “Why would you say that?”
“Never mind. Bad joke.” I shrink into the corner of the carriage, as far away from Harrison as possible.
The horse pulls us back into the park, the steady clomp of its feet on pavement providing a nice alternative to the heavy silence between Harrison and me. I tip my head back, eyes drawn to the open sky and the tall trees. We pass over a pretty stone bridge and I can’t help but sigh softly. Fitz would get such a kick out of the obvious romance and drama of this whole situation.
“How’s the guy?” Harrison asks stiffly.
“What? I don’t know.”
“Please. You’ve been clutching your phone all morning, and every time I talk to you or ask you a question you do a full one-eighty to stick your nose in your phone.”
“It’s not the guy. It’s the decision-making app I told you about.” I cross my arms, pleased to be able to prove him wrong.
“Oh?” His face alights with interest now that we’re off the topic of Fitz. “You were serious about that?” He stretches his arm across the seat behind me.
“Afraid so.”
“What variables did you enter in? What factors does it take into consideration? Is it, like, AI technology? How does it work?”
“It works exactly like a Magic 8 Ball. ’Cause that’s what it is.”