Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
R ockwell
Onlookers watch as she arrives, the horse and carriage pulling up to the front steps of the Mark Hotel. I can’t blame them for gawking. She looks stunning. All in white, her dress fluttering in the breeze as I help her down the delicate stairs that go from the white, gold-gilded coach to the ground.
“How was your ride?”
There are practically stars in her eyes as she answers me. “Amazing! What a dream. To ride down the streets of New York City in a horse-drawn carriage.”
Her feet delicately hit the sidewalk. Her hand stays in mine, dragging me over to the horses. “May I?” she asks the driver.
“Yes, of course. Carrots and Bristol are both older horses, happy to work for a pet. Approach from the side, arm outstretched so Carrots can see you.”
She reaches out, stroking the side of the massive horse. “Thanks for the ride, Carrots.”
She looks so pretty, a classic beauty caught somewhere in the depths of time, standing beside the sturdy horses and white and gold carriage.
“Let me get a picture,” I say. I capture the moment, taking a quick photo of her on my phone. Slipping it back into my pocket, I clear my throat. “We’ve got to go. They’ll be waiting for us upstairs.”
“Who?” She gives the horse a final pat, joining me.
I hold out an arm. She links hers in mine, letting me guide her. “I’ve had a team prepare a quiet meal for us.”
“Wow. First a full-day spa prep, then a horse-drawn carriage ride, now a team to cook us dinner?” She lifts on tiptoe, planting that sweet kiss on my cheek I’ve begun to expect. “Thank you. But you didn’t have to go through all this trouble just for me.”
I don’t know how to answer her statement. I still have no idea why I am going to all this trouble, not to mention hiring her, having her stay with me, never seeming to be able to let her out of my sight unless she’s in the safety of the walls of the Village.
“I… know.”
She crinkles her brow in the cutest way. “So why did you go to all this trouble?”
“Why not?”
“Hmm.” Disappointed by my answer, she looks away.
A pang tears through my chest at the thought I’ve hurt her in any way. I grab her into my arms, staring down at her, willing the hurt to leave her gaze. “I go to all this trouble because ever since I ran into you at that corner store, I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Oh.” A smile breaks over her lovely face as she offers me a little smile. “Well… same to you, Mr. Bachman.”
“It’s hard to forget the man who bought your first pregnancy test—” My words dry up in my throat. “It was your first, right?”
Her lashes flutter, the question clearly making her uncomfortable. “Um… Yeah.”
“Sorry.” I overstepped. As I often seem to do with her. “That was rude of me.”
She shakes her head, curls bouncing. “It’s okay. Really.”
“Still. Sorry.”
Her interest leaves me, gazing up at the magnificent building that is the Mark Hotel. “I’ve never been anywhere like this.”
“You’re going to love this place. The food is incredible.” Hand in hand, I lead her up the front steps where the doorman greets us with an open door.
“Mr. Bachman. So happy to have you dining here with us this evening.”
“Does everyone in this city know you?” she whispers to me.
“No. Just everyone who works somewhere I frequent. I’m a creature of habit. I like the same places.”
“Not me. I’m from a small town. I crave new adventures. That’s what drew me to the city in the first place.” She eyes the beautiful lobby, taking in the ambiance. “I love New York. There’s always something new to be discovered.”
Our gap in age is evident in our discussion. I’m a grouchy old man who’s fallen into a daily ritual that I’ve not changed in three years, throwing myself head over heels into my business. Numbers don’t lie.
And they don’t leave you in shambles.
I trust the numbers and so, I’ve made them my life. It’s not till we reach the rooftop that I realize just how stuck in my daily routine I’ve been. I gaze over the view with fresh eyes; her young, excited inexperienced ones.
The city spreads out below us, surrounds us, lights, sounds, and life. We’re here, above it all, the breeze blowing her hair back as she clings to the railing taking it all in.
“It’s gorgeous.” She turns her head from right to left, not wanting to miss a thing. “I can see the river. And the park. Oh, and there! The Museum of Modern Art. This is incredible. Thank you.”
“Come on, let’s eat before it gets cold.”
“We’re having dinner up here?”
“Yes. I thought you might like the privacy while surrounded by eight million people.”
I guide her over to the table where it’s hiding behind a trellis wall of vines of fragrant jasmine. Their scent swirls around us as I pull her chair out for her.
The table has been set and prepared for us. Our meals were kept hot under silver domes, accompanied by white linens, a vase of roses, and a chiller of white wine. The orange and white cashmere and wool blanket I’ve requested lays across the back of her chair.
I take it, spreading it over her bare shoulders to warm her from the chilly night. I’ve been told women her age love this line and so I’ve had one delivered from the shop on Wall Street.
“So soft.” She fingers the material. “Nice of the hotel to think of every little thing.”
“I—” I swallow back my ego, wanting her to know it’s me who has thought of everything. Me who chose her spa treatments, her outfit, hell, her panties. This blanket. But it’s not about me, is it? I did all this for her. I say, “I’m glad you like it.”
Sitting across from her, I can’t take my gaze away from her face. The candlelight warms her features, the breeze teasing her curls. Her pretty pink fingers hold the blanket closed over her chest. But the thing that has me unable to look away is the smile on her face.
It’s like the whole world lights up when she smiles. That’s why I go to all this trouble. To see her smile. To have her light up my cold, cruel world.
“Wine?” I ask, pulling a bottle of crisp chardonnay from the chiller.
“No, thank you. I don’t want anything to take away from this night, this once in a lifetime experience.”
“Most girls your age use alcohol to enhance the experience.” I replace the bottle, leaving my own glass empty.
“What do I know about girls my age?” she asks. “My ex ran off all my friends and after watching him act like a fool after downing a few cans of Milwaukee’s Best, I’ve lost my taste for alcohol.”
“Do you ever drink?” I ask.
“Not since him,” she says, a sadness in her voice.
I send for a waiter. He appears at the side of our table. “Yes, sir.”
We don’t need anything on this table to remind her of her ex tonight. Maybe, when she feels safe enough with me, we’ll toast with champagne. “Take the wine away, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” she whispers, but her face looks pleased.
“You know what would enhance this experience?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she breathes happily, staring out over the city.
“Dessert before dinner.” I stand, taking her hand. “Come.”
“What’s for dessert?” she asks.
“You.”