CHAPTER TWO
The next morning, Holly packed away the humiliation and heartbreak and got excited. In just a few hours, she’d be in New York City. A dream come true.
As a park ranger, she spent all her time in the woods. Her small New Hampshire town—population five thousand—was a quaint, peaceful place to live and work, but she wanted to see how the other half lived. Experience a big city.
She rode the hotel shuttle to the airport, boarded the plane, and heaved a sigh of relief when it took off with an empty seat next to her. Ninety minutes later, she landed at JFK. After claiming her baggage, she followed the signs to the taxi queue. The line was long but moved quickly. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry.
“Let’s go,” the attendant yelled, waving at her when she got to the front of the line. “You wanna car or not?”
Holly hustled over, slid into the cab, and gave the driver the address to the downtown Manhattan hotel. He grunted in reply then hit the gas. For the entire ride, the only words he muttered were unflattering and impolite things to the surrounding drivers. His driving was brisk and evasive, and she kept her eyes on the road to avoid losing her breakfast. There was a lot of horn honking and hand gesturing. It was definitely an every-man-for-himself situation, and she was thankful she wasn’t driving.
She stared in awe as the city skyline came into view. It made Green Valley Falls look like an anthill. So many buildings. So many people.
The taxi driver double-parked at the hotel and cursed at the cars honking and swerving around him. He grabbed her suitcase from the trunk and dropped it onto the sidewalk. Luckily, she’d thought ahead and already had his tip out.
“Thank you,” she said, slipping him a ten and hoping that was enough.
“Welcome to New York,” he mumbled, snatching the money, getting back into the car, and pulling into traffic.
After her experience with the cab driver, the hotel doorman seemed overly polite. He held the door open and welcomed her to the Hotel New York.
“Thanks, Winston,” she said, calling him by the name etched onto a metal plate pinned to his chest.
“Let me know if you need anything during your stay.” He smiled and pointed to the left. “Check-in desk is that way.”
At the airport check-in, Holly had explained that Rick had broken his leg and was unable to travel. Here, she told the woman behind the desk that he’d unexpectedly had both legs amputated. But checking into a hotel was different from flying. They didn’t care who stayed or didn’t, and the clerk didn’t bat an eye at the woeful tale of her legless friend.
“Have a nice stay,” the woman said, handing Holly a key card and looking past her to the next person in line.
Undeterred by the clerk’s briskness, Holly took the elevator to the fourteenth floor. She entered her room and stood in awe at the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows. Her main stipulation when booking the hotel was that it had a city view, and this place did not disappoint. She pulled out her phone and snapped some pictures. Then picked one and sent it to her friends’ group chat, along with the message: Made it !
She unpacked her suitcase, setting aside the sexy lingerie—wouldn’t be needing that now—changed into shorts and a T-shirt, and set out. Winston pointed her toward Times Square, which was only a few blocks away. The minute she hit the street, overwhelm assaulted her senses.
Horns honking, bus brakes hissing, sirens off in the distance. People talking, often yelling, and a different song on the radio for every car that passed by with its window down. Other cars idled, spilling exhaust while waiting at stoplights. Bikes and scooters whizzed by, somehow squeezing through the inches of space between vehicles and pedestrians. People bustled through tunnels of towering buildings and across busy streets. The city buzzed with excitement. And she loved it.
Holly craned her neck to look up at the skyscrapers as she walked. She didn’t care that she looked like a tourist. She was one, why not own it? In Times Square, human-sized stuffed animals roamed the sidewalks. One shoved a flyer for a sightseeing tour bus into her face. It seemed like an efficient way to see the city, so she bought a ticket for the next day.
Not wanting to waste precious time in a restaurant, she ate whenever she passed a street vendor. First a pretzel, then a gyro, then ice cream. She poked around a few shops then started for the Empire State Building.
The line and ride to the observation deck took forever, and it was dusk by the time she got off the elevator. She snapped some selfies and pictures of the skyline, crossed the item off her to-see list, and headed back to the street.
GPS said the hotel was close, so she walked. After a quick shower, she dressed to go out—a loose-fitting flowery blouse, skinny jeans, and sandals with two-inch heels. Normally, she only wore flats—Rick didn’t like being shorter than her—but she was on her own tonight and could do whatever she wanted.
New York at night seemed daunting and a little scary, but if she stayed in public areas, she figured she’d be okay. In the lobby, Winston was still on duty. When she asked where she could find a fun bar, he laughed.
“There’s a place to drink on just about every block in the city,” he said. He looked her up and down, narrowed his eyes, and apparently summed her up. “You should try the Sip and Swirl. It’s a few blocks that way and would be a good fit for you.”
“Can I walk?”
“You alone?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Hm. Well, maybe walk there. But think about grabbing a cab back. Streets are pretty safe, but no sense tempting fate.”
“Thanks,” she said, heading off in the indicated direction. Night had fallen, but the well-lit streets were still packed with people. Used to hiking boots or tennis shoes, the two-inch sandals gave her no support, and she wobbled a bit before adjusting to them.
Ten minutes later, she arrived at the Sip and Swirl and pushed open the doors. Music blared, and twenty-somethings lined a long wooden bar. It seemed as though everyone was with someone, which was intimidating. But no one paid her any attention, so she sidled up to the bar and waved to get a bartender’s attention.
He threw down a cocktail napkin. “What’ll ya have?”
“Cranberry Cosmo, please.”
“Fifteen dollars.”
She coughed. New York was expensive. Everyone knew that. But fifteen dollars for a drink? Coolly, she handed over her credit card, feigning indifference and pretending like she drank alone all the time.
“My friend will be here soon,” she said. A white lie, but hopefully one that made her look a tad less pathetic.
He nodded and left, returning a minute later with her drink.
Someone knocked into her from behind, causing her to dribble the very first sip. “Damn it,” she muttered.
“You just got here,” the bartender said. He dipped a napkin in club soda and handed it to her. “Do I need to cut you off already?”
“No,” she said, dabbing at the spill. “About seventy percent of anything I eat or drink tends to end up on my shirt. I’m twenty-five years old but still haven’t learned to feed myself properly.”
He smiled. “You’re not from here, are you?”
“Is it that obvious?” She glanced left and right, assuming everyone was watching and judging.
“One good thing about New York,” he said, holding up a finger. “Everyone minds their business, and nothing surprises anyone.”
She held up the drink as if toasting. “Thanks.” A quick nod and he moved on to help the next customer.
Barstools seemed to be rare real estate, so she stayed glued to hers. Plus, with so many patrons coming and going from the bar, she could get lost in the crowd and not stand out as “alone.”
Thirty minutes and two Cosmos later, she’d been hit on twice. And while that was a flattering boost to her bruised ego—being left at the altar will do that—she wasn’t looking for a fling.
When she found herself entertaining the idea after a third man approached, she realized she’d skipped dinner, and the alcohol was gripping her tight. Time to call it a night. She turned on her stool and swayed.
“You okay?” the man next to her asked. “Want some help getting home?”
She was tipsy but not so far gone she would consider leaving with a stranger. Despite growing up in a small town and being somewhat na?ve, she wasn’t an idiot. “No, thank you.”
Somehow, while attempting to stand, her heel got caught on the rung of the stool. In an effort to catch herself, she reached out blindly for the nearest thing to stop her fall. Which turned out to be a man walking past. She toppled into his arms, and he caught her on reflex.
“Hey,” he said, setting her back on her feet. “Watch where you’re going.” He seemed more surprised than annoyed, but his girlfriend was another story.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the woman screeched. “That’s my man!” Bloodshot eyes bore into Holly’s, revealing a half-vacant stare that signaled she’d had one too many.
“I’m sorry,” Holly said. “I didn’t want to fall.”
The woman turned to her friend. “Did you see how she grabbed at him?”
Holly inched toward the entrance, wanting to escape.
The woman’s friend and her “man” tried to calm her hysteria, but to no avail. The next thing Holly saw was a set of long, red fingernails coming at her. To avoid the attack, she side-stepped and ran straight into a waitress carrying a tray full of drinks.
Both Holly and the server went down, launching the drinks. The woman who’d wanted Holly’s eyeballs was directly in the splash zone, and a beer bath didn’t improve her temperament. Patrons pushed, shoved, and yelled at each other, scrambling to avoid the slippery mess.
A bartender emerged from behind the bar to calm the chaos, but tempers were escalating, and an irritated crowd quickly turned on each other.
Holly apologized to the server and struggled to help her up, worried they might be trampled if they stayed on the floor too long. Once upright, she looked down at her beer-soaked shirt. At least no one would notice the cranberry Cosmo stain now.
“She attacked me!” Crazy Lady yelled, pointing at Holly. “Call the police.”
Holly’s mouth fell open in shock. She finally regained her voice, but her denials were lost in the pandemonium. What. Was. Happening?