5. Then
FIVE
then
I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing when I followed her off the train, but it happened.
I saw her walking away again, and something inside of me clicked. The next thing I knew, we were standing side-by-side on the 23 rd Street station platform, just below Chelsea.
The girl started muttering to herself while she dug through her bag, slender fingers pulling out handfuls of yarn. “…gonna be so late now. Unless I—no, because I don’t have—but if I don’t then?—”
She shook her head the whole time, swinging her ponytail from one side to another. “Did I forget to bring the darn?—”
It was hard not to smile at her. Even distressed, she was just… endearing. I pressed my mouth into a hard line, trying not to smirk while she spiraled.
She looked over at me once and huffed as if she were somehow exasperated with me. “Here,” she said, “Hold this a second.”
I’d barely stretched out my hands when she started piling minty green wool in my arms. Next came the wooden needles, a hairbrush, a cell phone, a braided-yarn lanyard with keys on the end, and, finally, a multicolored crocheted coin purse.
“Wait a minute.” Unable to help it, I chuckled as I held up the rainbow pouch. “Is this your wallet?”
The girl nodded dismissively, mumbling random words to herself until she managed to find what looked like a map . She beamed down at the creased paper while she unfolded it.
“Are you serious?”
She furrowed her brow at the lines on her map. Her pretty mouth pulled into a preoccupied frown. “What do you mean?”
“You just handed a stranger your wallet and your phone? On a subway platform?” I pressed, working hard not to scoff at her innocence. “And you’re using a paper map? Are you insane?”
“Yep,” she mumbled sarcastically, almost too quiet to hear while she continued scowling. “Certifiable.”
My lips quirked at her quip. Surprise joined the riot inside of me.
I knew she fascinated me, but I never expected to like her. “What are you looking for, anyway?”
Her blue eyes ran circuits over the banged-up rag. “I’m trying to figure out where we are.”
I shrugged. “We’re in Chelsea, under the intersection of 23 rd and 8 th . There will be a train heading back toward Washington Square in twenty minutes.”
She blinked at me, then at her map. “How do you know all of that? ”
I tried not to stare at her too hard. “Grew up here. Now I go to Columbia.”
Her gaze roamed over my outfit. A cute little crease formed between her eyebrows. My fingers tingled, yearning to smooth it out.
“You don’t look like a student,” she remarked, dubious.
I glanced at my Brooks Brothers shirtsleeves and slacks, fighting another smirk. It was considered casual dress at Stryker & Sons. “Occupational hazard.”
Part of me wanted to tease her for her weird outfit of the week, but it wouldn’t have been sincere. In frayed denim shorts and a white daisy-patterned blouse with billowy bell sleeves, she looked… bright.
The strip of bare skin between the knot at the bottom of her shirt and the waistband of her shorts made my fingers twitch again.
Would she be as soft as she looked? Was her skin as warm as her eyes?
She plucked her taped-up iPhone out of my grasp and sank her teeth into her lip—evidently a habit of hers. Anxiety stained her sapphire gaze. “You said twenty minutes? And that’s the fastest way to get Downtown?”
“The Village isn’t Downtown,” I said automatically, then regretted sounding like a smartass. “But yes.”
She did the mumbling thing again. “Even if I could take a cab, I’d still be—what? Fifteen? Twenty-five minutes late? Stupid New York traffic—” Her mouth trembled while she started taking things out of my hands and ramming them back into her bag.
“Do you need a cab?” I didn’t want her to leave, but I couldn’t be responsible for that look on her face.
She sighed and shook her head, her hair swishing at me again. “It wouldn’t help. I have—had—a class. It’s only fifty minutes long. At this rate, by the time I get there, I’ll have missed half of it anyway. I might as well just head to work. ”
She blinked moisture out of her eyes and gave me a small, shy smile. Under my gaze, her peachy cheeks warmed. Suddenly embarrassed, she dropped her gaze and shuffled back. “Anyway, thanks for not robbing me.”
I watched her walk away again. With a perfect view this time, I noted an oblivious sort of grace in the way she moved. The flip of her hair, her hips’ subtle sway. Even those horrible shoes couldn’t detract from her charm.
By the time I made up my mind, I had to jog to catch her at the top of the stairs, where the station spat us out onto the street. Taxis honked, and brakes squealed, navigating the deadlock of a Friday evening.
The dim twilight did nothing to cool the sidewalks, even when a humid breeze blew the girl’s hair into my chest. A lash of sweetness struck me—the scent of honeysuckle.
Her eyes went wide when I reappeared beside her. I ignored the unspoken questions on her face and asked one of my own. “How much time do you have before work?”
She shrank back half a step. “A little over an hour. It will probably take that long to walk there. It’s in Greenwich, so…”
I glanced at the Tag Heuer strapped to my left wrist— 7:22 —and had an idea. “If I promise to get you there on time, will you have dinner with me?”
Our gazes clashed again, throwing the same sparks. Her perfect pink mouth lifted into a sideways smile before wilting at the edges. A sad veil fell over her eyes.
“N-no,” she whispered, stammering. “I… can’t. I’m sorry.”
She started down 8 th Avenue, walking too quickly.
“Wait.”
The desperate word tore itself from my mouth, and she turned her head. For a second, I just stared. Up ahead, with her golden hair glowing under a streetlight, she seemed like a mirage.
And I was… afraid ? Scared I’d never see her again. Worried I’d made her up.
“Just—please,” I called, not sure what I wanted. “I’m Grayson. Will you at least tell me your name?”
Her forlorn half-smile reappeared. Only for a second. “Ella,” she told me, already slipping farther away. “It was nice to meet you, Gray.”