Chapter 56 Owen
OWEN
We’re getting close to the city. Doing okay on time. Frankly, better than I would’ve hoped for. It’s still very, very tight, but we actually have a shot at making it before the eight o’clock ceremony time. Maybe.
Zoe’s been texting all along, filling us in on various wedding disasters (apparently, one of the news bigshots who was supposed to be an attendant bailed, and they hired an actor?
!) and generally checking way too often to see if we’ve managed to change the laws of physics and shorten the trip by several hours.
George was fielding these messages and doing his best to keep her calm.
But about an hour ago, we made a very efficient stop for gas and snacks, and he insisted on taking over driving.
I wanted to argue, but as he pointed out, I’ve spent pretty much the entire day behind the wheel, and I really was ready for a break.
He’s clearly not completely comfortable driving my truck, sitting just a little stiffly.
I’m trying to play it cool, not let on that I’ve noticed, but it’s adorable.
And it makes it all the more sweet that he offered.
He’s so focused on the road, I have a chance to really study him.
He reaches up to adjust his glasses (even though they seemed fine to begin with).
He’s got stubble along his jawline. His dark curls are a little longer than in the photos I’ve seen.
They’re slightly jumbled right now. I want to reach out, run my fingers through them, and mess them up more.
Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I almost screwed myself out of having this. Of having a chance to be with him.
My phone buzzes for the third time in the last hour.
“Tell her the speed limit has not changed in the last twenty minutes,” George says without taking his eyes off the road.
I laugh. I look at the text. “Yikes.”
“What?” George steals a microsecond glance away from the road to look at me.
“Uh, well… it seems the elevator’s been stuck for a while with two groomsmen inside. That reporter, Robert Ryan, and the guy they hired to walk down the aisle with him. “
“Yikes.”
“So now Zoe says, and I quote, ‘Luca really freaking out. No way in hell I’m telling him about the rings now.’”
“Wait,” says George, “She hasn’t told them?”
“Apparently no, and now, if we don’t get there before the ceremony starts, they’re going to find out during the ceremony.”
“Shit.”
“Can we make it? Realistically?”
“I mean, in theory, if traffic stays this clear. I could pull up in front of the hotel and hop out, so we don’t have to worry about parking.”
It suddenly occurs to me maybe I should have looked at a traffic map or something instead of mooning over George for the last hour. I search for the map app on my phone. “Let me see what I can find out online—”
“Don’t bother.”
I look up to see red brake lights spanning out in front of us, a sea of stopped cars. We slow down to join the pack. We’re still moving, but it’s a crawl.
“Shit.” I let out a sigh. “Okay. I’ll tell her.”
“Wait.” George reaches out to touch my hand, stopping me from texting. “There are commuter trains. Metro-North. I don’t know where.”
“On it!” I start searching for train information.
I have no clue if this could work, but at this point, I’ll try anything to avoid having to tell Zoe we’re not going to make it.
The situation sucks, and as the person who made off with the rings, I feel more than a little responsible.
Also, I’d rather not mess up George’s ex’s wedding only hours after we even got together.
“I’m getting off here.” George steers towards an exit just coming up on the right. “Bronxville.”
I search, and we’re in luck. “There’s a train station in Bronxville!”
I guide him to the station. We pull into the lot. “The window is closed,” I tell him as I read the information online, “but we can buy tickets on the train.”
“Great. When’s the next train?” He pulls into a space and cuts the engine.
We both climb out and start walking towards the tracks. I scroll the website, trying to make sense of it. “Uh…”
Just then, a bell starts clanging, and lights flash, as the gate lowers on the track crossing next to the station. A train is pulling up on the side of the track closest to us, mercifully marked “To NYC.”
We look at each other. Then we both break into a run.
We make it on board with seconds to spare.
The car is fairly full, mostly with boisterous people clearly on their way to the city to celebrate the new year, but we manage to find a pair of seats together.
We sink into them as the train pulls away from the station, on its way to Manhattan.
As we catch our breath, we share another look, then both burst out laughing.
“I should probably text Zoe,” I say. “What should I tell her?”
A conductor enters the car. “Tickets, please.”
George flags her down. “We need to buy tickets to Grand Central, please. And can you tell me what time the train gets in?”
“8:10 p.m., sir,” she says as she takes his credit card.
Shit.
I’m just trying to compose the text to deliver this bad news when Zoe beats me to the punch.
Zoe
Good news. They’re having trouble getting the elevator unstuck! Wedding on pause until they do. Hurry, hurry, hurry.
George finishes paying for the tickets and turns to me with a grim expression. I hold up the phone and smile.
“Wow, a reprieve!”
“Do you think we’ll make it?”
He wrinkles his nose. “Maybe?”
“Better than definitely not, anyway.”
“Agreed.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes. It’s dark, but we’re close enough to the city there are lots of lights passing by. What a day.
I chuckle. “This has got to be the weirdest first date I’ve ever been on.”
George leans back against his seat and rolls his head to look at me. “But good, right?”
“Yeah. Very good.”
When the train gets to Grand Central, we waste no time.
We catch a cab and are on our way. We don’t know how much time we have, of course, but as of Zoe’s last text, the elevator is still stuck, and all the guests are pretty much standing around drinking, so our plan is just to keep moving and hope for the best.
Somewhere in the low-fifties, though, traffic grinds to a stop.
“Fuck,” says George.
“Should we make a break for it?” I ask.
“What, like, run through the streets? In the cold. On New Year’s Eve?”
“Exactly. Like at the end of a rom-com.”
“The end of a rom-com where both characters run to one of their ex-boyfriend’s wedding?”
“Work with me, George.”
I hold out my hand. He slips his into it, warm and steady and right. “Yeah, okay.”