13. Maddie #2
I look up quickly. Ward is at the exit, his two Fresh Direct bags now full. That’s a lot of purchases.
“Go,” Nick says. “I’ll pack up what’s left.”
“Thank you.”
I make my way quickly through the collectors crowding the tables, out the front door, and into the lobby of this New Jersey hotel but slow down as I reach Ward so I can make it look casual.
“Already on your way out?” I ask.
“I’ve spent way over my budget.” He lifts his bags. “If only I could resist.”
“What are some of your favorite purchases—my squirrel excluded?” I ask.
He stops by a couch in the lobby, deposits his bags, and takes out a box.
“Definitely these metal garbage cans. But I also had to have the whole metal kitchen to make a restaurant. And I commissioned the closed-lid plastic garbage cans Pommer wants to mandate—to prevent rats. They will be perfect for a New York City street scene.” His phone beeps.
“My ride is outside. Good luck with your sales.”
“I can’t believe Ella’s Café is closed,” I say.
“Lily is going to be so disappointed.” Ella’s Café on the Upper West Side had been billed as one of the top romantic spots in New York City for Valentine’s Day the last three years.
It was an entirely pink shop with tiny little tables and either loveseats or two armchairs facing each other for seating.
But what had made it really special were the flowers.
It smelled of orchids when you walked through.
I’d included it on a top ten list for best places for proposals in one of my first articles.
I stare at the pink door with the huge “Closed for Renovations” sign. Above it is a pink awning with the name written in purple lettering. Colorful cloth flowers frame the window.
“Let’s go meet my friends at Banter & Books,” I say. “At least it’s Salad Saturday, so we can get dinner too.”
We walk down West 74th Street past all the picturesque brownstones.
One tree still has a witch decoration left over from Halloween.
We turn at the corner to walk up Amsterdam Avenue towards Banter & Books.
We pass by Levain Bakery, but I don’t dare suggest we buy cookies since our last conversation when Nick turned down the snacks.
“Are you sure you don’t want to include Strangelove on your list of romantic places?” Nick asks. “At least it has love in the title.”
“I’d be afraid to send anyone there.” I shudder.
“But now I wonder if Sarah thought we’d actually gone on a date there.
” I think again of my list for the next article.
“I can’t believe that the bumper cars on ice are also no longer available, but at least I now have renting an igloo at Bryant Park, Drag Me to Joanne’s, the Pink Pier, a picnic in Central Park, sharing an electric blanket, Love Pong—which sounds pretty cool with the Ping-Pong and tarot card readings—visiting the Reliquary Arm of St. Valentine’s at the Met 5th Avenue Galleries—”
“That one is definitely a little odd,” Nick interrupts.
“True, but a trip to the Metropolitan Museum is always a good date,” I say.
“Is it?” Nick says.
“You disagree?”
“No, I like visiting the Met. My favorite rooms are the Armor Room, the Egyptian tomb, and the Japanese garden. Oh, and you can’t beat the view from the rooftop garden.”
“Still, it seems on point for Valentine’s Day, given that it’s his holiday, even if it does seem a little macabre if it used to hold his arm bone, but you know, it’s original.”
“It’s definitely original,” he says. “I’ve never seen that on a Valentine’s Day top ten list.”
I laugh. “Hayden gives me the impression of liking more conventional ideas. I need five more ideas. Don’t you have any?”
“I’m not sharing my best ideas with your readers. I’m saving them.”
“That makes sense. That’s always the toughest part.
Sometimes I don’t want everyone else to find my favorite places too.
” We pass by the back of Beacon Theatre, where they’ve roped off part of the street as they load band equipment in through the wide doors.
Nick looks over as if he wants to figure out who’s performing tonight.
His desire to be the band playing there radiates off his body.
But then his walls come up, and he focuses on the taco restaurant across the street.
“Do you ever feel like you don’t want to share your emotions so publicly?” I ask. “Your songs can be so raw.”
He glances at me, his gaze narrowing. When he does that, he looks so cute. “Off the record, right?”
“Always,” I say.
“Sometimes I write a song, but I’m not ready to share it because it makes me feel too exposed, so I wait until it feels right. Do you ever have that when writing articles?”
“Not yet. I do try to convey emotion in my stories because I want people to feel moved when reading them. I want people to be upset when they read about what happened to Dulce with her bathroom or this mom with the newborn and to feel it is wrong.” I pause.
“I haven’t had to write an article about myself where I share my feelings publicly.
I don’t know if I could do that. I would feel exposed. ” A target for bullies.
“I’m not the story,” Nick says.
“Exactly,” I say.
“But I’m definitely invested in your story,” Nick says.
As I turn to look at him to figure out if that means something more than friends, I hear my name being called.
It’s Jing and Iris, coming up the block. We wait outside Banter & Books for them to join us. Bella’s latest romantic comedy book is displayed in the window. I hug them hello.
I open the bookstore’s door, immediately enveloped by warmth.
Hanging plants and shelves filled with books line the whitewashed walls.
Bright book covers and green plants give such a cheerful, welcoming vibe.
It feels like a cross between a café in Provence and a greenhouse.
French-blue settees and armchairs scattered around form little nooks for private conversations or reading.
Around each cluster of chairs is a mass cane, an Areca palm, or a peace lily, providing some additional seclusion.
At the back is a conservatory with a small, free library, where people can exchange books.
We grab a table by the side and place an order for four salads.
I catch up with Iris and Jing while Nick leaves to order four hot drinks. I’m tempted to tell them immediately what Nick just said, but he’ll probably be back too soon before we can discuss it. Plus, Iris wouldn’t approve. I need to ask Jing later if she thinks it could mean anything.
“Nick looks like he likes you,” Iris says. “When you guys were walking ahead, we watched for a while, and he seemed so intent on whatever you were saying.”
“He did?” I ask.
“Yes,” Iris says. “I’m sorry I was biased because of my whole ex experience.
I shouldn’t tarnish Nick with the same brush because he’s also a musician.
Nick has certainly demonstrated over the past few years that he’s a good person.
Lily reminded me about Nick playing at the Oasis Garden Concert.
I remembered how I’d asked my ex to play there that day, and he told me he had to prioritize paying gigs. I should have known then.”
“I understand.” I rub Iris’s back. She’s much happier now.
Now I can discuss Nick’s remark! “As we were walking up here, we were talking about writing and conveying emotion, and I said I don’t write about myself, and he said he was ‘definitely invested’ in my story.
But maybe that’s a friend thing to say.”
“That seems more than a friend thing,” Jing says. “I mean, he said ‘invested.’”
“Right,” I say. “‘Interested’ would mean nothing.”
“Okay, you wordsmiths, but what also counts is that he’s here and that he went with you to your mini show,” Iris says.
Nick turns and walks back with the tray of drinks, and we are all suspiciously silent as he puts the drinks and our salads down.
“Am I interrupting a good conversation?” Nick asks.
“Always a very good conversation.” I pat the seat next to me. “They’re trying to think of truly romantic dates.”
We distribute the salads around the table and eat.
Bella suddenly appears at our table. “Sorry I’m late. I had to get down my latest ideas. What ideas for your column do you have so far?”
I tell her my latest ideas, minus visiting St. Valentine’s arm.
“Sebastian and I walked around Central Park in the last snowstorm, and it felt magical,” Iris says. “I like the picnic idea.”
“Because ultimately it depends on who you’re with,” I say.
“That’s what I was going to say,” Bella says.
“Should I share what we did last Valentine’s Day?” I ask Jing and Iris. “That was my favorite Valentine’s Day ever.”
“What?” Nick asks.
“We did a Valentine’s Day scavenger hunt, where clues are sent via your phone,” I say.
“How did you find out about that?” he asks.
“I was searching for scavenger hunts in New York City,” Iris says.
“What about a private yoga with puppies session?” Jing suggests. “That seems fun.”
“Oh, I like that,” I say.
“I am planning to send my couple to Mochi Dolci for Valentine’s Day in my next book,” Bella says. “You enter the speakeasy in the back through a pink phone booth. It’s cool.”
“What about the Kimoto Rooftop in Brooklyn?” Iris suggests. “It has a great romantic ambiance. But that could be because I was there with Sebastian.”
“Perfect.” I call to confirm it will be open for Valentine’s Day.
“Did you get Nick’s opinion?” Jing asks.
“I like to go dancing,” he says before I can say that he didn’t want to share his best ideas. “My friend is spinning tonight at some club that just opened up. We could check them out.”
“That would be great,” I say. “Do you guys want to go dancing?”
“I just realized I forgot to feed the cats,” Bella says. She elbows Jing, who elbows Iris. Not subtle, guys.
Okay, clearly Bella thinks this is an opportunity for me. Still, she’s a writer, and that’s the best excuse she could give?
Jing and Iris look blankly at each other and then both say at the same time, “Laundry.”
“It’s my laundry and romantic comedy movie night,” Jing says.
“With me,” Iris adds.
“Do you want to go too?” Nick asks me. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt a girls’ laundry night.”
He totally knows. Those are the lamest excuses ever.
“No.” I kick them under the table. “I did my laundry already. I’m good.”
Nick must totally think I like him.
“I’ll text my friend and find out where it is.” He texts his friend and then chuckles. “The Laundry Room.”
“What?” I ask.
“The new club is called The Laundry Room,” Nick says. “Are you guys sure you’re not coming?”
“Not unless they actually have washing machines,” Iris says with a straight face.