Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Van Leeuwen, a popular ice cream shop, was around the corner from the Hideout. I told Aiden he didn’t have to walk me home after he paid for our ice cream because the walk from Flatiron to the East Village was always long, but longer in the winter.
But Aiden only said, “You’d probably find some way to hurt yourself, and then I’d spend the rest of my life feeling guilty.”
It wasn’t necessarily the words of a romantic hero, but it made me smile.
December was just beginning, and although New Yorkers tended to hibernate in the winter, the city came to life during the holidays. We couldn’t walk a block without seeing some sort of holiday window display with poinsettias and red ribbon.
We hadn’t realized what a mistake we’d made until we ambled under streetlights, holding our ice cream. Aiden had been sensible enough to get a cup, but I got a waffle cone and the ice cream slid down my fingers, numbing them even more, especially since I forgot my gloves in my mad dash to the restaurant.
“I think you can tell a lot about a person by the ice cream flavor that they choose,” I said between licks.
“Oh really? What’s mine say about me?” He stuck his spoon in his mouth.
I scrunched my nose at the cup of vanilla in his hand. “Predictable. Plays it safe.”
He stood closely to me on the sidewalk even though the block was empty. My shoulders nearly brushed his arm with every step. “You’re just like everyone else. You have some superiority complex over vanilla.”
“That’s not true!” I paused, considering it. “It may be a little true, but what I said still stands.”
“Ask my father—I do anything but play it safe,” he muttered. He jutted his chin toward my cone. “What’s yours say about you?”
“You tell me.”
“Hmm.” He slipped his spoon in his mouth again, speaking against it. “Birthday cake flavor is a pretty bold choice.”
“Yeah, if your usual is vanilla.” I snorted.
Aiden studied me a moment. “I think it means you probably had a childhood with fun birthdays.”
“What’s in a cone? That which we call birthday cake ice cream would taste as sweet?”
“Not Shakespeare,” he groaned.
“What do you have against Shakespeare?” I gasped. “He was like the ultimate sad boy; shouldn’t he be, like, your God?”
He gave me a flat look. “Maybe yours, you romantic. I prefer other writers.”
“Okay, like who?”
“I love Hemingway—”
“Ugh.”
“I also like Austen.” He nudged my shoulder.
“You were able to stomach a romance? Where did you find the bravery to do it?”
“Shut up, Pride and Prejudice is a classic.” He smiled warmly down at me, though. I was becoming addicted to his smiles, and I was willing to do whatever I needed to do to earn another one. “And who could resist Mr. Darcy?”
I laughed in delight. When we started walking down the residential blocks toward my apartment, the streets emptied out until we were practically alone. The sirens echoed off the buildings around us. Once or twice, a loud group stumbled past, but for the most part it was just us, and neither of us seemed to want to change that. Sometimes we stopped at the crosswalks even if there were no cars, making our walk unnecessarily longer. But whenever we crossed the street, Aiden would silently move to stand on the side of the oncoming traffic so I wouldn’t be in harm’s way. And when we walked down the street, he’d maneuver us so I stood closer to the buildings. It was truly the first time we’d enjoyed each other’s company as just Rosie and Aiden, without hiding anything in our written words.
“Hey,” he said, knocking my shoulder with his. “Thanks for tonight. Really.”
I bumped his shoulder right back. “What’re coauthors for?”
“I rarely ever see my dad even though he lives in the city. But when I do, it usually goes a lot worse than that.” He rubbed his jaw, turning away from me.
“Why is he so hard on you? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Aiden hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “He was the founder of a tech startup that got pretty popular in the financial world. He decided when I was younger that I would follow in his footsteps and is upset that I’m refusing to do so.”
He tossed his cup in a nearby trashcan while I lifted the bottom tip of my cone to my mouth.
“How’d he react when you told him you wanted to be a writer?”
“Poorly.” He gave me a deadpan look, as if that were obvious. “How did your parents react?”
“I think they knew from the start.” I took another bite of the tip of my cone. “I always loved to read. I wouldn’t even go to parties in high school without a book in my bag. I studied English during undergrad, too. I think it was inevitable.”
“Do you miss them?” His hands were tucked in the pockets of his peacoat, his head once again tilted toward me. From the corner of my eye, I admired his profile. How had I been able to resist him for so long? How could he have been sitting across from me all of this time, and all I noticed was his peacoat?
It was so unfair that someone so annoying got to be this attractive. I was trying with all my might not to be turned on by him, but I knew the more time I spent with him the harder it would become. I couldn’t force myself to stop, though.
“Every day,” I said. “Leaving was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I had to do it. I haven’t seen them since I left.” I shrugged, feeling another wave of homesickness. “Sometimes all I do is miss them.”
“But you’re going home for winter break, right?”
I felt my cheeks tint slightly. “Money’s a little tight … It’s the only reason I took a shift tonight. I have to save up to pay rent and buy groceries, and once I have enough for rent, I have to save to pay off school. By then, there’s nothing left for a plane ticket. And even if I could swing the cost, I can’t afford to miss out on a week of pay.”
Aiden nodded in understanding.
“I’ve been doing everything I can to make it possible to be home for Christmas … but I think in the back of my mind, I know it’s a lost cause.” A lump suddenly formed in my throat. I hadn’t admitted that out loud yet and doing so made it feel all the more real. I loved being home, but I loved being home for Christmas even more. My mom spent hours decorating our house, carefully placing our homemade ornaments on the tree. Christmas by myself last year had felt so pitiful in comparison. Tennessee and New York were nearly complete opposites, but somehow I longed for both. A tear fell, and I quickly swiped it away.
“Hey,” Aiden said softly. He grabbed my elbow and took the mostly eaten ice cream cone from my hand. “It’s okay. You’ll go home soon.”
“God, I’m sorry.” I sniffled, swiping away a rogue tear. “I shouldn’t be crying in front of you.”
He made a face at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I sniffled and wiped the tears that were quickly falling. “I don’t know. We get close, but not close enough to get burned, right?”
He looked away, a tight grip still on my elbow, clearly lost in his thoughts. A part of me that I hadn’t known existed was dying to be in there with him, even for just a brief moment. Finally, he turned back to me. “I think if Max and Hunter can call a truce, so can we,” he said softly. “So long as you promise to stop bouncing the workshop table with your leg.”
I laughed through my tears. “I don’t know, that’s a pretty big ask. I like messing with you too much.” He didn’t respond, but I had a hunch he felt the same way. The best part of my day was fighting with him. “I think we can call a truce, too.”
“I’m sorry about not being able to go home, Rosie. I know that’s tough.” His hand slipped down to mine, his thumb rubbing slowly over my wrist.
“I’ll be okay,” I said. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know what came over me. I prided myself on not crying over this …”
“Hey,” he stopped me, just as soft. I looked up—this wasn’t the man who sat across from me every day in class. He was the man consoling me under a streetlight on an empty block, shielding me from the world with his broad shoulders like he could protect me from it. Like he wanted to. “You’re allowed to be sad. You’re allowed to miss the people you’ve spent your whole life with. You’re allowed to miss the people who were good to you, Rosie.”
“Thank you,” I said, holding his gaze. Neither of us spoke. I was pinned beneath those green eyes until I couldn’t bear it and looked away. He unwrapped the napkin from my cone and handed it to me to wipe my nose.
“C’mon.” He nodded toward the street. “Let’s get you home.”
Each of her fingers tapped across her cheek as her chin rested in her hand. I tried not to let my eyes linger too long on her face. On the beauty mark beneath her eye or the way her lashes swept across her cheek when she blinked. I looked away reluctantly when she caught me studying her.
“You know,” she said. “We should’ve done this friends thing a long time ago. It’s not as bad I thought it would be.”
“Even when you’re complimenting me, you’re insulting me.”
“Oh please, you like it better that way.”
The truth was I liked her no matter what she did, no matter what she said.
I grinned. “I really do.”
— Excerpt from Untitled by Rosie Maxwell and Aiden Huntington