Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Pippa
-its raining men-
The neon is still burning into my retinas as we duck into another souvenir shop. This one smells of cheap plastic and cinnamon-scented candles, which is a combination I didn’t know existed until now. I guess I’ve smelled worse things.
The walls are stacked from floor to ceiling with merchandise.
There are shelves of mugs, racks of sweatshirts, and piles of stuffed animals dressed as the Statue of Liberty.
It’s like Times Square condensed into a closet-sized retail explosion.
I am learning that nothing here is done at less than one hundred and fifty percent.
Sandra and Lucy have been spamming me with emojis all day, demanding proof of life in New York, begging for pictures of Rhett, teasing me about the engagement. Suddenly, the presents I got for them in the other shop seem too nothing.
My eyes land on a white ceramic mug stamped with the classic I heart NY in garish red letters.
Sandra’s the type who collects mugs from everywhere; her kitchen cupboard is a mismatched museum of cities.
But what makes this mug more special is the fact that the heart is covered in rhinestones.
It sparkles just enough to be a bit extra, just like Sandra.
This will be the crowning glory of her collection.
“Perfect,” I murmur, holding it up.
Rhett peers over my shoulder. “Perfect for who?”
“Sandra. She’ll think it’s hideous and cherish it anyway. Also, she likes things that sparkle, so I’m pandering to that too.”
“Good idea,” Rhett says solemnly.
If Sandra is getting two presents, then so is Lucy. She has a soft spot for things that are both kitschy and oddly charming. I find a snow globe with the Empire State Building inside, surrounded by tiny taxis that go off swirling when you shake it.
“This one is definitely for Lucy,” I say, giving it a shake. Glitter and tiny taxis float down like confetti. “She’ll keep it on her desk and make it snow during meetings when she’s bored.”
Rhett nods, his lips twitching. “Perfect gift.”
I spot a cotton apron printed with a map of New York City. It’s bright and colorful, with the subway lines snaking across the fabric. That’s perfect for my mother. I run my fingers over it, imagining her wearing it while making Sunday dinner, humming like she always does. And I get all sentimental.
“My mother will love this.”
Rhett glances at me sideways, something softer in his expression, but he doesn’t say anything.
If my mother is getting two presents, my dad shouldn’t feel left out.
I start looking for something for him too.
He’s practical and never fussy, but he does have a secret weakness for puzzles.
In the corner, I spot a one-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle of the Manhattan skyline at night, the whole city glittering.
“There. That’s him in a box,” I say. I pick it up and balance it against my hip. “He’ll spend weeks finishing it and then glue it together so it’s permanent. That’s his thing.”
“He sounds like a man who doesn’t do anything halfway,” Rhett says.
“Exactly.”
I smile, my arms full of treasures. It feels like I will be carrying pieces of this city home with me. We head to the counter, and I set everything down, fishing in my purse for my wallet.
What happens next happens so fast that I almost don’t register it.
There is a blur of movement at the edge of my vision, then there’s a tug on my hand, and suddenly the strap of my purse is yanked free, and it’s gone, just like that.
I gasp, spinning around. A man in a grey hoodie is sprinting towards the door with my purse clutched under his arm.
“Hey,” I shout, dashing to the door. “Stop him! He stole my purse!”
But of course, the crowd outside barely flinches. Times Square swallows noise, and one more shout is nothing.
Before I can even think of what to do next, Rhett has ducked around me. He shoots past the door in a streak of black coat and determination, barreling through the door after the thief. My heart lurches.
“Rhett,” I shout, and he too doesn’t hear me, or if he does, he doesn’t stop.
The shopkeeper shouts something, but I can’t process it.
Rhett and the thief turn a corner, and I stumble back from the doorway, clutching at the counter for balance so that I can see the other side of the building through the window.
I can see Rhett weaving through the crowd like a predator locked on his prey.
The thief darts left, then right, then left again, trying to lose him in the crush of tourists, but Rhett is at least a head taller than everyone else, so he doesn’t lose sight of him.
He is relentless. People shout, scattering as the two of them zigzag between them.
I can’t breathe, and my chest feels tight.
Adrenaline floods my system, making my hands shake.
Then it happens. The thief misses a step, and collides with a man selling balloons.
He stumbles, and Rhett seizes the moment.
He lunges, grabbing the strap of my purse with one hand and the thief’s hoodie with the other.
The guy jerks free, and disappears into the crowd.
Rhett stays upright, my purse secure in his grip.
He jogs back toward the shop and comes in, heading straight for me, his chest rising and falling in sharp bursts, but he has a big grin on his face. When he reaches me, he holds my purse out.
“I do believe this is yours.”
My knees almost give out. Relief crashes into me so hard I have to grab the counter again.
“Oh my God, thank you. That was dangerous. Why did you chase the guy? What were you thinking? What if he was armed? This is New York. Robbers carry guns and knives, you know. This is a just a cheap bag I bought at a sale in River Island. You could have died for ￡39.99,” I rant uncontrollably.
I realize I’m about to hyperventilate and stop suddenly.
I take a deep, calming breath. “Are you … are you ok?”
“I’m fine,” he says gently, looking deep into my eyes. His hair is a little mussed, his eyes a little wild, but otherwise he looks maddeningly composed. “The guy is gone. You got your stuff back. I’m fine. It’s all good.”
I take the purse with trembling hands, and press it against me.
My heart is fluttering like a freaking butterfly, and my throat is behaving strangely.
What on earth is wrong with me? Why do I feel as if I have been punched in the solar plexus by a heavyweight boxer?
It must be the shock. It scared me silly.
Then, without warning, in that winded moment, watching him, adrenaline still humming between us, I realize something undeniable: I’ve …
I’ve … Dear God! Fallen for him. Completely.
Helplessly. Hopelessly. I want to pull him into a big hug and never let go.
Never let him do something so crazy again.
There’s no pretending my heart is not hurting for him.
I never hurt like this for George. I just felt safe and comfortable.
“Rhett,” I start, but the words catch. Because what do I even say? Thanks for saving my purse, and also, bad news, I’m in love with you. I always knew I could have a future in writing greeting cards.
He studies me for a beat, his expression unreadable, then glances away, like he can’t understand what’s up with me, so he’s giving me space to gather myself. I swallow hard and make a decision. I refuse to let one petty thief ruin this night.
“Pizza,” I announce, my voice far steadier than I feel. “We’re getting pizza. Because apparently, that’s the only way I’m coping right now with my encounter with a purse thief.”
His mouth curves into a grin. “Pizza? Now you’re talking.”
New York pizza is nothing like the kind back home.
The slices are enormous, thin enough that they flop under their own weight.
We find a hole in the wall type of place just off the square, the kind with old-fashioned lighting and cracked red booths, a line of people stretching to the door.
The air smells like heaven, filled with the tang of yeasty dough, bubbling cheese, and rich tomato sauce.
We each get a slice of pizza the size of my torso and squeeze into a corner booth. I burn my tongue on the first bite, but I don’t even care.
“Oh my god,” I moan around a mouthful. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Control yourself, Pippa Fairfax. You’re making it sound indecent.”
I kick him under the table, grinning despite myself. “Shut up. You know it’s amazing.”
He takes a bite of his own, chewing thoughtfully. “Not bad.”
“Not bad?” I gape at him. “This is a religious experience. This is proof there’s a higher power. This is …”
He cuts me off by stealing the crust from my plate.
“Hey, get another, you greedy guts,” I scold.
Then I have to laugh. His expression. And just like that, the earlier tension in my chest melts away. For a moment, it’s just us with pizza sauce on our fingers, the neon lights still flickering faintly through the window.
My phone buzzes on the table, announcing I have a text message. I glance down, expecting it to be Sandra or Lucy demanding updates. But the name flashing on the screen makes my stomach dip. George. I read the message without picking the cell phone up. The message is short.
Your mother said you are in New York. I miss you. Come home soon. Please.
There’s even a little heart emoji tagged on at the end.
For a second, I just stare at it. I have a text message from George, who once took up so much space in my head.
George, whom I thought I loved with all my heart.
He’s telling me exactly what I’ve wanted to hear since the day he callously broke my heart and left me to languish while he carried on with Claudia.
But now, well, I can’t even remember the last time I pined for him.
Certainly not once today. Not once since Rhett and I met.
My thumb hovers, but the urge to reply just isn’t there. I let the screen go dark.
When I glance up, Rhett is watching me. He doesn’t ask.
He doesn’t need to. His mouth tilts into a grin, like he already knows the answer.
I roll my eyes and take another huge bite of pizza, pretending not to notice.
But warmth spreads through me anyway, as undeniable as the glittering ring on my finger.