Chapter 6
“You hired a chauffeur?” I say, squinting at the shiny black SUV Cooper’s leaning against in front of my apartment. I make out the silhouette of a driver in the front seat as the early (way too damn early) Saturday sun glints off the chrome trim in sharp slices. “Are you fucking joking?”
He shoves his hands in the pockets of his (over-the-top and tragically stunning) suit pants, lazily shrugging as his dimple flashes.
Thank god I’d rather shave my head before showing up anywhere in an outfit that could be deemed casual, because clearly Cooper has some plans that require more than a kitschy crewneck, not that he bothered to give me a heads-up on the dress code.
Doing a quick assessment, I determine that my black, ass-worshiping pants and silk-lace top under my oversized peacoat still have me looking better than him, but the margin is closer than I’d care to admit.
Not that I dressed nice for him or anything like that…
“Believe it or not, Eva, I picked up on a few subtle hints that maybe you weren’t impressed with my PT Cruiser.” Cooper taps the side of his nose. “I’m extremely perceptive.”
I shift my frown from his beautiful suit to the large car behind him. “The only way this could be more obnoxious is if you showed up on a pubcycle.”
“I love a pubcycle,” he says, smile star bright.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I march forward, and Cooper opens the car door with a flourish.
I flash him a glare before ducking in. Two rows of seats face each other, a glass partition separating us from the driver up front.
A massive bouquet of lilies is plopped on the smooth leather across from where I sit.
The floral scent is so pungent my eyes instantly water.
“For you,” Cooper says, following me in and shutting the door behind him. He picks up the bundle of flowers and holds them out to me.
His expression is so damn earnest and warm—his glasses slipping down his nose, cheeks glowing with a soft pink—that I suddenly don’t have the heart to tell him I’m allergic to the lilies he’s holding right under my nose.
Instead, a series of body-wracking sneezes arrest me.
I endure about seven of them before I lean back, lifting the toe of my stiletto-capped foot to push against his wrist and create some distance between me and the bouquet.
With a crestfallen expression, Cooper takes the hint. Fumbling, he finds a hidden button and lowers the partition. “I’ll leave these up there, then,” he mumbles, tossing the flowers through the open window to the front passenger seat. “We’re ready,” he adds to the driver, who nods.
Cooper raises the dark sheet of glass, our equally horrified eyes meeting in the reflection in a taut moment of silence. He turns to me as the car rumbles to life and pulls into traffic.
We carefully avoid each other’s gazes for a few seconds, and I wonder if I’m the only one realizing that this is the first time we’ve been alone together since six years ago when we were.… together . Then he blinks, good humor flooding his features.
“Mimosa?” Cooper asks, digging around a darkened corner of the car before holding up a chilled bottle of sparkling wine and a small jug of orange juice.
I balk, eyes flicking between the sweating, dark bottle and his radiant smile.
I open my mouth to tell him that while, generally, I’m a slut for champagne, it’s also seven thirty in the morning and all I really care about is locating the nearest reservoir of coffee, but he doesn’t wait for my response.
Instead, Cooper thumbs the top of the bottle, the loud pop erupting through the car. The noise in the small space slows down time, allowing me to take in everything in fine detail.
The cork whizzes like a bullet in my direction, colliding into the window before ricocheting off the glass with a bang.
It changes course, hitting me with startling force in the throat.
The direct hit scares me so badly I throw my arms up in delayed defense, subsequently punching my fists against the roof.
The noise of fear that retches out of me isn’t a cute little yelp or squeak.
It’s a prolonged, full, bloody-murder scream of terror.
The car jerks as the driver slams on the brakes, my seat belt digging into my chest and gut, turning my scream into a wheeze.
The world is still for half a second—my body slumped forward like a rag doll, my pulse pounding from the hefty dose of adrenaline from almost being slain by a stray cork—then another car bashes into us from behind, my head bouncing around my neck like a bobblehead.
In the chaos, my eyes somehow catch Cooper’s alarmed gaze, his glasses askew and mouth gaping.
He sums the past twenty seconds up pretty succinctly with a whispered, “Oh fuck.”
Everything picks up speed after that. The driver’s side door opens, then slams; people on the street start arguing with raised voices; Cooper opens the back door and scrambles out, ducking back in and awkwardly gathering me in his arms like I’m an overstuffed laundry basket.
“Get off me,” I grumble as the cold morning air slaps my cheeks. I push away from his chest, then wobble on my heels for a moment when he drops me like a hot coal.
Commotion surrounds us—a sleek Audi’s nose is crunched into the SUV’s bumper, the owner and our driver only a few centimeters apart as they yell at each other in the street.
Cooper and I watch in silence for a few moments, and I keep looking around, waiting for a bona fide grown-up to step in and handle the mess.
It’s with a sinking heart that I realize that won’t be happening.
Someone threatens to call the cops and another person calls them a pussy-ass tattletale. I glance at Cooper, wondering if he’ll insert himself and get this sorted, but he looks at his watch, his face falling.
“We’ve gotta go,” he says, straightening up and grabbing my elbow. He tugs me down the sidewalk like a man possessed.
“We can’t just… leave? Can we?” I pull out of his grasp, looking back at the mess over my shoulder.
“Believe it or not, this is my first hired-car car-crash,” Cooper says, mouth pressed into a frown. “They have my info. My credit card. I’m sure I’ll be the one charged for the damages when it’s all said and done, but we have a date we have to get to.”
He takes my hand and starts marching us down the block again.
“Um, excuse me, what are you doing?” I dig in my heels, wrenching so hard on the hand he’s holding that his arm jerks in its socket.
“I’m walking us to the date,” he says, rounding on me, his eyes frantically sweeping up and down the street.
“Where is it?”
“I can’t tell you. That will ruin the surprise.”
I fix him with a pointed look, jaw set in defiance. “We’ve had enough surprises in the twenty minutes we’ve spent together. And hi, hello.” I wave down at my knife-blade heels. “I’m not walking anywhere far in these.”
“Eva, we have a reservation we have to get to.”
“Cooper, I don’t really care,” I reply, dropping my voice in an imitation of his. “Three blocks and I’ll feel my pulse in the tip of every toe. It’s also highly likely that I’m concussed from the literal car crash you caused and I think you damaged my windpipe with that stray cork.”
“I don’t think you’d be talking back this much if your windpipe was damaged.”
“Let me toss a quick blow at your throat and we’ll see how you manage.”
“I don’t have time to fight with you, we have a timetable to stick to!” he says, his voice pitching up.
“Oh, buddy! Big feelings!” I match his volume, planting my feet more firmly on the pavement.
“You’re so patronizing.” He tugs at my hand again like an impatient toddler.
“Glad you’re keeping up, kiddo. You weren’t lying about being perceptive earlier.” I fix him with a dark look. “But the point still stands, I’m not walking an undefined distance at the snap of your fingers.”
His jaw works as he stares at me, and I cross my arms over my chest, lifting my chin. With a resigned shake of his head, he mumbles “Fuck this” as he steps toward the curb. He raises his hand, hailing a taxi. A few zoom past, and I feel a petty thrill that he’s having to work for it.
Finally, one pulls up, and Cooper quickly opens the door.
“Your chariot, princess,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Thanks, baby girl.” I lightly smack his cheek as I duck into the back seat. I hear his lengthy sigh before he stoops down to follow me. I don’t immediately move over for him, but the look Cooper pins me with has me scooting to the side to make room.
“Where to, boss?” the taxi driver asks.
I stare at Cooper, a smile of victory on my lips. His glare could cut diamonds as he says, “The Met.”
“You got it.” The driver turns on his blinker and pulls out.
“The Met isn’t open this early,” I argue, a tiny hiccup of excitement releasing in my chest. I smother it down. I love the Met. I love art, period. But I also know it doesn’t open until ten in the morning.
“Shut up, Eva.”
Cooper collapses against the seat, his glasses sliding up toward his hairline as he digs the heels of his hands against his eyes. My lips part, but, to my horror, I obey the command.
Manhattan passes us in a blur as we make our way uptown, that kernel of excitement sprouting roots and digging into my chest.
It’s the kind of startlingly perfect fall day that reminds me how head-over-heels in love I am with this city—the streaks of gray pavement disrupted with fiery leaves and a morning sky so blue it makes you question reality.
New York’s energy flows at different beats and frequencies depending on the day and time of year, but today’s is a hopeful hum, a radiant goodbye to the life of summer and a promise to care for the island through the colder months to come.
I’m so lost in the hallways of my thoughts that it takes me a moment to realize the taxi has stopped, the grandeur of the museum rising like a beacon through Cooper’s window.