Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
When Ivy woke up the next morning, it was to an unholy combination of sounds.
A car horn bellowing, a jackhammer yammering, and her phone alarm screeching on her bedside table.
She flipped over and fumbled with the phone, silencing it and knocking it onto the floor.
She lay on her back, heart racing, slightly shell shocked by the abrupt, ungodly wakeup call.
For a second, she couldn’t fathom where she was, or what day it was.
Then she remembered, and bounded out of bed. Her hotel bed. In New York City.
She rushed to the window, ready to see the city in daylight after only catching glimpses of it lit up from the bus and the plane last night. She yanked the curtains open, already smiling, and—
And her room had a sweeping view of a shaftway.
Nothing but grey-brown bricks on three sides, with a sliver of open air visible if she craned her neck hard to the right.
The morning light was dim, or perhaps it just couldn’t penetrate this cloistered little well they’d stuck her in.
Ivy sighed and looked upwards. Nope, she couldn’t see the sky from here either.
Well, at least she could hear the city. It sounded…
awake. And kind of angry about it. Ivy yawned and picked her phone up off the floor, checking the time.
It was 8 o’clock in New York, and god knew what time in Sydney and in her body.
Peter had told the dancers to catch up on sleep and had pushed morning class until 1pm, so she had plenty of time to explore a little before heading down to the theater with Justin.
Justin. She glanced at the adjoining door and bit her lip.
They’d spent most of their day in transit apart, seeing as they weren’t seated together, but when they had been together he’d been courteous and obliging, always staying in her line of sight but not crowding her.
He’d made sure she got a window seat on the bus and hadn’t tried to distract her when she was busy looking out the window at the city.
But then they’d arrived at the hotel, and there had been that short, embarrassing moment when she’d thought they’d be forced to share a room.
And then—even more horrifying—her next thought had been that sharing a room with Justin Winters wouldn’t be so terrible.
His relief when they’d heard the words “adjoining door” had been palpable, rolling off him in waves that only made her feel more foolish.
Well, he didn’t have to share a room with her, but if she was going to explore the neighborhood this morning, he was coming with her.
That was the deal they’d struck, and she’d be holding him to it, whether he liked it or not.
Whether the sight of that adjoining door made her cheeks feel hot again or not.
She gave a decisive little nod, then shot off a quick text to Em and one to her parents, letting them know she’d arrived safely, then headed to the bathroom to prepare for the day.
By the time she’d dressed and given her hair a quick going over with the hairdryer—even if she couldn’t see beyond her little shaftway, she knew it was freezing outside—she had a reply from Em, who wanted to see which outfit she’d picked out for today.
She posed in front of the mirror, holding the phone so that the camera would capture the snug high-waisted black pants, and the loose, slightly cropped charcoal grey sweater that had plenty of room for layering underneath.
She’d added Em's shiny black boots and a pop of wintery plum-red lipstick, and she thought she looked pretty good for someone who was jet lagged out of her mind. Em agreed.
Em, 8:37am: It’s going to be a warm day in NYC because you look hottttt.
Ivy grinned, pulled on her coat, and sent another photo.
Ivy, 8:37am: The coat is perfect, I might not give it back.
Em, 8:38am: I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE, PAGE.
Ivy, 8:38am: I’ll move.
Em, 8:38am: And I’ll track you down. What’s on the docket today?
Ivy, 8:39am: A bagel, then walking over to Central Park, and a museum if I have time.
Ivy’s thumbs hovered over the screen as she wondered whether to tell Em about the adjoining rooms, and about how confusing last night had been.
Justin had looked horrified at the idea of sharing a room with her—but then, just as she’d unlocked her door and put some much-needed space between them, he’d looked at her, gaze heated and intent.
It was mystifying, but Em would help her make sense of it. Ivy started to type, except—
Em, 8:40am: Packed schedule! OK, I need to sleep, I love you, have fun.
Ivy hastily erased the few words she’d managed to tap out.
Ivy, 8:40am: The coat and I love you too. Sleep well
Ivy tossed her bag into her purse and slung it over her shoulder, then glanced again at the adjoining door. Best to use the official, separate entrance to his room, she decided. Best that this door remain locked on both sides for the rest of this trip.
It took a full minute of knocking on the door to room 663 before she heard anything stir on the other side of it. When it did, she thought she heard a groan and the sound of heavy, stumbling footsteps. The door opened, and Justin’s bleary face appeared.
“Time is it?” he said, fighting a yawn and losing.
“It’s almost 9. Time to go,” Ivy said, trying not to notice how charmingly puffy his eyes were, or how appealing he looked with his hair disheveled by sleep.
“Go where?” Justin leaned heavily against the door frame, as if his body wasn’t awake enough yet to support his whole weight.
He was wearing a faded old ANB T-shirt and a pair of loose grey tracksuit pants, and when he raised his arm to lean, a slice of bare, taut skin flashed up at Ivy, above a strip of white elastic that belonged to his briefs.
She averted her eyes, doing her best not to remember what the rest of his stomach, chest, and shoulders looked like.
“Out,” she said, as crisply as she could manage, despite her suddenly dry mouth. “I’m going out exploring, and you’re coming with me.”
“But I barely slept,” he said weakly. “Took me ages to fall asleep.”
“We can get coffee on the way. Get dressed and let’s go.”
“I’m tired,” he objected, a sleepy little whine that should not have been attractive.
“We can get two coffees on the way. Get dressed, please. That’s the deal.”
He grumbled and pushed off the door, then wandered away, leaving the door ajar.
Ivy hovered hesitantly outside in the hallway, wondering if he’d meant to close it, or left it open assuming she’d follow him inside.
In the end she decided to stay where she was, and she turned her back to the door while she waited, trying not to listen to the sounds of Justin rifling through his suitcase and brushing his teeth.
After a few minutes he reappeared, fully dressed but still a little puffy and rumpled.
“Alright, Kurt, let’s go find some coffee,” he said, closing the door behind him and slipping the key into his jeans pocket.
“What did you just call me?”
“Kurt. Von Trapp. He’s also incorrigible.”
Ivy raised her eyebrows in question.
“I couldn’t sleep last night and Sound of Music was on. I flipped the channel right as Fraulein Maria was meeting the children.”
“I see,” Ivy said, and they started down the hallway. “I thought you didn’t like musicals?”
“I don’t, I was hoping it would help me fall asleep.”
“And did it work?”
“Well, no, because the Nazis showed up, and things got pretty tense.”
“Nazis’ll do that,” Ivy allowed. They reached the lifts, and this time she made sure to press the button right away.
“I haven’t seen that movie since I was really little,” Justin said with another yawn, as they traveled down to the lobby. “I think I don’t really get musicals, though.”
“What don’t you get?” Ivy frowned.
“The bit where they burst into song and dance instead of just saying things,” Justin said, as though it should have been obvious.
Ivy cocked her head. “You’re a professional dancer. You don’t understand the bits where people dance their feelings?”
“That’s different,” he frowned. They stepped out of the lift and into the bustling lobby, and Ivy checked the map on her phone before wrapping Em's scarf tightly around her neck. A minute later, she stepped out of the hotel and there she was, on the street in New York City in the dim morning sun, for the first time in her life. She would not sing “New York, New York, it’s a hell of a town,” she would not. Not out loud, anyway.
“Fuck,” Justin breathed, as the frigid winter air bit into their uncovered faces. “Might not need that coffee after all.”
“Well, I do,” Ivy said, leading him up the street, her hands shoved in her pockets. “I found a place up the street that’s meant to have the third best bagels in the city.”
“Whatever you say, Kurt.”
“That’s going to stick, isn’t it?”
“I’d say there’s a good chance, Kurt.”
“Now who’s incorrigible?” she retorted, dodging an oncoming pedestrian. Right, right. They walked on the right here. “And if I’m Kurt, who does that make you?”
Justin didn’t miss a beat. “I’m Liesl,” he said. “I’m sixteen years old and I don’t need a governess.”
Ivy laughed despite herself. “Don’t you, though?”
“Certainly not one who plays guitar and makes clothing out of curtains.”
“Just one who knows where to find the third best bagels in the city?” Ivy said, pointing at a shop front half a block ahead.
“As long as this place has heat, I don’t care what the bagels are like,” Justin grumbled, but he followed her inside.