Chapter 13
I was entirely to blame for the fact that Dash and I were almost forty minutes early for dinner with Shy and Aria the next day.
The restaurant that Aria had picked turned out to be this cozy Italian place that, like her shop, was located below sidewalk level in a building at walking distance from my apartment.
Garlands of light were strung all around the minuscule front room, bathing the wooden bar in warmth and making the wineglasses gleam.
It was the kind of place where a fruity cocktail would have been entirely out of place, so I was very brave and ordered a classic martini even though I hate olives.
Holding his own martini, Dash found us a pair of free barstools underneath a high window that looked out onto the street above.
I set my drink down on a wooden ledge before attempting to climb up on the red leather stool. There really was no graceful way for me to get up there, and I resigned myself to clambering up like a kindergartener at a jungle gym.
But there was Dash, holding out his hand, eyes twinkling as he took in my short legs. “Want my help?”
With his hand braced firmly on my waist, I was able to get up on the seat in a single, fluid motion. It felt like flying—though that might just have been the effect Dash’s touch still had on me.
“Been polishing your shining armor, huh?” I said, reaching for my drink. “Maybe we should start a side channel and dabble in medieval romance.”
Dash’s long legs made it enviably easy for him to perch on his own stool. He took a sip of martini just as someone walked past the high window, momentarily obscuring the view.
I lifted my gaze to the glass pane. Up on the sidewalk, someone in a printed maxi skirt and pink ballet flats laced up their ankle had stopped as their tote ripped, scattering tubes of lipstick and colorful pens on the sidewalk.
Everyone continued to stride past—except for someone in cutoff shorts and combat boots.
She paused, her T-shirt and lavender hair coming into view as she knelt and began to help the other person gather up their scattered items.
Combat Boots picked up a small box and held it up to Ballet Slippers, still kneeling, looking like she’d just proposed. Their fingers touched briefly as Ballet Slippers took the proffered box, and then knelt beside Combat Boots, who dug out a folded reusable bag from her pocket.
I couldn’t hear what they were saying through the thick glass, but body language was enough—Ballet Slippers tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she laughed, and Combat Boots held out her hand once again to help up Ballet Slippers, their hands clasped for a beat too long after they were both on their feet.
When I turned back to Dash, he was still looking at the meet cute.
“You know what people get wrong about Manhattan?” he said.
His hair, still damp from his post-workout shower, caught the light and made it look like he was under a spotlight.
“They think they have to go up high for the best views of the city. They all want to gaze over the rooftops. But you can see a nice sunset anywhere. This, though. This is a hell of a view.”
“If you have a foot fetish,” I said, just for the smile that Dash flashed me. “I know what you mean, though. Honestly, I think that’s what I’ve been missing in my screenplay.”
I know, I know. I was surprised at myself at hearing the words come out of my mouth. Had sex with Dash made me introspective?
“A more intimate knowledge of the city?” he asked.
“A distinct perspective on it. When I first moved here, I made a point of visiting all the places I’d seen in the movies.
I learned how to get around, and I even figured out the subway—eventually.
But I feel like I haven’t gotten to know the soul of the city yet.
If there’s anything special about it, it’s that it’s not just one thing.
It’s something different to every one of the millions of people living in it.
” I spread my hands. “I haven’t figured out what New York is to me.
But I’m starting to, I think. Thanks in part to—” To you, I had been about to say.
“To the Duke of Harding and everything we’re doing. ”
Dash bumped into me, and I couldn’t help but be reminded of the way a puppy nudges your hand with his snoot when he wants to be petted. I didn’t want to mess up Dash’s curls, so instead of a pat, I gave his knee a friendly bump with my own.
“Do you feel like you’ve found your place in the city yet?” I asked.
“I have,” he said softly.
And maybe I was growing more mature, because instead of saying, Is it inside my pants? I took a sip from my drink and gave him an encouraging nod.
“I found my people. And maybe that’s the same thing.
” His hand landed on the canvas tote where he was carrying his tablet and a sketchpad, and he gave it a gentle pat.
“This is part of it, too. Like, I’m happy for the chance to give back to a person and a place that have made me feel more at home here.
But it’s a little more selfish than that—I keep thinking about how it’ll feel to walk past a window display I helped create and know that there are parts of me that are inextricably linked to someone’s commute to work or in the background of an amazing day. ”
“Like the city is a tapestry and you’re intentionally weaving yourself into it,” I said.
Dash nodded and leaned forward, his martini forgotten on the ledge as he gripped my thigh just below the hem of my skirt, too focused on what he was saying for me to feel anything other than his urge to communicate exactly what that window would mean to him.
“I keep thinking about all the people who will walk past the window, who might not notice its contents or even know that I was responsible for it, but who will be connected to me anyway, if in this tangential, incomprehensible way. I don’t know much about what you’re trying to do with your screenplay—”
Neither did I, obviously.
“—but whenever you talk about it, I get the sense that that’s kind of what you’re after. That it’s less about leaving a mark on New York than forging a connection to the people in it.”
“You’re right,” I said, and I wasn’t sure why I was surprised that he had articulated so well what was in my head. Or that I felt such a sense of recognition in the light brightening Dash’s eyes.
Aria and Shy came in just then, though, and whatever else I was going to say was lost in the flurry of getting a table and pretending we hadn’t all checked out the menu beforehand and knew exactly what we wanted and ordering appetizers.
Then Dash’s foot knocked against mine under the table, and even though all of his attention was focused on Aria as she told us about Kitty Marlowe’s latest exploits, the very slight curl on the corner of his lips let me know he’d done it intentionally.
As if to point out this one connection we’d already made, this one shining silver thread in the tapestry.
We waited until after dessert to get down to business.
Shy, who was wearing a billowing white blouse and a bow tie embroidered with tiny apples, had curated a list of the books they wanted to feature in the window, and Dash had designed a couple of displays based on those.
My favorite of the two held the ripeness of a late summer afternoon, vibrant colors poised on the edge of mellowing into autumn shades.
It was a profusion of oranges, and paper flowers, and he’d even figured out a way to make tiny little fireflies out of LED lights.
Shy and Aria exchanged a glance in that unspoken language that couples develop when they’ve been together for a while.
“This’ll be good for Second Chance,” Aria said, and Shy nodded.
There was a reluctance I didn’t quite understand in the gesture, and my heart squeezed inside my chest at the possibility that Dash might not get his window after all.
But then Shy sighed and rubbed a hand over their face.
“I guess it’s only fair that I explain what’s been going on.
So… you know how used vintage romance paperbacks are incredibly profitable in today’s economy?
” Their mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile before they said, simply, “The bookstore’s not doing well. I might have to close down.”
The impact of it shuddered through me. “You can’t. You can’t close.”
“I may not have a choice in the matter.” Shy let out a breath. “Our rent got hiked up again. I’ve been playing with the idea of reducing my overhead by working on a bookmobile type situation, but Aria thinks I should fight harder to keep the storefront open.”
Aria scowled. “Hell’s Kitchen is gentrified enough as it is. The last thing the neighborhood needs is to lose an independent bookstore to gain what? Another Starbucks?”
“Kathleen Kelly would agree,” I said. Everyone looked at me blankly. “From You’ve Got Mail? The best of all Nora Ephron’s oeuvre? Am I the only one at this table who possesses the slightest shred of culture?” I sighed at their blank stares. “Never mind.”
“I’m with Aria,” Dash said. “The neighborhood needs Second Chance.”
“I don’t disagree,” Shy said. “I just don’t know what else to do. I’ve been covering most of the shifts myself and trying to hustle on social media. I guess I could host more events, maybe—burlesque nights bring in some money, it’s just—”
An idea zinged through me, and I blurted out, “We can help,” before my brain had fully finished processing it.
Shy and Aria exchanged another glance.
“In what way?” Aria asked carefully.
“Well, you know what Dash and I are doing, right? With the Duke of Harding?”
Aria and Shy nodded. “I saw the video you posted on Fling,” Shy said.
“Well, we have this platform that keeps growing and growing. What’s the point of it if we don’t use it for the benefit of our friends and the romance community?
” The words started coming out without much input from my brain, as usual.
But this wasn’t just impulse-and-martini-fueled babble.
It was an actual plan. One that was making Shy look cautiously optimistic.
“We could post about the store, sure, and plenty of people would show up. But why not make it into a game? A treasure hunt that starts over every quarter? We could seed some of our videos with little easter eggs that would lead viewers down two different paths—directly to the bookstore for people who are in the city, and to your website to those outside of it. You do online orders, right?”
Aria leaned forward, her long, pale fingers tightening on her wineglass. “What happens once they get to Shy’s?”
“There has to be a pot of gold at the end of that particular rainbow, not just the store. Something related to the Duke of Harding.” I frowned, drumming my fingertips on the checkered tablecloth.
“A table featuring the Duke’s recommendations?” Shy suggested, leaning forward in their seat. “Among which we could hide little notes written by the Duke himself?”
I pointed at them. “Yes.”
“Invitation to a private party with the Duke?” Aria said suddenly. “At the store, of course.”
I moved my finger so that it was pointing at her. “Also yes.”
We tossed around suggestions, with Dash furiously taking notes on his tablet. By the time we flagged down our server for the bill, Shy was looking a lot more relaxed than they had been an hour before.
The only weird little blip was when our plates were taken away and Dash slung a casual arm around the back of my chair. It was such a couple thing to do that I found it deeply unsettling and also I kind of liked it? Clearly, I’d had too much wine.
The four of us went out for ice cream after.
As we strolled down the street with our cones, unable to stop shouting out progressively more unhinged suggestions for things the treasure hunt could lead to, some of which involved Dash wearing part of his costume and a lot of whipped cream, I couldn’t help thinking about how much had changed since I’d last strolled through the Upper West Side with an ice cream cone.
My eye caught Aria’s, and I got the sense that we were both remembering the cards she’d drawn for me and the advice that had followed them. See what life can be when you stop running?
And yeah, it was pretty good—more than that, actually.
It was fucking amazing. This, the four of us together, the lights of the city that glittered just like the stars would if they’d been visible, the runnels of strawberry ice cream that I followed down the cone with the tip of my tongue, sweetness in my mouth and all around me.
And Dash, who knew to tug me to the left to help me avoid a collision with a streetlamp as I focused on the cold bursts of strawberry on my tongue.
And the excitement I could feel thrumming in him even as I saw it in his bouncing step and the grin that was slightly wider than normal and the way he teased me about taking so long to savor my ice cream that my hands were sticky with it by the time I’d finished.
We hadn’t made a mistake by hooking up. And I definitely wasn’t going to spiral again.
I proved it to myself by pulling Dash close after we’d said goodbye to Shy and Aria. Pressed against the stone of somebody’s stoop, I brushed my fingers over his curls.
“This is good,” I said, looking up at him so intently that I caught the moment when all the excitement that had played over his features throughout the evening seemed to gather and coalesce into something that made my heart beat a little bit faster.
“What is?”
My hand left Dash’s temple to wave in the air in a vague attempt at illustrating what I felt. “This moment. You. Us. You know, everything.”
His hands on my waist urged me up a step so that I was closer to his height and he did that thing where he was gazing into my eyes, smiling and serious all at the same time.
“This is good,” he confirmed, his voice so sure and caramel-smooth that it was impossible not to believe him.