I didn’t realize just how much I put myself down, and I don’t know how to fix it.
When we leave the bistro, Nora takes a picture of the outside of the building. I don’t ask her why, and she doesn’t share.
“So, I think we should skip the ice cream place.” She pats her stomach. Her denim shirt is buttoned all the way up, and I can see the crease of her bra now that we’re back in the sunlight.
Nora’s phone rings, and she stares at the screen. Her face falls. “Damn. I have to go.”
Right now? In the middle of my Welcome to Brooklyn Tour?
“Now?” I step toward her, taking her hand in mine. I worry that she may pull away, but she doesn’t. Her hand is warm in mine. I straighten my back and look down at her. “You have to go now?”
She nods. “I need to go to Scarsdale. I shouldn’t be gone too long.”
“What’s in Scarsdale? Is that where you’re staying now? You never told me what happened with Dakota and Maggy.”
Nora squares her shoulders and threads her fingers through mine. “And you never told me why you two broke up.”
She’s changing the subject again. “I don’t want to talk about Dakota.” I would rather be doing at least a hundred other things than talking about Dakota right now, after our amazing afternoon together.
Nora leans up on her toes, her lips only inches from my ear. “And I don’t want to talk about Scarsdale,” she whispers. She leans into me, and I melt, warming to her body against mine.
“I want to know you. Let me,” I say softly.
Nora lifts her face to mine, and I forget that we’re on a crowded sidewalk. “I’m trying.”
Her lips are soft as they brush over mine. “I’ll come”—Nora’s words are delicate, and she speaks with her lips still on mine—“by your place in a few hours. Okay?”
I nod, unable to say much of anything, and she disappears.