The next afternoon Emma was sitting on her balcony organizing her notes from their interviews. Okay, she was daydreaming about Nathan. The evening had ended abruptly when Nathan had received what Emma realized was an urgent, and upsetting, phone call. He had quickly cupped his hand over the bottom of the phone, told her he would see her soon, kissed the top of her head, and slipped out. With her iPad on her lap and a coffee in her hand and her mind in the gutter, her phone buzzed.
Mr. Wonderful: I’m downstairs. Come as you are.
Emma almost burst into flames. She leapt off the lounge chair, pulled the hair elastic out of her hair, and raced through the apartment, grabbing flip flops and a bag as she typed a response.
Emma: Coming.
She texted JT as she flew down the stairs and was tossing her lip gloss into her bag when she pushed open the door to the lobby and caught Nathan getting the stiff arm from the weekend doorman, Ray. Nathan was wearing faded jeans, loafers, and an untucked white Oxford. He looked edible. And annoyed.
“Hi, Ray; this is Nathan. I’m hoping we’ll be seeing more of him around here, so try not to injure him.”
Nathan huffed at the idea of the scrawny nineteen-year-old inflicting any sort of injury on his six-foot, two-inch frame, then he realized what she had said, and his gaze found hers. He raised his brow in pleasant surprise and then sidestepped Ray and stood right in front of her. He kissed her on the cheek with ingrained politeness and soft heat.
“Right. Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Nathan?”
“Yes.”
“I hate surprises.”
“Then you have been improperly initiated into the surprise process.”
“Understatement of the year,” she mumbled.
“Hmm?”
“Okay, then. Show me a good surprise.” She texted JT without taking her phone out of her purse and told him to stand by. She looked up to find Nathan staring at her with an unreadable expression. “Chop-chop, mister. Every minute that ticks by, my expectations increase.”
“Christ, well now I’m going to cock it up.”
Emma laughed. “Sometimes your inner Brit leaks out.”
“Sometimes.” He winked. “Come on, the longer I build it up, the more chance you’ll be disappointed.” He headed for the front doors, but she pulled on his forearm with both hands to stop him.
“Somehow I don’t see that happening.”
“Where the hell have you been hiding?”
In plain sight, she thought but didn’t say.
He didn’t expect an answer. “Come on.”
The surprise was an Italian street fair. Her SoHo apartment was just above Nolita and Little Italy, so it was a short walk down relatively quiet streets until they came upon the chaos. Sounds of music and the smells of food filled the air. Children ran around laughing and munching zeppole. It was perfect. They wandered from stall to stall and ate and browsed the odds and ends for sale. Nathan had his arm slung around her shoulders, and Emma held the back of his shirt in her fist. She never wanted to let go. If she started to analyze it, she would have gone crazy ticking off all the reasons why they should or should not be strolling through Lower Manhattan arm-in-arm. So, she didn’t. It was like it had been when she was a child. And totally different. She somehow just needed to touch him. They just were.
People were milling about, music from an Italian folk band lilted through the air. Vendors called to passers-by, luring them to examine their wares. About an hour into their little adventure, Nathan bristled. He tossed his Italian ice into a trash can, and his grip on her tightened. He wasn’t obvious about it, but something had triggered his military awareness. He squeezed her hand, released it, then put his arm around her and pulled her into the circle of his body.
“What’s going on?”
“Huh? Nothing.”
“Nathan, you look like you’re poised for battle.”
“Sorry. Old habits. It’s just there’s a guy behind us. Moving through the crowd at our pace, trying not to be seen.”