A part of me was terrified to be seen in what I was wearing by someone at my job. I was supposed to represent them at all times. But maybe since I was dressed this down, no one would even recognize me.
“Did you design any of these?” he asked, pointing at the clothing in the window.
I shook my head. “I’m not that high up yet. I’m working underneath other designers and helping with strategies. Not quite getting coffee, but just above that.”
He laughed. “I see. Sounds glamorous.”
“It can be, but most of the time, it’s a lot of hard work.”
“But you love it?” he asked as he strolled toward Central Park.
“Most of the time.”
“What about the times that you don’t?”
“Well, it would be nice to be designing my own clothes. I’ve always wanted my own boutique. My own name on a store, you know?”
Ash nodded encouragingly. “You could do that.”
I laughed. “I’m so far from being able to do that. I’m still trying to come up with my own unique brand that would make it worthwhile to branch out. Not to mention, I’d need the capital to start something like that.”
“This feels more like your own unique brand,” he said, gesturing to my clothes.
We wound through the park. The leaves had changed colors, and the oranges, reds, and yellows made the entire park come alive. I loved this time of year right before everything succumbed to winter’s chill.
“Well, Southern doesn’t really work here,” I said with a laugh.
“Then, do it in the South.”
“Maybe one day.”
I couldn’t deny that I’d thought about it. I loved New York. I loved high-end fashion. But I didn’t exactly belong here. Not the way I did back home. I was constantly fighting my instincts and designing clothes I thought New York would like, but not necessarily what I loved.
“Wait … wait right here,” Ash said.
I furrowed my brow at him as he jogged away. We’d just reached Bethesda Fountain, and I stood at the center of it, all alone. A moment later, he was walking back over, holding something behind his back.
“What did you do?” I asked with a laugh.
He held out a red rose. “Your favorite, right?”
I took the rose from his hand in surprise. That he’d bought it for me. That he’d remembered at all. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, they’re my favorite. Classic.”
“I thought so,” he said, and we walked over to the edge of the water.
My heart was still in my throat. It hadn’t been romantic … and yet it was so romantic. It was so Ash. Anyone who had ever let him go was a total idiot.
“So, what do you want to do tonight?” he asked. “No drinking?”
I grinned. “I know this comedy show. I heard it’s amazing. I always want to go, but weekdays are hard.”
“I’m in.”
Neither of us stuck to the no drink rule. I was having too good of a time at the show. I laughed until my cheeks hurt and my belly ached. The female performer was so good that she got a standing ovation from the crowd. There were three performers total, and she was the last. I could see why.
As Ash and I stumbled out of the comedy show late that evening, we were both still cracking up at all the jokes. Recounting the best ones and dissolving into laughter again.
“One more drink?” he asked. “I’m not ready for the night to end.”
And neither was I. I’d never be ready for my time with Ash to end.
“There’s a bunch of bars around here. A martini bar in a hotel. A dive bar that Zoey always recommends. Um …” I said, blanking on what else was nearby. “Or we can grab some wine and drink at my place.”
“You know what? Let’s go for the latter.”
“Really?” I asked in surprise.
“Yeah. It’s close, right?”
I nodded, and we headed back toward my place on Cornelia Street. We grabbed two bottles of wine from the liquor store and went upstairs. I tossed Ash the bottle opener as I dug around in my fridge.
“I think there’s still part of that charcuterie board here. Or did y’all destroy it?”
“Um … maybe,” Ash said with a laugh.
“Fuck it. There’s cheese still.”
I grabbed the cubed cheese and brought it out to the living room, kicking off the heels I’d worn to the show. I dropped the cheese onto the table and then opened my old record player. Mom had gotten it for me last year for my birthday, and I’d been collecting records ever since. I set down an old Sinatra record, and “The Way You Look Tonight” filtered out of the player.
“I love this song,” Ash said, popping the cork and pouring us each a glass.
I took the glass and flopped down onto the couch next to him, my mini dress riding up high on my thighs. Ash’s eyes dipped down to my legs and then back up.