Page 32 of Perfect Pitch

To my surprise, he smiles. I want to kick him under the table, but that’s just not something one does at a Daniel Boulud restaurant. Instead, I grit out, “And this pleases you, why?”

His face softens and I get a glimpse of the man beneath the austere shell. “I’m surprised to find we have another plane we relate to one another on, Austyn. I’m certain Trevor’s let you in enough to share our home life wasn’t the best.”

“He has.” He’s actually told me a lot more than that—that when Mitch hit twenty-one, and not long after he turned sixteen, their parents walked away both physically and financially leaving Trevor to fend for himself.

They haven’t heard hide nor hair from them since forcing Trevor to emancipate himself. If it wasn’t for Charlie, Trevor would never have had a roof over his head the last few critical years of his teen years.

My lips part and I whisper, “I didn’t think of it like that.”

“Likely because you’ve talked this through with my brother?” At my nod, he continues. “When our parents walked out on him, I thought we were totally alone in the world. At least until Charlie stepped in.”

Releasing the pressure that had been building up in my chest, I inform him, “He’s adorable.”

“Are you trying to become Mrs. Henderson, the sixth?”

“The... sixth?” I sputter.

Mitch laughs and I can’t help be entranced by it. It’s the most perfect sound—deep, husky, and wicked. It causes shivers to race across my skin, leaving me grateful I have this sweater covering my arms. He explains, “We’re related to wife number four. Number five was taken off in handcuffs.”

I choke on my water.

Mitch slants me a sinful look. “You’re a little young for him and, like I said, I can’t be certain he’d go for number six.”

“Who would?” I retort.

“But if you want the chance to be my Aunt Austyn...”

Without thinking, my menu is thumping him over the head. “Hush.” Of course, that being the moment when the waiter appears to take our order.

Mitch’s eyes are curious as I order in perfect French. The waiter looks like he wants to genuflect at my feet for not slaughtering the names of the menu items.

After he steps away, our conversation flows back and forth. As each course is brought forth, it doesn’t stop our conversation. We spend hours in a blissful bubble—at least that’s how it feels to me.

At the end of it, he holds out his hand and asks, “How much of the city have you seen?”

“Some,” I hedge. He stares at me hard. “Okay. A little. Do you get to see a lot of it with what you do? Trevor mentioned you’re constantly on the move for your job.”

“I can’t show you where I work, but I’ll show you one of my favorite places when I do get some down time.”

Fascinated, I take his hand. We pause and Mitch lets the valet know we’ll be a few moments. Then we set off on a brisk pace East on 42nd Street.

A few blocks later, we come upon a little haven of greenery—an oasis amid all the skyscrapers. “What is this place?”

“Temporary,” Mitch wraps his arms around me from behind.

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“In just a few weeks Bryant Park, that’s where we are, will turn into a Christmas Village. All the green you see will be overtaken by fake snow, vendors, and an ice rink.” He leans forward until he can see my face. “I love it—when it’s closer to Christmas. But when it’s not quite fall and I’m driving around Santa’s Village?”

“Can’t the city do anything about it?”

The bristle of his beard brushes my cheek. “It’s money. Big money. Did you know Thoreau said ‘Wealth is the ability to fully experience life?’”

“And Henry Ford said, ‘The only real security a man will have is a reserve of knowledge, experience, and ability.’ Not everyone thinks that way.”

He makes a derisive sound. “The holidays have become so commercialized, they’re no longer about family.”

I think about the annual Christmas Eve party my mother throws and I whisper, “That’s all they’re about for me.”

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