Page 72 of If Ever

"More coffee?" The waitress offers brightly and I welcome the interruption.

"Yes. Thank you." She refills my cup and then Tom's. I hide behind my mug to avoid his concerned gaze.

"So, how about this weather?" I say.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that. It's unthinkably unfair, but for the record, love, I don’t scare easily, and I'm not going anywhere."

I smile weakly and hope it's true, but I don't want to count on anything yet. We barely know each other. My earlier excitement has been replaced by a weariness after drudging up my ugly past. But at least now the topics are lighter. He tells me about his family including his sister's kids, a three-year-old boy and a baby girl. We talk about my last performance. And then a yawn slips out.

"You're already bored with me," he says.

"I'm sorry, I guess I need a lot more coffee after so little sleep."

"You look beat. Where's your hotel, I can drop you off."

"I don't remember what hotel it is." I whip off a text and Dominic responds with the hotel name and that he tried to check in, but our rooms won't be ready until three. I'm not quite sure what to do about that.

"I've got to get to the theatre soon, but if you want, you can crash at my place until your room's ready."

"I hate to impose."

"That's crazy. If you don't mind a ten-minute walk, I can guarantee you total privacy and a comfortable bed. I've got the matinee, so you can relax, nap, or salsa. Between shows, I'll take you to your hotel."

"I hate to put you out."

"You're a high maintenance chick. I can handle it." He smirks. Tom is such a switch from any guy I've ever known.

Back outside with my arm tucked around his, and his scarf snuggled against my neck, we head down the street. He turns at the corner onto a fairly busy street where every other door is a restaurant, bar, or market.

"Don't you live in Hell's Kitchen?"

"That's right."

I shiver, not sure if it's because of the cold or because we're going to an unsafe part of the city.

After another couple blocks we turn onto a quiet street with brownstones and apartments on each side of a tree-lined walk. "Is it far?" I can't imagine a scary neighborhood near this one.

"Not far. In fact," he stops abruptly outside a brick building with an ornate wrought iron handrail. "We're here."

I glance around for sketchy criminals, but all I see is a peaceful street lined with residences, a senior center next door, and a yoga studio across the street. An old woman shuffles along the sidewalk.

"This is Hell's Kitchen?"

He laughs and climbs the steps. "It is."

"So where are all the criminals?" This quiet street looks like the least likely spot in New York for nefarious behavior.

"Years ago, it was a pretty rough neighborhood. I'm not sure where they moved. Maybe they're all reformed."

I jab him in the side. He laughs and pulls me close while unlocking the security door. Up two flights of stairs, he lets us into his apartment.

"This is it. Home sweet home." He drops his keys on the entry table.

It's more spacious than I would have guessed with two tall windows letting in natural light. There's a keyboard against one wall and a guitar case in the corner. "This is incredible. I thought New York apartments were tiny and cramped."

"A lot are, but this one is pretty great. I first moved here as a sublet."

"So it's not really yours?" I peek out the window. The apartment overlooks the intersection below, which features a Starbucks on one corner, a little market on another.

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