Page 46 of The Holiday Games

As we wander the rest of the overflow collection, we debate how much we can—or should—separate the art from the artist. We talk favorite impressionists, share our love of large form sculpture, and extol the talents of Paul Cadmus, an underrated queer modern artist from the early twentieth century.

“So beautiful and sexy and grotesque,” she says, her gaze tracking over one of his pieces inspired by the Seven Deadly Sins.

“I don’t know whether to lick it or throw up on it,” I agree, making her laugh.

She loops her arm through mine again. “On that note, how about a sandwich in the sculpture garden café? My treat? I need more than a scone to keep me going until dinner.”

“How about the best ramen you’ve ever had instead?” I ask.

“I love ramen,” she says. “The spicier the better.”

“I know a hole in the wall not far from here where you sit elbow to elbow at a cramped counter surrounding the kitchen, watching the chefs make your bowl. It’s decorated entirely in disco memorabilia from the 70s, and the hostess is really abusive. I’ve seen her swat people with her cane if they don’t sit down fast enough.”

Caroline exhales a delighted gasp. “Yes! I love a hole in the wall and an abusive hostess.”

“I thought you might.” I beam down at her. “Taxi or fifteen-minute walk?”

She scoffs. “Walk. Always. Unless the rain is coming in sideways. There’s nothing better than walking in New York City. Best free entertainment in the world.”

“Agreed,” I say, marveling that she just keeps getting more perfect with every passing moment.

Or more perfect for me, anyway.

At the ramen joint, we order flaming hot bowls of miso and shoyu and share the bounty between us, giggling as two businessmen take too long reading the menu outside and the hostess shoos them away with her cane and a sharp warning. “Not for you! If you can’t smell this noodle is best noodle in city, not for you!”

“I mean, she’s right,” Caroline whispers, capturing a perfectly boiled bit of bok choy between her chopsticks. “This broth has ruined me for all other broth. It’s heavenly.”

“And sinus clearing,” I agree. “Which will come in handy for the next stop on our adventure.”

Her shoulders inch toward her ears as she does a happy shimmy in her seat. “Yay! I love this tour.” She leans in, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. “Thank you, Leo. I’m having the best time.”

I turn toward her, wanting to kiss her so badly it’s physically painful. I lean closer, but my nose has yet to brush hers when the hostess shouts inches from our ears. “You finished? We need chairs. Our customer like early dinnertime.”

Moving apart with a wince and a grin, we turn back to our food, finishing up and settling our bill with a speed that earns us an approving nod from the tyrant by the door on our way out.

“So cute and so terrifying,” Caroline murmurs as we head east. “She reminds me of my accounting professor in college.”

I shudder. “Accounting. Hell, no. Numbers are evil.”

She arches a brow. “Numbers are dependable. Spreadsheets are a little evil, but only until you learn how to use them. Now, I actually enjoy making a spreadsheet for our monthly meeting. It’s the one time I feel truly indispensable.”

“I find that hard to believe,” I say. “You’re a hospitality powerhouse.”

“Not really.”

I huff. “Says the woman who’s headed to a spa because she dominated the challenge today.”

She grins. “I did dominate, didn’t I?”

“Like a boss,” I say. “It was impressive to watch.”

“Thanks, it felt good,” she says. “But it’s not like that back home. Our inn isn’t busy or fast-paced, and Kayla’s so much better at charming the leaf peepers and Christmas fanatics.”

“So, you might not be a Reindeer Corners girl for keeps?”

She glances up at me. “Maybe not. Even a few days ago, relocating wasn’t anywhere on my radar, but…things change.”

They do change. I’m changing faster than I would have believed possible. As we board the cable car to Roosevelt Island, a little visited slice of peace between Queens and Manhattan, I’m pretty sure I could be happy anywhere, as long as this woman was beside me. Yes, I love New York, but I love the way I feel when Caroline snaps a selfie of us dangling over the East River more. Her cheek pressed to mine feels…right.

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