Page 119 of Deliverance

“Keep guessing.” He runs his index finger down the middle of my forehead, where I assume a frown might be.

The suburban draws to halt in front of a tall, newer-looking building that’s wedged between the two older brick ones. I can see a portion of the bustling lobby through the large glass doors. The crowd is dressed in coats and scarves, and yet again, I feel underdressed in my light California dress that sticks out like a sore thumb from under the yards of material in Zander’s jacket that could probably fit two of me.

Check-in takes less than a minute and while he’s grabbing the room key, I marvel at the interior. The place looks like a botanical garden rather than a hotel. Green plants are placed everywhere. Along the walls. Near the stairs. There are even little pots of greenery suspended from the high ceiling.

The moment we enter the elevator and the doors slide shut, my excitement turns to anxiety because I realize that we’ll probably share a room.

Zander is quiet during our walk down the long, empty corridor. He releases my hand when we reach a door at the end and slides the key card through the magnetic reader and gestures for me to enter first.

Slowly, I step inside and give the amenities a once-over. My heart is pounding. There’s no bed, which, of course, doesn’t mean we’ll sleep on the couch. “What about our bags?” I turn my head to look at Zander.

He moves in my direction and the door closes behind him with a soft whoosh and a click. “Should be up any second.”

There’s a knot in my stomach. But it’s not fear. It’s a feeling of inadequacy. “This is nice.” My voice sounds meek. Shaken. The decor of the suite doesn’t register.

Zander walks past me to the center of the room and spins so that we’re facing each other.

“There are two bedrooms here,” he says quietly, closing the distance between us. His gaze meets mine and there’s no hidden meaning there. He reaches for my hand, carefully places a second key card into my palm, and gently wraps my fingers around the plastic. “Pick the one you like the most.” A pause, then a smirk tilts the corner of his mouth. “Although I believe they’re identical. Except for the view.”

I stare down at the key card, then back at him. “Thank you.”

“I promise I won’t try to sneak in, but if you feel like you need company at any time during the night , all you have to do is knock.”

A tiny sound, hardly even a gasp, bursts out from my throat and I bite it back.

“I have lunch reservations and then I’m taking you to see your surprise.” Zander grins and pushes a stray lock of my hair behind my ear. “Let’s say in an hour?”

Unable to produce coherent words, I simply respond with a tilt of my head.

“Okay.” He takes a step back and looks at his phone. “I’ll see you back here at two forty-five.”

After we’ve both showered and changed into more appropriate clothes, we eat at a vibey restaurant downstairs. Our table is tucked in a corner and I suspect Zander has asked for something away from the crowd to make sure he doesn’t get recognized. It appears to have worked since we don’t get interrupted during our meal, which is amazing.

I don’t want to be the one to label this outing, but it feels like a lot more than just a date. A man wouldn’t fly a woman to another state simply to try some local cuisine, would he? I suspect there was a lot of careful planning involved in this trip.

We leave the hotel at around four and take a short scenic drive through the streets of Manhattan. When the car turns the corner from boutique-lined Madison Avenue to 89th Street, my pulse rockets. I shift in my spot and stare at Zander.

His face doesn’t give away anything. It’s the epitome of calm.

“I think I know where we’re going,” I whisper, leaning toward the window and placing my palm on the cool glass. In the distance, the distinct white exterior of the Guggenheim emerges, and I squeal.

I squeal like a kid who just found out Santa is real.

“You didn’t…” The words tumble out of my mouth on their own accord and I swivel to look at Zander again, absolutely dumbfounded.

“I did, but I had some help,” he confesses.

“Was it Hazel?” I take a wild guess since it’s the only logical explanation.

He nods.

“I’ve only visited New York once. It was a high school trip and we stayed here for two days. We went to a whole lot of museums, but for some reason, the Guggenheim wasn’t part of the program. And then after my dad died and I met Rhys…” I stop talking because I don’t want the memories of my ex tainting these new memories I’m making with Zander.

My voice must betray me, because he scoots over and takes my hand while the car continues circling the block. “Hey, don’t worry about the past, okay? I didn’t bring you here for that. I want you to enjoy yourself.” There’s a short pause as his thumb traces the center of my palm. “Besides, I heard Jackson Pollock’s stuff hasn’t been here in over twenty years.

Excitement burst through me. “Mural?”

“That’s the one.” Zander nods. “Honestly, I had to take a crash course, so some of the things you’ll hear from me might make little to no sense.”

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