Page 17 of The Love Interest
“Me too.”
We stare at each other for five or ten seconds. Half a minute, maybe.
I let out a sigh. “You want to keep walking?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
7
FIONA
So, I guess this is happening.
A little nighttime promenade through the neighborhood with a bite-your-lip-handsome stranger who has beautiful sad eyes. I suppose William was right. Ididneed to feel inspired. I do need this. What’s the harm in a little walk and talk? Maybe he can come with me to Grand Central.
I turn back toward Houston Street and decide to lead him to my apartment building. I’m pretty sure he’s not going to kidnap or murder me. Emmett, if that’s really his name, walks alongside me. He’s tall and fairly lean, and he’d be easy to kiss if it ever came to that. It doesn’t seem like we’re headed in a kissing direction, but this is New York City—anything can happen!
He seems so sad. And I like that. Probably about the one who got away. The one who liked milkshakes. I wonder what his story is.
“What exactly do you do here when you’re not stiffing waitresses in diners, Fiona?” There’s something almost dirty about the tone of his voice all of a sudden, but he somehow manages to not sound creepy. I’ll have to remember to give that to William—the ability to say things that aren’t naughty in a vaguely dirty tone while not being creepy. We turn left, onto Houston, and head up to Little Italy.
“First of all, I truly had no intention of stiffing her, Emmett. Secondly, I am also a professional food server, so I would never do that. I’m here to go to grad school. What do you do?”
“I stare at a screen all day. What are you going to study?”
Guys sometimes get a little weird when they find out I’m a writer—they think I’m going to write about them. So far none of them have been worthy of writing about. This one…he is worthy, but he would probably get spooked. I don’t want to tell him, and I see the perfect excuse up ahead.
It’s an old lady in a leopard-print coat. Her wig is on backward. She’s walking down the middle of the sidewalk and makes no effort to step aside.
“Don’t look her in the eyes,” Emmett mutters.
“Why not?”
We split up to let her through. She has a vacant look on her face as she stares at me. I smile at her and say “Hi,” because I trust the universe and I’m not an asshole who ignores elderly ladies, and then she starts barking out “Some Enchanted Evening.” Right in my face.
Some enchanted evening, you may see a stranger!
It’s really fucking startling when old lady strangers yell songs into your face, it turns out.
Emmett slides his arm around my shoulder and pulls me away. The old lady walks off, continuing to yell-sing, her voice echoing around the quiet street. And that’s life in New York, I guess.
“You okay?” he asks with genuine concern. His arm is still around my shoulder, and he smells like a spicy strawberry field that I want to roll around in naked.
“Uh-huh. Surprised, that’s all. I did not see that coming.”
“Well, her wig is on backward. So, it looked like she was heading in the other direction,” he says, grinning. He removes his arm from my shoulder. I didn’t know there was a sexy way to remove your arm from someone’s shoulder, but it turns out there really is!
We both laugh, and his laugh is almost as surprising as crazy singing in the face lady. Easygoing and pleasant. His entire face changes, and he looks closer to my age now.
“We really shouldn’t laugh at her,” I say, trying not to laugh.
“I told you not to look her in the eyes.”
“Yeah yeah. I wonder what her story is though?”
“She probably came here from Northern California to go to grad school but declined a generous offer for a free drink, and everything went downhill from there.” He says it with such a straight face, I can’t even tell if he’s kidding.
