Page 33 of A Love Song for Ricki Wilde

“Who?”

“Long story.”

He stood up, too, and with almost courtly formality dipped his head and said, “Evening, ma’am.”

For the first time, Ricki noticed the slow, syrupy stretch of his vowels. There were definite New York–ish inflections, but she also heard touches of an almost Low Country drawl. Wherever he was from, his voice was unbearably charming.

She waved goodbye awkwardly and then hurried away down the path. She was halfway to the street exit when she heard him call out to her.

“One last thing.”

She stopped in her tracks. He walked over from the bench, pausing about five feet in front of her. Casually, he leaned his shoulder against a gnarled oak tree and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Richard Wilde the Second. Ricki.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said. “Now I know who to file a restraining order against.”

“My stalking days are over,” she said, eyes sparkling. “What’s yours?”

“Ezra Vaughn Percival Walker the Fourth or Fifth. Sixth? Not sure.”

Ricki’s mouth dropped open. “Stop. Your family did that several times before you?”

“The firstborn boy in every generation gets this name. No idea why, but there are worse ones. I had a cousin named Zeronald.”

She laughed, and his face broke into a smile so bright and soradiant, her breath caught. They stood in a silence that was too comfortable for two complete strangers. For five seconds that felt like five hours, they stood there, letting the moment wash over them.

It was intoxicating: the all-consuming darkness pierced with intermittent moonlight, this impossible-to-read man, the quiet luxury of the garden. Their fifteen-minute encounter had felt like a luscious waking dream. Later on, she’d blame the boldness of what she said next on the magic of the moment.

“I’m curious about you.”

He took one step closer, away from the tree. “Curiosity killed the cat, didn’t it?”

“It did.” She settled her gaze on a nearby winterberry bush. “But everyone forgets the rest of the saying.”

“What is that?”

“Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back,” she said quietly, and then met his eyes. “Whatever it saw or felt was so good that dying was worth it. The cat returns for more. Again and again. You know, nine lives and all that.”

“Chasing the rush.” Ezra took another few steps toward her, his tall frame dwarfing her. “And how many lives you got left?”

When she found her voice, she responded, “I think I’m on my last one.”

“Don’t waste it.”

Before her brain could formulate a response, he said, “I’m going to leave now.”

“Right. Good.” She cleared her throat, breaking the spell. “Yes, go.”

“But can we please agree to avoid each other? It’s better that way. Believe me.”

Believe him? Ricki didn’t even know him! But he was right. Because whatever this was, was too overwhelming.

“I’ll forget we ever met, Ezra Vaughn Percival Walker the Sixth.”

“Thank you. And just so you know,” he said, “I’m curious, too.”

He dipped his chin in farewell. Then he walked out onto 145th Street. And Ricki knew, without knowing, that she would definitely see Ezra again.

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