“Weird in what way?” I asked carefully, sensing we were circling the real issue, and also wanting to be circling it.
“Weird as in obvious.”
I grinned slightly and stretched my hand across his desk to touch the handle on his coffee mug. He’d finished the coffee earlier and his hands were in his lap. Still, I was touching something he’d touched. “What’s obvious?” I asked playfully.
“You know what I mean,” he said, his voice slipping away from him, gliding into dangerous territory.
“Do I?”
He nodded, never taking his eyes off me. “You are a very smart woman, Kennedy.”
Woman. He called me a woman. “I know,” I said.
“That you’re smart or what I mean by obvious?”
I laughed at the way he was now playing, teasing, fishing even for information. “Both.”
He reached for the empty mug, tapping the handle where I’d touched it, then stroking it once. Flames lit up inside me from the gesture and what it seemed to suggest.
Contact.
“If I went to your game, I would think it would be obvious how complicated this has become.”
The moment slowed down, revealing the potential. Anticipation clung to the air, and then the hope that this was the turning point. A quick burst of nerves roared through me, but I ignored them. I was ready for what was next.
Keeping my gaze on his beautiful blue eyes, I spoke softly. “Do you know I know all the lyrics to Chess?”
He didn’t say anything right away. His lips were parted, and he looked at me, as if he were considering what to say next, and whether to say it at all. Then he did, in a voice that almost wobbled. “If they ever did a revival, I’d take you to see it.”
My heart nearly flew out of my chest. “I wish there was one,” I said, and the words came out all breathy sounding, but I didn’t care. “There’s this great chocolate café down in the Village,” I added before I had time to think about it, to take it back. My heart was beating all over, pounding across every inch of my skin. I squeaked out the next words. “We could go there and talk about who we’d cast in a revival.”
I didn’t have to wait long for an answer. It came immediately as his lips curved into a grin that said yes. “I cannot think of a thing I’d rather discuss.”
Chapter Sixteen
Kennedy
The May sun beats down on me as I walk along Central Park on Saturday afternoon. It’s warm but not hot; a perfect spring day in New York, and the trees are bursting with green. Lush and blooming. I breathe in the scent of newness, embracing it, wishing I could spend the day away from my home.
I haven’t seen my mom since yesterday’s lacrosse game, when I told her to stay away from Amanda’s dad. I’ve avoided her all morning, slipping out to have lunch and coffee with Amanda, but now I’m heading home.
As I walk up the steps to the brownstone, I nearly trip on a folded-up letter on the top step. I recognize the ivory paper. It’s one of our letters from a few nights ago–the James Joyce we left outside Bailey’s house. An anonymous letter is boomeranging back to my doorstep, and seeing it stills my heart.
Carefully, I open the letter, even though prickles of worry tap dance on my skin. But there’s nothing on the paper except the words I printed out. The fear of the unknown dissipates. An extra must have fallen out of my backpack the other night. Nothing to worry about. I unlock the door and walk inside.
My mom’s feet are propped up on the coffee table and she has on her reading glasses. She’s marking up what looks to be the latest Lords and Ladies script. “I picked up a six-pack of Diet Coke for you. I even checked the expiration dates, just like you say to do, to make sure it’s in the acceptable range,” she says with a bright smile, sketching air quotes as she uses my phrase for Diet Coke verification.
“You have been well trained,” I say, relieved. Perhaps, being honest yesterday about Amanda’s dad was the trick. Perhaps, all that was needed was just the saying of it, the voicing of the request—keep your hands off my friend’s dad.
“By the way, the weirdest thing happened,” my mom begins in a cool, even tone. “My publicist Bailey Waltham received an anonymous card in the mail wishing her everlasting love.”
“Really?” I do my best to appear disinterested while my heart speeds to rabbit time.
“And here’s the other odd thing. She said a neighbor saw a young couple tacking up letters near her home in Gramercy Park,” my mom adds, sounding the slightest bit like a lawyer starting up a cross-examination.
“What’s weird about that?” I ask, calling on my best acting ability.
“Well, she said the girl—the neighbor said this—was riding a silver bike. Just like the one she’s seen you on.”
I open the fridge with shaky hands, keeping my eyes away from her as I stare at the shelves. I don’t want her to see my face and read my face. “That is weird,” I say in a monotone, even though my voice wants to rise many octaves. Was Bailey the one who left the letter on my stoop as some sort of sign? Did she know it came from me?
Then my mom laughs. “I said to Bailey, ‘Well, I’m sure it wasn’t Kennedy.’ Right? You didn’t send her a card, did you, baby?”
“Of course not,” I say, as if the idea that I would is incredulous.
I tap the can of soda and flash a big, fat false smile. “Thanks for the soda.”