Page 33 of The Wife Situation

As he stops at the intersection, I notice he’s on edge.

I clear my throat. “Does it bother you, being watched and followed like that?”

“It comes with the territory,” he says. “You learn to get used to it.”

“I understand, but that wasn’t my question.”

He nods. “Do you have plans tomorrow?”

I turn to him, watching how his hair blows in the breeze. He loosens his tie and has that old-money, James Dean vibe going. I realize I’m staring.

“Funny story. This asshole got me fired, so I don’t have anywhere to be until I find another job.”

This makes him smile as we head toward the city’s outskirts. “I want to take you somewhere.”

“Luckily for you, Ilovesurprises,” I admit.

He glances at me. “Truth?”

“Yes. The more surprised I am, the better, because I’m usually two steps ahead of everyone or I have really shitty timing. I’ve lost count of how many times I ruined Christmas.”

“Interesting. So, I’m curious, when was the last time you were caught off guard and shocked?” he asks.

“Easy. The moment I crashed into you at the Tower. And you?”

“Same for me.”

I swallow down the lump that formed in my throat. Before that … I don’t want to talk about it. Some things are better left unsaid, and some skeletons deserve to stay in the closet.

The engine revs, and we’re cruising over a bridge after a few more blocks. I place my hand out the window and look up into the sky to see two stars and the moon. At home, there would be an ocean of them.

“I think I skipped timelines or something,” I say, grinning. It’s genuine, the kind that hurts. I don’t remember the last time I felt this way. “How old are you?”

He glances at me, and I’m frozen in place. “I turn forty in thirty-eight days.”

“An elder millennial. Yikes.”

“What was theyikesfor?” He makes a face.

“Your generation is a different breed,” I tell him.

“I’d argue my generation is full of thecoolestpeople in the world. Britney. Channing. Serena. Beyoncé. Prince Harry.” He scoffs. “We’re the G.O.A.T. generation.”

This has me laughing. “You call them by their first names like you know them.”

“I do,” he says like it’s nothing. “Do you date older?”

“I don’t dateanyone,” I explain. “Anti-love, remember?”

“Ah, right.”

The engine echoes off the buildings, and I try to make mental notes of different landmarks that might give away where he’s taking me. I realize we’re close to Central Park. We turn into a private garage, where he scans a card to enter. My eyes wander as we drive down to the basement level of a building.

“You live here?” I ask, feeling like we’re entering Batman’s cave. I have to hold back laughter.

“Sometimes,” he says. “Depends on my mood.”

I shake my head—him and that damn mood.

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