Page 33 of Takeover

“What?” Vince asks, his eyes wide as he waits for her to answer.

“The Metropolitan Museum. I would beg my parents to take me, and now that I’m a grown up, I visit it all the time on my own. You’re lucky because you live so close to it.”

“Well then, let’s go.” The words come out of my mouth before I think them through, but once I’ve said the words, I don’t regret them. “Let’s go now because it’s going to snow later.”

Vincent doesn’t need to be told twice. He shoves the last bit of pancake in his mouth and runs out of the kitchen to get dressed.

I have my back turned to Tara when I hear her chair scraping against the tile floor. I pretend to busy myself with the dishes while she comes and stands next to me.

“I didn’t mean for us to go. I was just making conversation. You know I don’t want to confuse him.”

“Your voice is like nails on a chalkboard. Did anyone ever tell you that?” I turn to face her.

“And you need to be knocked down a few pegs. Did anyone ever tellyouthat?” she asks.

“We’re leaving in fifteen minutes. And you’re leaving for good tomorrow.”

“Bossy prick. I’ll leave when I’m damn good and ready to leave,” she says, but she walks away and comes back down a few minutes later with a fully dressed Vincent.

Just like we did the first time we had breakfast together all those weeks ago, we both hold one of his hands and make the fifteen-minute walk to The Met. The harsh January wind does nothing to dampen my enthusiasm.

When we finally arrive, Vincent declares he wants to see the statues.

“The Roman sculptures,” I explain to Tara.

“One of my favorites. Let’s go, kiddo.” We spend over an hour there, taking turns reading about each sculpture to him. His enthusiasm never wavers, and Tara can’t seem to get enough of his questions and his excitement. At one point, she picks him up and carries him on her hip.

To give her a break, I take him from her and put him on my shoulders. We spend the last hour at the Van Gogh exhibit, and this time, it’s Tara who’s excited.

“We didn’t get to see my favorite display,” I pout once we leave the museum. Vincent, the traitor, sticks his tongue out at me and Tara gives him a high five. “Next time, we’re going to the Egyptian Art section first.”

Vincent laughs and runs ahead of us, leaving us to follow him through Central Park.

“Next time?” Tara whispers.

“It’s just something people say, Tara. Don’t get your hopes up,” I warn.

“No chance of that happening. I’m counting the minutes, jerk.”

I ignore her, but we stop for hot chocolates before going back home. When we arrive, we have a late lunch. Vincent shows Tara his presents from Santa, and he spends the bulk of the afternoon riding his bike in the apartment. When it starts to snow, Tara escapes to the balcony and turns her face up to the sky.

“Here,” I say, stepping outside and putting her coat on her shoulders.

“I love the snow,” she says, smiling wistfully. “It turns everything so beautiful. So pure.” I don’t know if she’s aware, but she leans into me, and on instinct, I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her closer. “It’s so beautiful and peaceful up here.”

I hold her against me, neither one of us saying a word as the snow falls around us. She turns to face me, and our eyes lock for what seems like hours. There are no insults, no promises of never seeing each other again, and no hostility. I inch closer to her and lean down until I reach her lips. I kiss her gently, and she wraps her arms around me, pulling me closer. She opens her mouth to me, and with the snow falling around us and the harsh winds of winter abusing our exposed skin, we kiss. She tastes of peppermint from the peppermint tea she found in the pantry. When she moans, I deepen the kiss, leaving no space between us. There was no me or her, only us.

Not even the tapping against the glass got me to immediately pull away, and when Tara tried to move out of my space, I wrap an arm around her to keep her in place, but she still breaks the kiss and looks to the sliding glass door.

Vincent is sitting on his bike, watching us, a big smile on his face. He waves, giggles, and rides away.

She steps back and wraps her arms around her for support. I can feel the uncertainty rolling off her body. This was supposed to be one weekend without complications. Or was it?

“Let’s watch a movie, and then I’ll order dinner,” I say. I know what’s coming. She’s going to put a wall up. “He’ll be ready for bed by seven.” I don’t give her time to refuse. I grab her elbow, walk her back inside and help her with her coat. I turn to face her, and run my thumb along her cheeks, wiping all excess moisture from the snow. “How about Thai food?” For the first time in hours, she smiles.

21

Refusing to think about the complications I just brought down on myself, I step into Ethan’s bathroom for the second time today. I only have a few minutes to shower. Vincent has requested that I read him a bedtime story after his father gives him a bath.

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