Page 89 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

Whatever I want to call it, it happened, and I haven’t stopped grinning since. Except when we slept, though I’m pretty sure I smiled all night since my cheeks hurt when I woke up.

“You must have been having sweet dreams last night,” she says, her eyes still trained on the paperback resting on her lap.

“Why do you say that?” I ask, not because I don’t know the answer already but because I want her to know.

I lower the newspaper and look at the beauty on the other end of the couch. We woke up early since we went to bed around nine after wearing each other out. The sun hasn’t even come up, but I’m already wishing it was a weekend so we could spend all day like this.

She looks right at home here, and that brings me more pleasure than it probably should, considering she’ll be living in her own space again one day.

My grin is gone.

Long brown lashes tap above her eyes when she looks up at me, free of makeup but more stunning than ever. I give in and start smiling because whether I get her for a month or a year, I’ll take her and appreciate the time instead of wasting it.

She says, “Because you grinned all night like you just scored your favorite candy.”

“I did.”

There it is—the sweet blush that covers her cheeks, eyes that can’t hide how a simple compliment makes her feel, and the twitch of her lips as she tries to hide that pretty smile. She can’t. Just like I can’t.

“I don’t know anyone who still reads a newspaper. You know they have the news on your phone, TV, and pretty much everywhere you can get Wi-Fi these days.”

I chuckle. “I like holding something in my hands. I stare at a screen most of the day and then again most nights. It’s nice to take a break and read the old-fashioned way.” Leaning forward, I tap the top of her book. “What about you? There are e-books and audiobooks, but you’re always reading paperbacks.”

“I guess, like you, I like the feel of it in my hands, and I bought this book used to give it another life.” She holds it to her nose. “I love the smell of the paper, the dust from the old shelves, and the life this book has lived before it became a part of mine.” She rests her head sideways on the back cushion, and her smile is so right. Wriggling her feet over to me, she tucks them under my legs. “Can you play hooky today?”

“There’s nothing I’d rather do than spend the day with you.” The newspaper crinkles in protest when I lean over to kiss her.She meets me halfway, and our lips press together. “But I have court this afternoon.”

Flopping back to opposite sides of the couch, she says, “I’d take this morning.”

“Is that something you can do?”

“I have so much stockpiled time off and nothing scheduled that someone else can’t handle.”

“Then, why’d you have to use your lunch hour for the move?”

“They only count full days and I didn’t want to use a day when I only need an hour. I’ll take the day, but what do you say to skipping out for a few hours?”

“How can I say no? “I’ll text Ashleigh.” I reach for my phone, but she covers my hand.

“Maybe wait until six or seven.”

It’s incredible that the world already feels like it revolves around our plans. “Six. She’s used to it.”

“She shouldn’t be.”

“Good point, Miss Bell.” Technically, I shouldn’t be playing hooky with the possibility of partnership on the line, but Ashleigh will vouch for hours spent working from home. I set my phone back on the coffee table and pick up my ‘I’m not feeling worky today’ mug. “Something tells me you had this planned all along.”

She asks, “What should we do with the next six or seven hours?”

“Movies? Walk in Central Park? Shopping? Baseball Playoffs? Coffee? Go out for lunch? Whatever you want to do, I want, too.”

Closing her book, she tosses it to the coffee table and gets to her knees, crawling over to me. I toss the paper behind me, welcoming her onto my lap. “I want to stay in. However long I can have you.” She kisses me, and then dips to my ear to whisper, “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone.”

That is not where I saw this headed. Caught by surprise, I tick through a list of contenders. I could tell her I own the building or about how I found out I’m the frontrunner for partnership, but that’s bragging stuff. I know that’s not what she means or wants. Leaning my head back, I want the honor of seeing her face every night and every day. I don’t say that in fear of scaring her off, though. I need to find something in between.

I go with, “The shirt I was wearing the day we met has never been dry-cleaned.” Okay, that leans more toward creeper than a neutral admission, but it’s out in the open now.

“You tossed it?” I detect a note of disappointment as her eyes fixate on mine.

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