Page 51 of Beyond Question

“We’re going to freeze to death.”

“Nah.” He motions toward an empty seat and I slide in, then he scootches in beside me. “You’ll be fine.” He drapes his arms around my shoulders and pulls me close. “Plus, you’ve got my body heat.”

I swallow hard, fighting to ignore how good it feels to be pressed against his side. “If anyone asks, I will deny ever doing this,” I say as the light changes and the bus lurches forward.

Travis laughs, but his arm tightens around my shoulders, and when he brings his mouth to my ear, I barely hear his next words, my brain so focused on all the places our bodies connect. The brush of his lips against the shell of my ear sends a thrill down my spine. “Just pretend we’re not from around here,” he says in a horrendous excuse for an Australian accent.

Laughing, I swivel my head toward him, but my retort dies on my tongue.

I’ve made a grave mistake.

Because our lips are just inches apart.

My breath catches, and the instant he realizes what I’ve just figured out, his gaze drops to my mouth. His hand cups my cheek a split second later, and when his thumb grazes my bottom lip, my belly tightens and my lips part, and Ialmostlean in. Almost.

But I don’t want our first kiss to be on top of a double-decker bus, surrounded by tourists, so I give my head a subtle shake, and thankfully, Travis understands the meaning. He gives me a curt nod, then says in his silly accent, “Aye, mate, you’re missing all the touristy things.”

A tour guide climbs the steps to our level and I fight to keep my groan at bay as he introduces himself, tells a few horrendous jokes, then begins sharing trivia and facts about the buildings we pass as we leave Times Square.

“How long have you been in New York?” Travis whispers.

“Thirty years. You?”

“All my life. Where were you before that?”

This question always makes my stomach twist into knots. “Far away from here.” It’s the usual answer, and most people give me the grace to leave it at that. But Travis has provenrepeatedly that he isn’t most people, and before he even responds, I’m expecting his next words.

“I’m going to need more than that.”

I close my eyes on a long blink, swallowing hard as my throat tightens.

“When you’re ready.”

Tension seeps from my shoulders. I nod, give him a whispered, “Okay,” and quickly move the conversation along. “So, Mr. CFO, you’re a numbers guy—”

Travis laughs. “In simple terms, yes.”

“What do you like about numbers?”

His fingers flex on my shoulder. “Good question, Paige.”

We pass the Empire State building and I’m momentarily distracted as I look up at it with fresh eyes. The eyes of a tourist. Peopleoohandaharound us, and I can’t help but be affected by their wonder. It truly is magnificent.

“I’ve never really stopped to look at it,” Travis murmurs.

“Me either.”

People snap photos all around us, and the tour guide goes into his rehearsed spiel, but I settle back against Travis and tilt my head up, allowing myself a moment to soak it in.

Maybe viewing my city as a tourist isn’t the worst idea ever.

After a few moments and a lot of commotion as everyone gets their perfect shots for Instagram, the bus resumes moving and Travis says, “Consistency.”

“Hm?”

“Math. You asked why I like numbers. They’re consistent. Solid. Reliable. Math is always just math.” He shrugs, then pauses for a moment while the tour guide points out something and all the tourists move from one side of the bus to the other to look down at the street. Then Travis squeezes my shoulder as he continues. “You can trust numbers to be exactly what they are. Math always functions the same way. The same process worksthe same way on everything.” After a moment, he adds, “There are no secrets, no surprises with numbers.”

My teeth dig at my bottom lip as he continues waxing poetic about the beauty of consistency with numbers, but my mind drifts, stuck on his words.No secrets. No surprises.

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