Page 29 of A Love Song for Ricki Wilde

It was a frosty night, but it gave her the opportunity to wear a 1950s belted wool coat and dramatic faux-fur muff passed down from Ms. Della. (Ricki felt that romanticizing unpleasant things, like New York winters, was self-care.) She stood deep in the garden, just beyond the Eden Lounge plaque, with her face shoved into the night-blooming jasmine bush. The aroma—voluptuous,creamy, scientifically impossible—was making her drowsy. Intoxicated by the scent and bathed in the crisp stillness of early-evening darkness, she didn’t notice the obvious.

“Hello?” a male voice called out.

Ricki spun around at the same time a person emerged from the shadows.

She screamed. Reflexively, she executed a clumsy but effective dropkick, her block-heeled boot connecting solidly with his upper arm.

“Ow!” He grabbed his arm, stumbling backward in surprise.

Garden Gentleman. Mysterious Benefactor. Fuckinghim.

Breathing heavily, Ricki hit the defensive stance she’d learned at Kick Start Martial Arts in eighth grade, her knees slightly bent, her fists blocking her face. “Are you following me?”

Mysterious Benefactor dropped his hand from his arm, his expression frustratingly unreadable. Ricki took a good, long look at him this time. The silvery glow of the moon softened the sculpted planes of his face. He had long inky-black lashes and a mouth that made her eyes cross. Tonight, he was dressed in the archetypal casual-cool NYC twenty-something look: Howard hoodie, double-breasted navy coat, desert boots.

“I repeat,” she said, trying to quell the tremble in her voice. “Are you following me?”

“No,” he said with weary resignation. “No.”

Ricki’s stomach flip-flopped, but she didn’t lower her fists. It was the first time she’d heard him speak in a regular tone (ordering her to get out of town didn’t count). That simple “no” made him seem flesh-and-blood real.

Which was even scarier than him being just an enigmatic mystery.

“No? Just no? You owe me an explanation.” She hoped he couldn’t sense how frightened she was. There was no world inwhich their run-ins were an accident, a twist of fate, a coincidence. Who the hell was this man?

“Do I? You’re the one following me.” His voice was calm and his face was steady, but there was a charged tension in his voice.

“Me? I am not following you!”

“Right. You’restalkingme,” he said. “Were you not camped outside my house, staring in my windows? Taking pictures? For two hours?”

“Well…”

“You even had that girl fromDegrassi Highco-spying with you. Isn’t she on house arrest?”

“First of all, Tuesday was onReady Freddy. Secondly, she’s not a wild child anymore. She’s a mild-mannered memoirist.” Slowly, Ricki lowered her fists, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, who are you?”

He didn’t answer. He just stood there, a scowl darkening his face. They watched each other, each waiting for the other to make a move. The moment crackled between them. And then, just as he opened his mouth to say something, he stopped and walked away.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Ignoring every red flag in her body, Ricki scurried behind him.

Exasperated, he turned to face her. “I’m leaving. This garden ain’t big enough for the both of us. I don’t want trouble. I came here for some fresh air and to fake-meditate on my anxiety app.”

“Oh?” Ricki’s interest was piqued, despite everything. And then, true to form, she overshared. “I have GAD. Generalized anxiety disorder. I’m familiar with all the apps. Which one is it?”

“Oh. Uh, I don’t remember the name,” he mumbled, slightly embarrassed. “I don’t know, my life coach recommended it. Forget it.”

Ricki got the message. This guy wasn’t an open book.

“Look,” she started, wanting to erase the past sixty seconds. “Idid wait for you outside of your house. But I’m not a stalker. It’s just that you paid a lot of money for that piece. I wanted some answers.”

“Fine.” He sighed impatiently and then took a few steps closer to her. He widened his stance and peered down at her. His stern, intense expression threatened to throw Ricki off her game. “You want answers?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

She was helplessly drawn to him. The pull went far beyond her attraction to terrible men. Those were passing fascinations, whereas this felt like the beginning of something, the framework of something sprawling, like a trellis under a vine.

“Fine, I’ll give you five minutes,” he was saying. “Ask me anything.”

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