Page 52 of A Love Song for Ricki Wilde

He’d said yes yesterday on the phone when he confessed that her red dress had scrambled his brain.

It was irresponsible and reckless. But Ezra had to say yes. And he continued to say yes all day long, until they were both drowning in unfathomable depths, in too deep.

CHAPTER 13

TRANSCENDENT AND RUINOUS AND SOULMATE-PERFECT

February 16–17, 2024

After that scalding moment outside of Wilde Things, Ricki and Ezra were keeping things as tame as possible while they strolled.

They were careful not to walk too close together. Careful not to discuss anything too real. Careful not to mention the fact that at the end of the day, Ezra would reveal his terrible secret, and they’d go their separate ways.

Ricki and Ezra were careful to avoid becoming hopelessly entangled in each other.

For half an hour, they chatted about generic topics likeNew Girlsupremacy and the Knicks as they were headed for a new locally sourced organic restaurant that Ezra wanted to try.

“I don’t really live here anymore, so I don’t know what’s good,” he admitted. “But I read a great review of the brunch at Pia’s Pantry inNew Yorkmagazine.”

Ricki’s eyes were bright, her coils loose and lush, billowing around her face. “The actual magazine or online?”

“The actual magazine,” he told her. “I need real, physical pages. And I like writing notes in the margins; it’s an old habit.”

She was in emphatic support of this. “Same! What do you write in the margins?”

“Ideas for songs, mostly. I underline phrases that feel musical in some way or spark a melody.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, hands in his pockets, looking bashful.

Ricki barely heard him, as she was mid-epiphany. Was Warm Weather Ezra the sexiest Ezra? Before today, she’d thought that his stern, intense brow and beautiful mouth would be the death of her, but, oh, she wasn’t prepared for the erotic onslaught ofhis biceps in a short-sleeve shirt. She wanted to bury her face in the velvety skin under his jaw, get drunk on his woody, clean scent. It was torture.

“I like actual paper, too.” Ricki tried to neutralize herself. “Old stuff has my heart. My favorite pieces to wear are from the ’20s, ’30s, and ’60s. Those women could dress. Josephine Baker, Lena Horne, Diana Ross…”

“I love your style. It’s art, truly. Your attention to detail is a throwback to another era.”

“Thank you,” she said shyly. “I’ve just always appreciated the way our ancestors would show up and show out. Those old Van Der Zee portraits of Harlem society folks in the 1920s? Beautiful brown skin, satin gowns, suits, hats, every sexual orientation… all flexing to the nines.”

“Strong flexual content,” Ezra said, nodding.

Ricki gasped. “Are you a pun guy?”

“I’mthepun guy. I’m the punniest.”

“I wanted to name my shop Botany Flowers Lately? But I couldn’t trademark a question. Clever, right?”

“Meh, that one’s kinda rough around the hedges.”

Ricki rolled her eyes melodramatically. Ezra looked so proud.Dimples they didn’t know they had were popping. They were positively goofy on each other. It was enough to make them forget that every moment they shared today would be their last together.

Ezra pointed to a bland restaurant facade up the block, its beige awning spelling outPIA’S PANTRY. “Bottomless Brunch” was written in lilting gold cursive on a chalkboard easel on the sidewalk.

“There’s the place,” he said. “Just up yonder.”

Ricki couldn’t help but smile at him. “I don’t say ‘yonder’ enough.”

At the entrance, Ezra pulled open the door and poured on the charm.

“Ricki Wilde, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to this oasis of libations and farm-to-table delights?”

“I’d love nothing more, Ezra Walker,” she said with flirtatious sweetness. Then they were greeted by a grim hostess in indigo lipstick.

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