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She reaches out, stroking the side of the massive horse. “Thanks for the ride, Carrots.”
She looks so pretty, a classic beauty caught somewhere in the depths of time, standing beside the sturdy horses and white and gold carriage.
“Let me get a picture,” I say. I capture the moment, taking a quick photo of her on my phone. Slipping it back into my pocket, I clear my throat. “We’ve got to go. They’ll be waiting for us upstairs.”
“Who?” She gives the horse a final pat, joining me.
I hold out an arm. She links hers in mine, letting me guide her. “I’ve had a team prepare a quiet meal for us.”
“Wow. First a full-day spa prep, then a horse-drawn carriage ride, now a team to cook us dinner?” She lifts on tiptoe, planting that sweet kiss on my cheek I’ve begun to expect. “Thank you. But you didn’t have to go through all this trouble just for me.”
I don’t know how to answer her statement. I still have no idea why I am going to all this trouble, not to mention hiring her, having her stay with me, never seeming to be able to let her out of my sight unless she’s in the safety of the walls of the Village.
“I… know.”
She crinkles her brow in the cutest way. “So why did you go to all this trouble?”
“Why not?”
“Hmm.” Disappointed by my answer, she looks away.
A pang tears through my chest at the thought I’ve hurt her in any way. I grab her into my arms, staring down at her, willing the hurt to leave her gaze. “I go to all this trouble because ever since I ran into you at that corner store, I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Oh.” A smile breaks over her lovely face as she offers me a little smile. “Well… same to you, Mr. Bachman.”
“It’s hard to forget the man who bought your first pregnancy test—” My words dry up in my throat. “It was your first, right?”
Her lashes flutter, the question clearly making her uncomfortable. “Um… Yeah.”
“Sorry.” I overstepped. As I often seem to do with her. “That was rude of me.”
She shakes her head, curls bouncing. “It’s okay. Really.”
“Still. Sorry.”
Her interest leaves me, gazing up at the magnificent building that is the Mark Hotel. “I’ve never been anywhere like this.”
“You’re going to love this place. The food is incredible.” Hand in hand, I lead her up the front steps where the doorman greets us with an open door.
“Mr. Bachman. So happy to have you dining here with us this evening.”
“Does everyone in this city know you?” she whispers to me.
“No. Just everyone who works somewhere I frequent. I’m a creature of habit. I like the same places.”
“Not me. I’m from a small town. I crave new adventures. That’s what drew me to the city in the first place.” She eyes the beautiful lobby, taking in the ambiance. “I love New York. There’s always something new to be discovered.”
Our gap in age is evident in our discussion. I’m a grouchy old man who’s fallen into a daily ritual that I’ve not changed in three years, throwing myself head over heels into my business. Numbers don’t lie.
And they don’t leave you in shambles.
I trust the numbers and so, I’ve made them my life. It’s not till we reach the rooftop that I realize just how stuck in my daily routine I’ve been. I gaze over the view with fresh eyes; her young, excited inexperienced ones.
The city spreads out below us, surrounds us, lights, sounds, and life. We’re here, above it all, the breeze blowing her hair back as she clings to the railing taking it all in.
“It’s gorgeous.” She turns her head from right to left, not wanting to miss a thing. “I can see the river. And the park. Oh, and there! The Museum of Modern Art. This is incredible. Thank you.”
“Come on, let’s eat before it gets cold.”
