Page 110 of Manhattan Kiss

“What?” Avril replies. “Of course she has to bother with the Statue of Liberty.”

“Why?” Poppy says. “It’s a hulking piece of green metal. Maybe catch the Staten Island Ferry if you want a better view than the one you get from Battery Park. But don’t go over and hang out on Liberty Island.”

“Agreed,” Avril says. “Staten Island Ferry works.”

“Absolutely,” I say. “Any friends are welcome to join me.”

Poppy holds up a can of Coke. “To friends.” Her gaze slides to Avril. “To sisters. Biological and woman-made.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I say.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Aurora

I push an escaped strand of hair back into my bun and enter the lobby of Hotel on Ninth Street with a smile. I’ve been asked to solve an issue at reception. This time two weeks ago, I would never have come to reception when I knew Deacon might be around. It’s not like I want to run into him today, but if I do, I know I won’t collapse.

I don’t know why, but somehow this week feels easier. Maybe because I spent time with Poppy and Avril, and their friendship feels real and genuine. It distracted me from thoughts of Deacon and what might have been. I’m proud of myself for not clinging on to something that wasn’t mine. I’m proud that I’ve not gotten on the first plane home to Woolton.

It doesn’t mean I don’t miss Deacon, that I don’t wish things had been different. I do. But I won’t hang around while life proves to me over and over that things aren’t different.

It probably helps that I know today is the last day where there’s a risk of me running into him. I’m not sure what arrangements Gabby and he have made, but Room 325 will be occupied by someone else tomorrow night for two straight weeks. Deacon’s booking usually stretches at least a month in advance, but tonight is the last booking we have for him.

It’s a relief that I won’t have to risk seeing him, of having the pain resurface. It’s not gone, but I know I have to move forward. I know I can’t just lie on my sofa and wallow. Life is short and I want to get to the bit where I’m happy again. I know thinking about Deacon won’t make that happen any more quickly.

“Can I help?” I ask Magda, who’s called me down from a room inspection with the housekeeper. We were just agreeing on the list of repairs that maintenance needs to work on over the next two weeks.

“Mrs. Melia had requested a room near the elevators,” Magda says, in a low voice, so Mrs. Melia can’t hear what we’re saying. “She’s been given 626.”

I nod, since 626 is not near the elevators. Mrs. Melia is an older woman, who looks to be in her eighties. Some of the corridors in this hotel are long and the rooms quite a way from the lifts.

Magda moves to the side to allow me access to the booking system. Most of the rooms in her category are already occupied. I click over to Mrs. Melia’s profile. This is her second stay with us. “Delighted to have you back, Mrs. Melia,” I say, directly to her, across the reception desk. “We’re just trying to find a solution for you because the hotel is very busy this evening.”

“I understand,” she says. “I don’t mean to be any trouble.” She’s a neat, small lady, with pearl earrings and a single strand of pearls that sits on the neckline of her baby-blue sweater.

“It’s no trouble at all,” I say, indicating that Magda should program a key for Room 729. It’s a junior suite and unlikely to get booked up today.

“Can you arrange for her bags to be moved,” I say, as I round the counter. “We’ve found a room for you, Mrs. Melia. Let me show you the way, and you can tell me if it works for you.”

We head to the elevators and there’s one waiting for us. As we get inside, the doors are just closing when someone presses the call button, which stops the doors closing and reopens them.

Something shifts in me, and it feels like there’s about to be rain outside, and I’m not surprised when the doors open and reveal Deacon standing there.

My stomach corkscrews into the floor, and I bunch up my hands in a vain attempt to regain my composure.

I’m fine, I tell myself. I’m feeling much stronger. Life goes on.

His eyes meet mine, and I look away, trying to steel my strength. I focus on the panel of buttons on the wall of the lift.

As Deacon comes into the car and stands behind me and Mrs. Melia, I press the three and the seven and face the doors as they close.

He’s standing so close, I can hear his breathing. I can smell that faint scent of sandalwood and lime that had become so familiar to me.

Why had I decided that I was strong enough to move freely through the hotel today? I’m not strong. Not where Deacon Black is concerned.

I’m oh so weak.

I start counting in my head…when I feel the heat of his body behind me. Am I imagining it? Has he moved so he’s standing right behind me?