We find ourselves in the main stairwell at the end of the rambling galleries and he looks at me a long moment. “You’ve had enough, haven’t you?”
I glance back over my shoulder. “That was actually pretty cool.”
He smiles softly and guides me to the staircase with a hand on my back. “I can see this really isn’t your thing. What do you like to do?”
I shrug as we start slowly down the stairs. “I don’t know. Nothing, really.”
He flashes me a glance. “You must have a favorite place in the city . . . somewhere that’s special to you.”
I shrug again. “I kind of like Central Park . . . and I went to Coney Island once when I was a kid.” Mallory’s dad took pity on me once and brought me with them.
“Coney Island,” he repeats. “What about the Statue of Liberty, or the Empire State Building?”
“Never been,” I answer.
“The Museum of Natural History?” he says with a wave toward the park as we reach the ground floor.
“Nope?”
He stops walking and just stares at me. “We need to fix this.”
“I’m not broken.”
His mouth presses into a line. “I didn’t say you, I said this. You’re off on Thursdays?”
“Usually.”
“So, Thursday will be our day to discover the city.”
“I’m pretty sure the city’s already been discovered by the, you know, eight million people who live here.”
“So, here’s the challenge. Every Thursday we’ll find someplace that most of them don’t know about.”
I lift my eyebrows at him. “The undiscovered New York City?”
He nods. “The gems that no one else sees.” He turns and starts walking toward the main doors. “And it’s your turn.”
“I don’t think this counts as undiscovered,” I say, gesturing at the hundreds of people milling around the exhibits.
We shrug on our jackets and I pull my gloves from my pocket as he holds open the door for me. Cold air slaps me in the face as I brush past him on my way out. And mmm . . . he smells like that tangy, spicy cologne that I remember from Club 69.
“Maybe not, but it’s still your turn,” he says in my ear as I pass. His accent is so faint, but it’s there, making his voice purr.
He catches up and we start across the park.
I watch my breath billow in white clouds that break up when I walk through them, and think about where I want to go. “So, I can choose anything?”
He nods. “Anything you haven’t seen already.”
“Well, that doesn’t rule much out . . . unless you had your heart set on the Theater District or Coney Island.”
He smiles. “I’ve already been.”
“Anything,” I say again. I look up as we weave through a group of kids in costumes, moving toward Fifth Avenue. And that’s when I remember it’s Halloween. “Shit!” I yank my phone out of my pocket and check the time. Five.
“What is it?” Alessandro asks, alarmed.
“It’s Halloween. I promised to take Henri and Max trick-or-treating. I’ve got to go!” I bolt across the park for the nearest subway stop, leaving him standing there, staring after me.
I’D PROMISED TO be here by six, but it’s after seven when I sprint up Mallory’s front steps. I ring and Mallory comes to the door with a big smile and a bowl of candy. Her red mane is pulled back in a sloppy ponytail and she’s got a headband on with black cat’s ears. There are messy whiskers drawn on her face with eyeliner. Henri’s handiwork, no doubt.
“Are they ready?” I pant.
Mallory’s smile vanishes the second she sees me. “They’ve been ready for over an hour, Hilary. They’ve been waiting. Jeff just got home from work and took them.”
“Damn!” I’ve been looking forward to this for a month and I blew it.
Mallory moves out of the way and I step through the door. “Don’t worry. They’re used to it,” she says, setting the candy bowl on the hall table and moving into the family room. She drops onto the couch and clicks the TiVo button.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” It pisses me off when she says stuff like that.
Her eyes flick to me. “You’re not the most reliable person, Hilary.”
“I was at the Met and I forgot it was Halloween.”
Her eyebrows shoot into her hairline. “You? At the Met? Who were you with?”
I shrug. “Just a guy.”
A slow smile curves her lips. “A guy got you to go to the Met? I want to meet this guy.”
No, she doesn’t. I move to the kitchen and pull a Diet Coke out of the fridge. “You want anything?” I ask from the door.
“Yeah,” she says as the doorbell rings. “Grab me one of those.”
She pushes the TiVo button again, pausing the TV, then goes to the door while I bring her Coke to the family room and sit. I hear talking and giggling at the door as she hands the candy out. A minute later, she’s back, flopping onto the other side of the couch. “So, is this guy . . . I mean, what’s going on with you and Brett?”
Damn. I was hoping we’d changed the subject. “Brett and I are the same. He’s just a guy I know.”
“Who is he?” she presses.
I blow out a sigh. “No one, Mallory.”
Her face changes in a split second from suggestively amused to wary.
“What?”
“Who is he?” She’s not joking around anymore. She’s always been overprotective, and that hasn’t changed just because I moved out.
“Someone from before.”
“Before?” she says slowly.
I take a sip of Diet Coke and reach for the remote, unpausing the TV. “He’s from the group home.”
For a long time, Mallory says nothing. I don’t look at her. Finally, she clears her throat and says. “I don’t think you should spend time with him. I don’t think it’s good for you.”
I still don’t look at her as all my insides pull into a tight knot. “I’m fine, Mallory. It’s really not a big deal.”
She tugs my arm, forcing me to look at her. She just stares into my eyes for a really long time before saying, “Is he the one?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s dif—”
“Of course it matters!” she erupts. “You can’t be around those people. I forbid you to see him anymore.”
I bark out a bitter laugh and spring out of the couch, spilling my Diet Coke. “Are you serious? I’m twenty-two years old. You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”
I go to the kitchen for a paper towel, leaving her stewing on the couch. When I come back and start soaking the few drops of Coke out of the carpet, she says, “I’m sorry, Hilary. I just . . . you don’t think he wants back into your life?”
“He has some major guilt issues. He wanted to apologize.”
She blows out a laugh. “Like he could ever apologize.”
I sit back down. “I think he means it. He’s changed. A lot.”
Her lips purse. “I still don’t like it.”
The door bursts open and Henri comes charging through in a Transformers costume with a weighted-down pillowcase in his hand. Max trails behind with his dad, wearing some green costume that doesn’t look even remotely familiar to me.
“Hey, guys!”
“Auntie!” Henri squeals and launches himself at me. “I’m Maximus Prime!”
“Are there any Decepticons out there?” I ask, tickling his side.