from the restaurant; of course she could walk. But tonight she was going to take a cab. She could feel Kevin about to protest and then decide not to. She could feel everything about him, and she knew he could feel everything about her. And that was why she wanted to escape from him as quickly as she could. He must’ve known that, too.
“I’ll hail one for you,” he told her, moving toward the street.
She watched him as he looked west on 52nd toward Park Avenue. “I don’t see any,” he said after a few moments. “You wait here. I’ll go to Park and catch one coming north.”
He ran toward Park. When he got to the corner, she saw himlooking south, waving his hand in the air for a cab.
She didn’t know how she got through the last few moments when Kevin put her into the cab. She knew she must’ve said something, but she had no idea what it was. She didn’t even remember giving the cabbie her address. She remained in a fog as the taxi took her to 57th Street and 8th Avenue. She didn’t know if the trip was fast or slow; time had become meaningless. She got out at the entrance of the apartment building, unlocked the door, somehow got into the elevator and pressed the button for her floor. When the doors opened, she drifted across the hall, fumbled with her keys, and finally managed to open the door to her small apartment. All she could think about was that this was probably the last time that she would ever see Kevin.
Ultimately, Kelly had had to take King upstairs and leave him in her bedroom with the door to the third floor closed so that she and Chris could have dinner in peace. They ate at the dining table in her living room, looking out on the moonlit garden behind the brownstone. She’d set the table with her grandmother’s red damask tablecloth, matching napkins, flowers from the greenhouse in a crystal vase, and four candles in cranberry glass candleholders. The Dennisons had shared dinner with her at the same table, but tonight was very different. Michelle and Mark were her closest friends, like family, really, and having them over was so comfortable for her that it required no effort. With Chris, she was aware of the way his brown eyes looked at her, not with the interest of a photographer, but with the interest of a man looking at a woman he was attracted to. When he’d asked her out, she’d told him it had been a while since she’d dated; she hadn’t realized then how unused she’d gotten to being looked at as a date. She also hadn’trealized how much she would enjoy it again.
“I guess you could call me a sweetaholic,” Chris observed, savoring his second butter cookie. “You really made this?”
“Pastry is my specialty,” Kelly told him. She was on her second cookie, too. Once again she felt grateful for being tall. She didn’t have to watch what she ate like Sarah or Michelle, who were more petite and never ate more than one portion of anything.
Chris sat back in his chair and kept his eyes on her. “I thought astrology was your specialty.”
Kelly was looking at him, too. She liked the fair skin on his handsome face and the dark beard that had begun to show on his cheeks and along his jaw since that afternoon when he’d come clean shaven to photograph her. And of course she liked his brown eyes.
“Astrology is my professional specialty. But I also love cooking.”
“If you love cooking, why do you have a cook?”
“Emma used to cook for my grandmother. This was my grandmother’s house. She raised me after my parents died. When she passed away, she left the brownstone to me. Emma lived downstairs. I didn’t want her to have to look for another home or another job.”
“That was generous of you.”
“Emma’s been generous to me, too. I was twenty-five when my grandmother died. I was a single mother with two children and starting graduate school in psychology. Emma took care of my children when I was at school. She cooked and she helped clean. For years I couldn’t
“I’ll hail one for you,” he told her, moving toward the street.
She watched him as he looked west on 52nd toward Park Avenue. “I don’t see any,” he said after a few moments. “You wait here. I’ll go to Park and catch one coming north.”
He ran toward Park. When he got to the corner, she saw himlooking south, waving his hand in the air for a cab.
She didn’t know how she got through the last few moments when Kevin put her into the cab. She knew she must’ve said something, but she had no idea what it was. She didn’t even remember giving the cabbie her address. She remained in a fog as the taxi took her to 57th Street and 8th Avenue. She didn’t know if the trip was fast or slow; time had become meaningless. She got out at the entrance of the apartment building, unlocked the door, somehow got into the elevator and pressed the button for her floor. When the doors opened, she drifted across the hall, fumbled with her keys, and finally managed to open the door to her small apartment. All she could think about was that this was probably the last time that she would ever see Kevin.
Ultimately, Kelly had had to take King upstairs and leave him in her bedroom with the door to the third floor closed so that she and Chris could have dinner in peace. They ate at the dining table in her living room, looking out on the moonlit garden behind the brownstone. She’d set the table with her grandmother’s red damask tablecloth, matching napkins, flowers from the greenhouse in a crystal vase, and four candles in cranberry glass candleholders. The Dennisons had shared dinner with her at the same table, but tonight was very different. Michelle and Mark were her closest friends, like family, really, and having them over was so comfortable for her that it required no effort. With Chris, she was aware of the way his brown eyes looked at her, not with the interest of a photographer, but with the interest of a man looking at a woman he was attracted to. When he’d asked her out, she’d told him it had been a while since she’d dated; she hadn’t realized then how unused she’d gotten to being looked at as a date. She also hadn’trealized how much she would enjoy it again.
“I guess you could call me a sweetaholic,” Chris observed, savoring his second butter cookie. “You really made this?”
“Pastry is my specialty,” Kelly told him. She was on her second cookie, too. Once again she felt grateful for being tall. She didn’t have to watch what she ate like Sarah or Michelle, who were more petite and never ate more than one portion of anything.
Chris sat back in his chair and kept his eyes on her. “I thought astrology was your specialty.”
Kelly was looking at him, too. She liked the fair skin on his handsome face and the dark beard that had begun to show on his cheeks and along his jaw since that afternoon when he’d come clean shaven to photograph her. And of course she liked his brown eyes.
“Astrology is my professional specialty. But I also love cooking.”
“If you love cooking, why do you have a cook?”
“Emma used to cook for my grandmother. This was my grandmother’s house. She raised me after my parents died. When she passed away, she left the brownstone to me. Emma lived downstairs. I didn’t want her to have to look for another home or another job.”
“That was generous of you.”
“Emma’s been generous to me, too. I was twenty-five when my grandmother died. I was a single mother with two children and starting graduate school in psychology. Emma took care of my children when I was at school. She cooked and she helped clean. For years I couldn’t
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