“Oh, yeah?” He was freakishly close to me for some reason, and I had to tilt my head back to see his face. “Enlighten me,Georgina.”
“I already did. He and I share a common interest—baseball.” I tugged Bruno and started walking. “Catching a game sounds like the perfect date to me, and on top of that, he was a niceguy.”
“He just assumed you were single, despite the fact that you were at a bar with six guys?” Sebastian asked, catching up to me in a few longstrides.
“No. He asked if you were myboyfriend.”
“He did?” Sebastian tore the hotdog in half. “Mespecifically?”
“Yep. That reminds me—you guys published an article about introducing a new girlfriend to yourfriends.”
“Hmm.” Sebastian closed one eye. “Yes. February2015.”
“What about trying that from the girlfriend’s point-of-view? Get a guest writer with a crisp comedic voice. Meeting a guy’s friends is ripe for humor. Plus, it brings the female presenceModern Mandesperatelyneeds.”
Instead of pointing out the flaws in my idea, he seemed to consider it, which was progress. But then he said as he tore the hotdog into little pieces, “I wonder what made him think of all the guys,Iwas yourboyfriend.”
I wasn’t sure whether he meant that as an insult, but he had a point. Sebastian and I were least likely to partner up. Then I realized with a start that I’d forgotten to fear this time away from the office with Sebastian. And that we were almost behaving likefriends.
“Whatare you doing to that hotdog?” I asked when I noticed he hadn’t eaten a bite, just torn it up in the papertray.
He reached in his trousers pocket and pulled out Bruno’s meds. I hadn’t even seen him pick them up. “For thebrute.”
“You brought his pills?” Iasked.
He stuffed them into the hotdog chunks and fed them to Bruno, who swallowed them right down without a fight. We’d done the hotdog thing plenty of times before, but always at home where I boiled themmyself.
“Wow,” I said, not even trying to hide my awe. “Goodboy.”
Sebastian smiled, clearly pleased with himself. “Thankyou.”
I didn’t know how to respond to this new side of Sebastian. In the span of one morning, he’d cleaned vomit, taken care of my dog, and gotten us outdoors for some vitamin D. My mood had improved considerably seeing Bruno run free for the first time in a while. “No, thankyou,” I said as I stepped outside the park. “Did you havepets—”
“Watch out,” Sebastian said, grabbing my arm to pull mebackward.
“To your left,” a bike tour guide said into a small, handheld megaphone as he dinged his bell at me, “you’ll see a busy New York power couple grabbing some rare alone time on their lunchbreaks.”
Bruno barked at the fleet, and Sebastian’s hand remained firmly on my bicep, even as the last cyclist pedaled by. A tornado of leaves followed, swirling around our feet. Bruno fell silent. A breeze blew my hair into my lipstick and Sebastian glanced at my mouth, then back up. New York City had many personalities. With the fall sun and a moment of quiet, it became serene. Maybe even a little romantic. I could see now that Sebastian’s eyes weren’t as green as I’d thought. They shaded into blue like the calm waters of the Mediterranean. Stillness in the city, and also in his eyes, was so rare and unexpected, that it almost felt wrong. Was this the calm before a storm, or were we standing in the eye ofit?
As if Sebastian’s thoughts had followed the exact same course, his face smoothed, and he shook his head. “You have all these little fucking freckles,” he said. “It’s like someone sprinkled you with cinnamon to serve you up asbreakfast.”
I gaped at him, but was his statement really that surprising? Like ninety-nine percent of redheaded children, I’d grown up being teased about my freckles. And as an adult, Neal would often compliment my skill for covering them up withconcealer.
“Excuseme,” I said, pulling my arm back to cross it over my chest. Instantly, the warmth of his hand receded. I repeated my mom’s words of reassurance to me. “They give mecharacter.”
“You already have enough characters for a George R.R. Martinnovel.”
If Sebastian was implying I had multiple personalities, well, that might’ve been true, but what gave him the right? He wasn’t my therapist or my mother or even my friend. “Whatever.” I scoffed. “We should get back to theoffice.”
“Tell me the truth. Did you ask François to ask youout?”
I turned on my heel to head back. “Do you want me to tell everyone you’re acting like a soreloser?”
“I’m not asking because of the bet. I just don’t want you to feel obligated to go through with this ‘date.’” He made exaggerated andhighlyinsulting air quotes. “What do you think, Bruno? Should she justcancel?”
“I’m not canceling a date I actually want to go on,” I said. “Geez. You’d give anything to see me suffer, wouldn’t you? You probably keep a notebook of things that annoyme.”
“Like your freckles andcinnamon.”
