I freeze. Carol smiles. Ruth shrugs.
Allie calls from the exit, “What are you going to do, George, call Uber and wait for Agnes Mayfield to make her way over here from Chestnut Creek in her 30-year-old Volvo? Because she’s the nearest driver.”
I do not really feel like telling her that yes, that was in factmy plan.
“Okay. Yes, sure. Thank you.”
“Say hi to Owen for me,” Ruth calls after me as I follow Allie out. I wince, but keep going.
Seated in Allie’s pickup, as we roll out of town,I turn to her. “You know, just for the record, there really is nothing going on with me and Owen.”
She glances at me before returning her eyes to the road, “Yeah. Don’t worry about Ruth. She just wants good things for him. He’s had a hard time.”
I wonder what exactly that means. Zoe said something about a breakup and the guy not being worthy anyway. It also doesn’t escape me that if you’re young and single and gay, a tiny town in Vermont might not be the best place in the world to meet your soulmate. Not that I know a damn thing about soulmates.
Allie slows to a stop to let a deer hop across the road. She turns to me. “Ruth’s protective of him. We all are. He’s a good guy.”
“I’m sure he is.” I give her a hesitant little smile. It isn’t like I need her approval, but somehow I feel like my time in Moonlake Village might be better if I have it.
This seems to satisfy her because she gives me a nod and continues down the road. I look down at my phone and idly click to open Owen’s “Check it out!” email. It has loaded finally. It’s a photo.
It shows arustic, circular structure. Not really an enclosure so much as a loose sketch of one in rough-hewn wood, bare-branched surroundings visible on all sides, skyscrapers further back—like a secret woodland chapel in the middle of the city.
Cop Cot in Central Park, one of the stops along the route Isent Owen.
He went.
Huh. Go figure.
Allie clears her throat, and I look up to see we’ve arrived at the cabin.
“You planning on getting out, or are you just going to sit in my truck and grin at your phone all day?”
I blink. “No… I… thank you. I’ll just grab the firewood.”
I hop out and hoist the two bundles from the truck bed, but as I turn toward the cabin, Allie is standing there. She holds out her hand. “You left your phone on the seat.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I go to grab it, but she yanks it back, giving me a sly grin.
“I didn’t mean to pry, but I couldn’t help but notice the return address on that email. I happen to recognize it.”
At which point I feel my whole face flush. I take the phone from her, mumble a farewell, and head to the cabin.
“See you around, George Knight,” she sings like the goddamn canary that got thecat.
CHAPTER 22
OWEN
I haveno idea how George didit, but he has somehow crafted a near-perfect day for me in the city.
Maybe Zoe told him more about me than Irealized, or maybe lots of people like these things, or maybe it’sall just a wild, spot-on guess. But whatever it is, somehow George has nailed it.
The map has taken me on a long, meandering stroll. Through a community garden near George’s own neighborhood. To that fantastic wooden construction in Central ParkIsent George the photo of. After that, it was the Ford Foundation building, which has this giant indoor atrium, framed out in glass and steel, brimming with plants and so tall its full-size trees actually look small. It’s gorgeous.
From there, Ihead uptown, still following George’s route. It’s been a long time since Ispent much time in a city, and I’ve never really spent much time in New York. At least I haven’t spent time exploring it. Not like this. When I visit Zoe, we go to the theater or restaurants or sit up all night, talking. And more often than not, she comes to visit me, anyway, since I am “impossible to convince to leave the woods.” Allegedly.
But now I let myself justbein the city. It’s beautiful, Fifth Avenue all decked out for the holidays in lights and garlands andribbons. But more than that, it’s the people, the energy. I hear four different languages within the space of as many blocks. I pass a woman in a hijab and a woman with more piercings than I can count, deep in friendly conversation. I pass a blue-haired person of indeterminate gender identity buying food from a South Asian street vendor.
