Now it’s time for me to laugh. “I saw your mother. Not you.”
“Okay, my heart just broke a little.” He brings his hand to his chest. “But I won’t hold a grudge. I confess, I sawyou.”
“You did?” I smile a little. I’m not sure what to make of a man who dumps his mother to come after me. Should I be flattered or horrified? “How did you end up sitting next to me? Did you switch out your ticket?”
He nods. “Something like that,” he mutters. “I’m not sure I know of many places to have a drink around here that won’t be overfull at this time of night. What about we head east and see what we come across? Do you want to get a cab or are you okay to walk?”
“I like to walk,” I reply.
He grins at me like I just gave him the biggest compliment. “I like to walk too.”
“So let’s walk,” I reply, and we head to the crossing.
“So where’s home?” he asks.
“Where’s home for you?” I counter. I don’t know if I want him to know where I live. We’re not in Kansas anymore. Not even Star Falls. I don’t know this guy.
He lets out a small chuckle. “Home is New York. I was born here.”
“Yeah, I suppose that fits,” I reply. But it doesn’t help me understand where I recognize him from. “And do you come to the ballet often? Or only when your mom wants you to.”
We grin at each other, and the pedestrian crossing changes to green and we head across the street.
“Ahhh, the mommy jokes. Okay, bring them on.” He pauses. “Actually, I enjoy the ballet. I come as often as I can.”
A man who can’t get enough of the ballet. Who is this guy? Prince Charming?
“I’m sorry you don’t make it more than once a year,” he says. “You seem to really enjoy it.” He looks disappointed for me, and it hits me right in the solar plexus.
“I get to come once a year. That’s more than most and I’m grateful for that.”
“Right,” he says, and leaves space for me to talk.
I can tell he wants to ask me again where I’m from, and now that he’s shared, it feels a little more equitable. “I’m from Colorado,” I say.
“Really?” he asks, like it was the last place he was expecting me to say. “I have a friend there.”
“It’s a big state,” I say, hoping he doesn’t catch the nervous edge to my voice.
“Yeah,” he says. “I guess it is. Hey, why don’t we cross into the park and get a drink at Tavern on the Green?”
“It’s in the park?” I don’t know how I feel following a stranger into a dark park in New York. Nothing about this man is anything but charming. But they say Ted Bundy was a sweetie.
He glances at me, reading my reticence immediately. “It’s right on the edge of the park. You’re safe, Iris. I promise you.”
I sigh and give a small nod. If he’s going to cut me into a thousand tiny pieces, at least he’ll look good doing it.
“Do you come to New York specifically for the ballet?” he asks, as we head to the restaurant he mentioned. “Or for another reason and you try and make the ballet?”
“No, I come just for the ballet.”
“Wow. That’s… you’re a big follower?”
I don’t know why, but I want to tell him. “I used to dance, so I’ve always been interested in ballet.”
He nods like I’ve just told him exactly what he was expecting, and there’s something completely comforting about his response. Like it wouldn’t have mattered what I had said, it would have been exactly what he wanted to hear. There’s no judgement from him. No pity. It feels warm. And safe.
“You look like you belong up on that stage.”
