Ethan was laughing at me as I prodded his rock-hard stomach. “You’re fucking crazy and I’m more than ready. Come on shorty.”
“You see, I used to be beautiful and now I’m shorty and I’ve not even moved in yet.” I sighed dramatically as I followed him out of his building.
“You’ll always be beautiful, baby,” he said, snaking his arm around my neck and resting it on my shoulders.
He went to hail a cab, but I stopped him. “No, I want to take the subway.”
“Seriously? I’ve not taken the subway in a decade. It’s disgusting down there.” He winced as if he was in pain.
“Don’t be a baby. I’ve never done it and I have to do all the things you would expect a New Yorker to do.”
“Really?”
“Really. We have to do the unglamorous day-to-day stuff, Ethan. It’s good for us.”
“Okay, you get the subway and I’ll get a cab and meet you there. That feels like a day-to-day compromise.”
We stood on the sidewalk laughing at each other. “Oh baby, when did I say anything about compromise? Come on, we’re going on the subway.” I dragged the sleeve of his coat and started walking. He reluctantly followed.
“You know we’re going in the wrong direction for the subway.”
“Ethan!”
He grabbed me by my waist and kissed me hard.
“What wasyour favorite bit of the day?” I asked Ethan as we got home from several hours at the Met and what Ethan described as a reconnaissance trip of the Guggenheim.
“What do you mean? The day’s not over and I enjoyed all of it.”
“I’ve done favorite things since I was a kid, play with me,” I said. “What was your favorite bit, the favorite thing you saw or step you took or conversation you had.”
“Let me think. Just one?”
“We used to do top three.”
“Okay, my favorite three things of today . . . one, I like that I got to see you in flats.”
I grinned at him. Was he serious? Flat shoes sucked.
“And then I liked how I got to kiss you in the street.”
“Ethan! We’ve just seen some of the most beautiful art ever to have been created. Your top three things of the day can’t all be about me.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Do you get to choose, or do I get to choose?”
“I want a no-bullshit response.”
“The other two were no-bullshit responses, Anna. I won’t lie to you.”
“Okay.”
“The last of my top three is a painting. The Velasquez. The one of his Moor slave. It’s my favorite in there. I feel like he’s trying to tell me something from the canvas. How he captured that is incredible.”
His eyes softened as he spoke, but his face was serious.
“You like art?” I asked.
“What is fascinating about it was that it was a practice run for Velasquez’s portrait of the Pope at the time. He was just prepping and that’s what he came up with. Fucking brilliant.”
