“That’s New York for you,” he says, and threading his fingers through mine, the ring snug and solid between us, he pulls me back into the crowd.
A trio of musicians has set up at one corner, brass notes spilling into the thick air, cutting through the buzz of chatter and horns. I sway on the spot, chewing my lower lip.
“I feel like I should start tap dancing or something. This whole place feels like a stage.”
“Go on. Spontaneity is part of the magic. I’ll film it and make you go viral again,” Rhett encourages.
I give him a shove, laughing. “No way. I’ve humiliated myself enough on the internet this year, thanks.”
“Pity,” he says. “You have star quality. A natural in front of the camera.”
“Very smooth, Mr. Remington, but no thank you.”
We cross toward the famous red steps, the ones I’ve seen in every montage of New York ever made. Climbing them feels like a rite of passage. We sit near the top with the city buzzing below us, the billboards blazing brighter now that light is falling. The glow paints Rhett’s face in flashes of blue, pink, and gold. I lean back on my hands, staring down at my ring again.
“It looks even better up here.”
“Would you like to keep it?” Rhett adds, watching me instead of looking at the skyline.
Something flutters low in my stomach as my head comes up sharply. “No, of course not. It’s too expensive.” I then pretend to be deeply invested in a passing guy dressed as Batman.
“It’s yours if you change your mind,” Rhett says under his breath, but he lets me change the subject, and I ask him which Batman he prefers.
We people watch for a while, watching tourists with their cameras, locals darting past like they’re immune to the madness, and kids begging their parents for various souvenirs. A woman bursts out laughing so loudly it carries even through the din, and the sound makes me laugh too, though I don’t know why. It’slike everything here is contagious: the joy, the chaos, the light. Finally, Rhett stands up and holds out his hand.
“Come on. Time for our next stop.”
I let him pull me up, curious. “Where now?”
“You’ll see.”
We weave through the crowd again until we find a caricature artist tucked to the side of the square. The samples taped to his booth are wildly exaggerated, with giant heads, goofy grins and huge noses. I laugh as soon as I see them.
“You cannot be serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious,” Rhett says, smirking. “Sit.”
I drop into the folding chair, still giggling.
“This is going to be terrible.”
“Yes, perfectly terrible,” he says, settling beside me.
The artist sets to work, glancing up at us, his pencil flying across the page. I try to sit still, but I keep dissolving into nervous laughter. Twenty minutes later, he flips the pad around, and I almost choke. My head is enormous, my smile exaggerated into cartoonish sparkle, and the ring, oh god, the ring. It is drawn bigger than my entire hand. I burst out laughing.
“I look like an alien who swallowed a disco ball,” I announce.
Rhett grins, clearly delighted. “You should frame it.”
“Never.” But I roll it up anyway, because I know I’ll keep it. Some things are too ridiculous not to.
We meander after that, letting the crowd carry us along, the neon glow sinking into our skin, the city’s heartbeat thudding beneath our feet. The ring catches every color it passes, flashing like it was made for this place.
And maybe, for tonight, it was.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Pippa
