We’ve reached the second bar, and this one is jammed up as well. Jack takes our orders, and Anna insists we bring our drinks out to the tables set up on the open-air deck a few steps away. Margie excuses herself from our group, still tipsy and looking positively incandescent, saying that La has returned to the table and she doesn’t want to leave her there by herself.
“Wait—” I protest.
“I’ll be right back with La.”
The outdoor terrace off the hangar deck is intimate, and Avery’s decorators have softened the severity of the warship with greenery and faux creeping ivy. It’s quieter out here, and cheerful, with crisscrossing strings of vintage-style Edison bulbs hanging over our heads. There are a half dozen rectangular bar-height tables and chairs set up, tablecloths and little covered candleholders on top. Manhattan’s brilliantly lit buildings are reflected back up at us from the dark, glittering Hudson River beyond the deck.
Jack takes the seat across from me at the table, next to his sister. Avery, of course, grabs the seat to Anna’s right. That leaves a seat open for Margie, whenever she reappears, on my left. Avery and Anna huddle together, lost in conversation once more, their backs practically turned to me and Jack.
I tap my fingers on the table and look around, pretending to be utterly engrossed in every detail of a waterfront I’ve seen more than a few times. Anything to avoid looking up at Jack’s candlelit face.
“Three dots, three dashes, three dots. You’re tapping out S.O.S.,” Jack says.
My fingers freeze mid-tap. “Why do you know that?”
“Boy Scout. Why do you? Dad a scout leader?”
I shrug. “Mr. Vaughn taught me.” I take a grateful sip of my wine to pull the rip cord on the current conversational thread.What the hell is keeping Margie? She dragged me to the bar and abandoned me.
Jack runs his finger around the rim of his glass of scotch, over and over, in a nearly hypnotic way. He glances up just as I’m looking at him. Our gazes lock. “So what other hidden talents do you have?”
“You tell me. You’ve heard enough of my conversations to figure me out.” I break off our eye contact.
“I told you I’ll try not to listen anymore… And like you haven’t overhead anything about me through those walls in all these months? Come on. I’m not exactly mouse-pissing-into-cotton-quiet on the other side of that wall. What have you heard?”
I sniff. “Your vacuum?” I say it to be funny, but he looks vaguely uneasy, maybe because it’s a violation of our truce. So I hurry to add, “What else? Besides your penchant for sad coffeehouse music… I may have overheard you making snarky remarks at your TV when the Mets are playing. They suck, by the way.”
“Sometimes. Hence the snarky remarks. What else?”
“You’ve got a friend named Mark who is obsessed with WWII.”
“Moth. His real name’s Luis, but his nickname is Moth because he’s always drawn to the worst, most dramatic situations. He’s the reason I have this scar. Tried to jump in and save him during a fight and took on friendly fire.” He points to a scar on his chin, and I lean in to see the pale white line. We’re nearly nose to nose when he dips his chin down, and for a second we stay there, sharing the same breath. His lashes are longer than I realized. And his eyes are heat and mist and… I scramble back in my seat.
“This is scintillating stuff,” he drawls, then rests his elbow on the table, his cheek on his palm.
I mimic his pose, noting that his gaze dips to my cleavage and away, lightning quick. “Okay. Here’s something interesting. You’re going through a drought.”
“How do you figure?”
“Never brought a woman home in all the time we’ve been neighbors.”
“Maybe I stay at their apartments. Or maybe it’s because I’m scared my neighbor will chase them away.” My eyes stray to Anna and then guiltily move back to Jack. “What is it?”
“About that… I have a confession to make,” I say.
“Undying love.”
“You’re back to deluding yourself again. Am I going to have to duck another failed almost-kiss?”
His lips curve in a roguish way. APirate Dukesmile. A silent songbird in my chest flutters its wings. “Nah. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve got a giant ego.” He smiles at my over-the-top scoff. “But it’s a giant,fragileego. House of cards. Can’t handle any more rejection. Guess you’ll have to be the one putting the moves on me.”
“You should totally hold your breath for it,” I say, and smile in response to his laugh, despite myself.
“So. Your confession…?”
“My confession. I…” I lower my voice so that Anna can’t hear and lean forward.
Jack leans forward to meet me, his eyes a galaxy of reflected colors in the candlelight.
