He lifted exhausted eyes to mine. “You just called our two leads locking eyes across a scene of violent conflict … ameet-cute.”
“It kind of is one though,” I said.
“Lucie, this is notBridget Jones’s Diary.” Elliot tutted.
“That’s a little dramatic,” I said. “And, okay, maybemeet-cuteisn’t quite appropriate terminology. But it is sort of darkly humorous that Marla and Finn fall in love at first sight amid such violence. And humor forms a big part of themeet-cutetrope. Anyway, you’re missing my point.”
He spread his hands defensively. “I really don’t think I am.”
“With any romance, you’re making a contract with the viewer, right?” I said. “You’re promising that these two people will get together, so you have to telegraph that in a hooky, engaging way. Hit audiences over the head with that desire for these two crazy kids to make it.”
“But meet-cutes are like, a mainstay in romanticcomedy,” he protested.
“Yeah, which is why I agree this isn’t quite a meet-cute, because this is a romantic drama.”
“Actually, this isart,” he corrected me with an eye-roll.
“Isn’t art subjective?” I challenged.
“God.” He rose to his feet.
“You donotneed another sugar hit,” I said. I’d watched in fascination earlier that day as he’d consumed an iced coffee laden with so much chocolate syrup it had made my teeth hurt.
“No,weneed a road trip,” he said, then hesitated. “Well, not so much a road trip as a taxi to the Met, but you take my point.”
“The Met?” I repeated. “As in, the museum? With the steps?”
“Yes, the museum with the steps,” Elliot said with a sigh. “Also the world-class art collection, exclusive touring exhibits and legendary architecture but, yes, also the steps. I believe someone told you that you need to see more of New York – well, consider this an educational expedition to further your understanding of not just art but the city itself.”
“Yeah, because that’s not hugely patronizing,” I chastised him as he squeezed his broad frame through the gap in the door. I followed him through, resisting the urge to curse when my bag strap caught on the door handle. As we waited for the lift, I shot a text off to Bex:
I’m being told I need to further my understanding of art *eye-roll*
Damn, was her almost instant reply,boner rage has really got to Boner Rage
LESS OF THE BONER RAGE FROM YOU
I giggled and Elliot eyed me sharply. “Sorry,” I said, shoving my phone back in my bag. “Just Bex making me laugh.”
“This is the chick you met in college, right?”
Chick? I shook my head in disgust. “Actually, best friend, roommate …” I felt my throat tighten. “Family.”
“You miss her.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m used to seeing her almost every day.” We entered the lift. “I’ve known her forever but …” my voice trailed off. Not for the first time it occurred to me that the time I had left with Bex before the next chapter of her life began was limited and I was spending it thousands of miles away from her.
“But what?”
“She’s getting married,” I said forcing myself to sound positive, if only for Bex. “Moving out. Buying a house in a whole other county.”
“Damn.” Elliot leaned against the side of the elevator. “That’s some serious adult shit.”
“It is,” I agreed. “It’s grown up. And I am so far from being ready or able to enter that stage of life, but the person I’m closest to in the whole world is, like, doing it, and …”
“And?”
She’s leaving me behind.Saying the words to him felt a touch too dramatic, so I pushed them down and just shrugged. “Dunno.”
