“Weird,” I croaked. “Yeah.”
“Well, don’t worry,” he said gently. “It’s not like RJF could fire you for someone’s assumption. Come on, let’s get you something to eat. I have an idea.”
Don’t worry?I thought to myself. How could I not? We jumped on the 1 train, which was rammed with people. It was hot and sticky, but I was glad, as it meant we had to focus on fighting our way through the crowds and I could ignore the emotions churning within me just being in Elliot’s presence. But as we emerged into the streets of Soho and I followed Elliot towards wherever he was taking me, I couldn’t help chastising myself over said emotions. I would be leaving America soon, hopefully to an improved work situation that would require all my focus. Wasting time and energy on a crush that was going nowhere – could only go nowhere – was pointless and I was just going to get hurt.
I was so furious at myself that I didn’t notice Elliot had stopped walking. He stood with a broad grin, cocking his head at something.
“What?” I said irritably. I was hungry and deep in self-loathing, a powerful combination.
“Look up, dumbass,” he said, pointing.
I followed his finger. A beautiful old red-brick building stood before me, with the words 8 – HOOK & LADDER – 8 emblazoned over a huge arched red door. For a second, I was utterly confused, but then it hit me. “Is thisthefirehouse?”
“OfGhostbustersfame? Yes,” Elliot said. “Your grandmother’s favorite movie, right?”
I nodded, a lump in my throat. He’d remembered. A little conversation held in the dead of night, and we’d talked about so much stuff since then. But this, he remembered.
“You should take pictures,” he said.
Still wordless at his consideration, I took my phone out and started snapping. But then he tutted at me, whipping the phone out of my hands. “Give it here.”
“What the—”
“Stand over there,” he said. “And let me take some of you.”
I stood by the firehouse, reaching out to touch the old brick walls warmed by the sun. As I did so, I thought back to the days watchingGhostbusterswith Nana Kath, never imagining I’d get to visit this iconic location. For an irrational second, I itched for my phone, to call her and say,Look where I am! I made it!But of course, I couldn’t do that. Not now. And it was then I realized the last time I’d even watchedGhostbusters, it’d been with her.
“What’s wrong?” Elliot was suddenly at my side.
“I haven’t watched the movie since she died,” I whispered. “Her favorite, and I just can’t—” The rest of my words were lost in a hug so tight I could hardly breathe.
“I know,” he said. And I knew he really did. I burrowed into his firm chest. As a kid, Nana Kath had been my shield from all the shit the world threw at me, protecting me from the worst of my mother’s actions, or inaction, as it often was. I was an adult now, an adult who had to be her own shield and it was exhausting. For the first time in years, with Elliot’s arms around me, I felt something I’d long missed: protected.
My stomach chose that moment to rumble obnoxiously, and I extricated myself from Elliot’s embrace with reluctance. He peered down at me through his ruffled hair, and yet again I yearned to brush the strands out of his eyes so I could see them properly.
“You’re hungry,” he said.
“I really am.” I was such a mess, and it was all because of him. God, I needed Bex to slap some sense into me.
“Come on,” he said with a sweet smile. “There’s a cart around the corner that makes great falafels. You gotta eat out of a box, but trust me, it’s worth it.”
“I don’t mind eating out of boxes,” I said.
A little later, as I inhaled a huge portion of what was probably the best falafel pitta I’d ever had, Elliot’s phone went off and he laughed at what he saw on it.
“Riley just messaged,” he said. “She and Noah are at 1on1 – a karaoke joint – asking if we want to join?”
“Karaoke?” I said. “Now?” It felt positively indecent at four o’clock in the afternoon to be suggesting such a thing.
“Why not now?” he retorted. “Look, we can get the 6 train, it’ll take us there in no time. You can sink a few beers and maybe I’ll get to hear you sing.”
“Oh, that won’t happen,” I said.
“What, you don’t like to sing?” he said with a snicker.
“Oh no, what I do, it isn’t singing,” I warned him. “It’s shouting.”
“Even better,” he said with an evil grin. “So come on, you in or out?”
