Page 56 of I’m Dreaming of a New York Christmas

‘Does she know you’re… with someone?’

‘Haha, she knows enough.’

‘Cool. Hey, if you still have time, do you fancy checking out one of my favourite bars? The cocktails are incredible, and it’s where I’m meeting my friends in a couple of hours anyway.’

‘That sounds ideal. Do you mind if I leave my rucksack here to collect after? My shoulders are killing me.’

‘Sure, the bar’s super close. Do you have photo ID?’

‘Yeah, but I’m thirty; I think I’ll be okay.’

‘Nah, this bar IDs everyone. Bring it with you.’

I extracted my passport from the backpack zip compartment and slotted it into the front pouch of my dungarees.

‘How old are you, by the way?’ I asked, as we exited the apartment and Ethan locked the door behind us.

‘I’m twenty-two.’

‘What?!’

‘I’m joking! I’m thirty-two. Thirty-three next month.’

‘Ethan! You were totally deadpan!’

‘Yeah, my colleagues – my actual colleagues – had to buy me a sign so I can indicate when I’m being serious or sarcastic. And I’m officially banned from any kind of humour in client calls after the time I joked we should add a massive drop shadow to one of my logo designs and the client went with the idea.’

We stepped outside into the near-dark street, an icy blast of wind practically blowing me down the steps to the pavement.

‘Fuck, it’s freezing.’

Ethan passed me his burgundy woollen beanie, which I pulled over my head gratefully. It was soft and fleecy inside.

‘Yeah, that storm is meant to hit overnight. We’ll have to get you back to Manhattan before then.’

‘No rush, though?’

‘No rush.’

Chapter 12

One drink – two, max – then back to the hotel.

This time, my body reluctantly conceded that my mind’s plan was probably the right one, especially with the impending snowstorm.

As we walked to the bar, which Ethan said was only a few minutes away, he turned up his coat collar to make up for the absence of his hat. More than anything, I wanted to pull him close to me, so we could share body heat, penguin-style. But now the likelihood of intimacy had faded – and, along with it, my new-found self-assuredness – it felt like an overstep.

Ethan stopped outside an unassuming basement stairwell next to a laundromat. ‘This is us.’

‘Huh, okay.’ The only thing suggesting there was anything down there other than rats and mould was a simple A-frame blackboard perched just inside the door, which bore the words Secret Smile chalked inside a set of lips.

I followed him down into the bar, which opened up into a larger-than-expected space that looked to be about half full. Fifteen or so booths lined one wall, and the longest bar I’d ever seen lined the other.

‘Ooh, is this a dive bar?’ I asked, my eyes adjusting to the soft, warm light.

‘Nah, this is way too gentrified. I could take you to an actual dive bar if you want?’

I had a flashback to last night’s ‘happy hour’ swindle. ‘No, this looks perfect.’