Page 2 of Until the Last Star Fades

“Actually, it’s me you want.” His six-foot frame lurched toward her, his grin unwavering underneath cheekbones male models would kill for. “Let me sort this.” His right hand, swaddled in a bloodstained bandage, yanked the tag on the case in his possession, snapping its buckle and sending the owner’s information fluttering to the damp pavement. “Sh-Sh-Shit.” He chuckled and bent over, his earbuds tumbling from his ears and snapping to a halt above the winter muck like two miniature bungee jumpers.

They both fumbled for the card, but he reached it first. He slowly stood up, adjusting his backpack with a jerk and invading her personal space. He squinted underneath the brim of his cap at the neat penmanship on her tag like he was deciphering a secret code spelled out in hieroglyphics.

“See?” Riley pointed. “It says R. Hope—right there. My email, RHope@…the tag on the case I have says B. Something.” She leaned away, her eyes telling him to give in and back off.

He sniffed. “RHope…yeah, that’s definitely not me.” His watery eyes blinked lazily at her. “Soz, Ms. R. Hope. I fucked up.” He laughed, sending boozy, steamy breath into the frosty air. “I can’t believe you’ve got the same shite taste in luggage as my mum—”

“Lucky me.” Riley didn’t care about his mother or her taste in suitcases or that this hot mess with an accent was adorable. She just wanted to hop on the first shuttle bus and get the hell out of there. She pulled her case away from him and wheeled his mother’s pink monstrosity forward, their transaction complete. “Well, thanks.” The words flew from her lips without a breath between them. “Happy St. Patrick’s.”

Turning away, she left the hungover dude holding her broken tag. She could catch the Q70 shuttle bus boarding at the far curb and be riding the R train down to the 8th Avenue-NYU stop in the East Village in ten minutes. Racing through the dirty slush, she reached into her tote and pulled out her Pay-Per-Ride MetroCard.

“R. Hope! Wait! I have your…”

Riley kept walking and threw a pinched glance over her shoulder. The cute guy was sliding along the sidewalk, holding her luggage tag. She stopped at the fare machine and locked eyes with the bus driver, pleading with him to wait.

“Sorry.” The Brit handed it to her.

“Thanks.” Pursing her lips, Riley stuffed it in a pocket and threaded her MetroCard into the machine.

“This is my first time here. I’m a bit lost, actually.” Rounding his shoulders, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Do I need one of those yellow cardy things for the bus?”

I can’t chit-chat—the bus is gonna leave! Snatching her MetroCard from the slot, she collected her ticket and turned to him. “A MetroCard, yeah, or if you’ve got coins”—she waved at the smaller machine to her right—“you can pay there.”

Shivering non-stop, a shaky hand braved the elements to scratch his stubble. “Coins…I can’t add at the best of times, but feeling as rough as I do now? Ugh.” He swallowed, his nose a chilled pink. “You wouldn’t happen to have the right change, would you—please?”

PFFFFSSSSSSSSSSSSST!

Riley looked up, catching the bus’s doors closing. For fuck’s sake. She waved furiously. “NO, WAIT!” A warm puff of breath left her lips. “I’m COMING!”

The guy rushed past her, each coltish stomp plunging his worn sneakers into the gray slush. “Hey, mate”—he slipped, his shoulder smacking into the bus’s front door—“don’t take off on us!”

The driver rolled his eyes. PFFFFSSSSSSTTTT! The doors opened with a protracted hiss, like they were sarcastically passing judgment.

“Thanks! Don’t let him drive away.” Riley’s fingers jabbed at the machine, repeating the payment process with her MetroCard. She locked stares with the driver. “I’m paying—for him.”

The Brit gleefully bounded back to her side. “Oh, cheers, darlin’! You’re the best.”

Riley nodded as he loaded both suitcases onto the bus.

Two

“Only aisle seats left.” Brit boy pointed at two blue plastic seats at the back and picked up Riley’s case, lifting it onto the luggage rack. He reclaimed his own and stowed it safely beside hers.

“I like the aisle,” said Riley, gripping the yellow poles lining the path to the vacant seats. She hesitated, bracing herself as the bus veered around a corner.

“Me too. I’m all about the quick exit, you know?”

Riley unzipped her parka and sat down. Jeez, it’s warm in here. She typed a quick text to her mom, Maggie, and hit send.

On bus. Meeting Pip at home. x

The guy slouched out of his backpack and dropped onto the hard seat across from her. His shoes and the calves of his baggy jeans were soaked from his sprint to the bus, but he didn’t seem to care. “So, you live here, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“How long?”

“I was born here—Staten Island. It’s a New York borough, south of Manhattan.” She smiled, relieved to be on the bus and headed home.