“Show me around your city,” I said.
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
“You heard me.” I gestured vaguely at the window, where traffic glittered like a restless constellation. “You’ve seen my town. My bar. Now it’s your turn.”
She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You want to… go out? Into the rain?”
I shrugged. “Sure. You’ve got that look like you’re about to launch into a million reasons why.”
Her lips curved slowly, amusement warring with disbelief. “You’re serious.”
“As a snowplow in July.”
She shook her head, half laughing. “You really think I’m going to play tour guide right now?”
“Why not? You love this city, right?”
“I do,” she said, a little too fast. “I think I do.”
“Then show me why.”
The silence that followed stretched just long enough for me to wonder if I’d pushed too far. But she finally exhaled, set her mug down, and said, “Fine. But don’t blame me when you get soggy.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, trying not to sound too damn pleased.
She disappeared into the bedroom and came back bundled in a long camel coat, a red scarf, and a pair of boots that looked like they could handle both weather andimpulse decisions. She looked at me, chin tilted like she was daring me to comment.
“Don’t say it,” she warned.
“Say what?”
“That I look festive.”
“Youdolook festive,” I said anyway. “And like a city girl.”
Her laugh filled the apartment, light and a little exasperated, and I wanted to bottle it. That sound. That ease. The thing I didn’t realize I’d been missing until right this second.
We took the elevator down together, and when the doors opened to the lobby, the doorman, Tad, looked up from his desk.
“Back so soon?” he asked me, dry as espresso.
“Couldn’t stay away,” I said. “Love this lobby.”
Tad blinked and returned to his paperwork.
Outside, the rain had downgraded to a mist, the kind that makes the whole city shine like it’s been lacquered. Cars hissed along the wet streets, with headlights reflecting off puddles. Sidewalks glowed under the halo of streetlamps. People hurried past, shoulders hunched, scarves pulled high.
Melanie turned to me, her eyes softening as she took it all in. “You really want the tour?”
“I’m all yours,” I said. “I mean the tour. The city. You know what I meant.”
She grinned, clearly enjoying my fluster. “Sure, Benedict.”
We started walking, and for the first few blocks, she pointed things out in that offhand way that comes from actually living somewhere. The bakery with the best croissants. The coffee shop that doubled as a jazz bar on weekends. The corner bookstore she claimed kept her sane.
Everywhere she looked, I could see the version of her that belonged here—competent, confident, completely herself. It made something ache deep in my chest.
The thought of pulling her from this world made me realize I couldn’t do it.
