“I still need a Daddy,” I whisper.
He angles himself so we can more easily face one another, bringing us even closer together. “Would you like me to be your Daddy while you’re in New York?”
“Yes.”
He smiles and, damn, do I want him to kiss me with those luscious lips. Instead, he draws me closer to him. “In that case, let me keep you warm while you enjoy the view. You’re looking a little chilly.”
“I’d like that.” I lean my head on his shoulder and marvel at the city.
I’ve never considered myself a lucky person, but I’ve been exactly that over the last twenty-four hours or so. Bumping into Emmet is like winning the lottery.
We wander slowly around the observation deck until we’ve done two full laps.
“Do you want to go even higher?” Emmet asks.
I widen my eyes. “Higher?” I squeak.
“Yes. I got tickets to go to the one-hundred and second floor.”
“One-hundred and— What floor isthis?”
“The eighty-sixth.” He points up. “Shall we?”
I nod like an enthusiastic puppy.
We take the lift even higher, where the view is more spectacular, and the wind is chillier. There are fewer people this high up, which suits me fine. We take our time seeing New York from every possible vantage point. Emmet points things out to me, including the general direction of his apartment over in Brooklyn. Will I get to see it? I can imagine him living in a swanky bachelor pad.
“There are two things you need to do while you’re in New York,” he says.
“Oh? Do tell.”
“Eat street hot dogs and go to a comedy show.”
“Sounds fun.” To be fair, I’d go anywhere with him. Yes, I’m in lust. Who wouldn’t be?
“Unless there’s something you’d rather do?”
I shake my head. “I’m happy to follow your lead.” I glance around. No one else is nearby, but I lower my voice to a husky whisper, just in case. “Daddy.” It’s oddly natural to call him that, even though I’ve never had a Daddy before.
He grins, and his eyes twinkle in the early evening light. “Let’s grab food. I know a great place.”
Chapter Six
Emmet
I take Ty to my favorite hot dog cart, on the corner of Central Park West at 93rdStreet. The cart’s cheerful blue-and-yellow umbrella greets us as we stand in line.
“I’ve never had hot dogs before.” Ty winces. “That’s not what I meant. I’ve never had hot dogs likethisbefore. Obviously, I’ve had hot dogs.”
He’s such a sweet boy. A little chaotic, but I adore the way he rambles. I’m increasingly glad I bumped into him at Heathrow airport.
He looks something up on his phone and, with a horrified expression, says, “They cook the hot dogs indirtywater?”
“The myth is that the water’s never changed.”
“But that is just a myth, right?” He blinks slowly. “Right?”
I laugh. “Yes. The water the hot dogs are boiled in is seasoned with spices. That’s the only ‘dirty’ thing about it. Some carts sell grilled hot dogs, but dirty water dogs are the best kind. Trust me, you’ll love them.”
