“This only works with you, sweetheart,” I say, pulse picking up in speed despite myself. “Because I told Kiara I’d keep the restaurant if she’d come in as a partner. And she told me sure, provided you’re involved, too.”
Her wandering lips finally land on mine. “Yes. Yes times a million.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “When are we going to escape?”
“After dessert?”
“Perfect.”
“To talk, right?”
I hook my fingers underneath her chin, claiming another heated kiss. “To start.”
It’s evening by the time we manage to slip away from our families. Poppy changes into a pair of jeans and a sweater that, apparently, she stole from me, and we bundle into our coats, evading goodbyes by going out a side door. The sky holds a half-moon, shining brightly. The nearly empty train ride from Rye to Manhattan is hushed, quiet. As we meander away from Grand Central, fingers threaded together, no one crosses our path.
Not quite a desert island, but close.
It’s a slow walk, mostly thanks to the fact I keep ducking into doorways and alleys to kiss her. Her eyes sparkle every time, pretending to be surprised when my mouth captures hers. I breathe her in hungrily, gratefully. My heart skips a beat whenever our bodies brush.
Later, I’ll take her to bed. I’ll worship every inch of her, and make her chant my name, and fall asleep with her tucked into my arms. I’ll hold her so close, I’ll never have to worry about being alone again, and neither will she.
“Where are we going?” she finally asks. “A restaurant?”
“Not quite.” I skirt us around the edge of Central Park. “My first day in New York, I had a pretzel.”
“A pretzel?”
“One of my best food memories to date.” I’m relieved to see that the cart is right where I expect it, the smell of dough wafting through the air. “Trust me, you’ll understand when you taste it. It’s the best pretzel in the city. Maybe even the world.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You brought me into the city after all that delicious food to eat a street cart pretzel?”
“Like we aren’t going to sneak more pie when we get back to your parents’ place later.”
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes fondly, hand squeezing mine in my jacket pocket. “But I don’t want too much salt.”
Gilbert pretends to fall over with shock when he spots me. He looks more stooped than I remember, and his hair is entirely white now, but the smile is the same.
“Long time no see, Chef. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving. It’s been too long, Gil.” I pay him in cash and tip liberally, getting back one perfectly golden, piping hot soft pretzel slathered with mustard in return. “Glad to see you’re still around.”
He leans in a little. “Finally got yourself someone special?”
I glance over my shoulder at Poppy, whose attention has been captured by a frisky squirrel snagging a bag of peanuts by the curb. Even in the near-dark, it’s easy to spot the delight in her eyes. The sleeves of my sweater are hanging past both her jacket and hands. A frisson of warmth gathers in my chest. I rub over my breastbone. “Yeah, Gil. I did. She’s my future wife.”
I hold the pretzel out to Poppy once we’re underway again. She gives me a dubious look but takes a piece. Instantly, her face transforms.
“Wow,” she says, voice muffled. She breaks off another piece. “This is amazing.”
“He doesn’t buy them premade. It’s his dough recipe.”
“I’m in awe. How did you even find him?”
“When I first moved here, I didn’t know anyone.” We’re still walking, slower now, tearing into the pretzel with little dignity. “I mean, obviously. The semester hadn’t started yet, and Owen wasn’t here, so I just wandered and ate everything I could get my hands on.”
“Including this?”
“Yeah. Street carts, bakeries, pizzerias, bodega egg sandwiches, noodle shops, vegan spots, ice cream parlors, diners, every kind of cuisine I could think of. I went to the higher-end places, too, and offered to pick up work as a dishwasher or doing prep in exchange for a meal.”
I savor the last bite of pretzel, a perfect blend of saltiness, heat from the mustard, and a touch of sweetness in the dough. “I told myself I was going to learn how to make everything I ate. I was going to work so hard, I wouldn’t be thinking about what I left behind.” I shake my head, marveling at how easy those words come now, when I couldn’t manage to tell myself the truth for far too long. “I’ve never shared that with anyone.”
