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“When you said you wanted to take me out on a proper date today, Nick, I have to admit I wasn’t picturing kitchen hardware and Hoboken, New Jersey.”
I slant a glance at Avery in the passenger seat as we near the end of the Lincoln Tunnel on our way back into the city. She’s wearing the same flowy white off-the-shoulder top and denim shorts she had on when we left her house this morning, her silky blonde hair loose around her shoulders. She looks ethereal sitting beside me as we emerge from the tunnel and sunlight through the windshield bathes her in an angelic glow.
My angel. A miracle I know I damn well don’t deserve.
I can’t resist reaching across to touch the velvety curve of her cheek. “We’ll take care of the proper date tonight. This is just an errand I needed to run.”
She arches a slender brow. “I didn’t realize Dominic Baine, corporate titan, personally runs his own errands.”
“I do when it matters.”
“And a case of brushed stainless steel drawer pulls and cabinet knobs is one of those times that it matters?”
“Absolutely.”
“Interesting.”
I grin. “Got you wondering, don’t I?”
She doesn’t give me the satisfaction of an answer, but I see the little smirk she tries to keep from me as she looks out the window at the passing landscape of the city. Eventually, we turn onto Twenty-fifth in Chelsea and head toward a residential block where clusters of tan brick apartment buildings flank both sides of the busy street.
Situated between a group of them on a section of the neighborhood where a couple of eyesore tenement relics from the Sixties used to stand is a brand-new construction brick-and-glass complex with a small parking area on the side of it.
I see Avery frown, studying the b
uilding and the banner announcing the grand opening later this week. She pivots around to face me, a look of delight dancing in her beautiful green eyes.
“Oh, my God. Nick, this is the youth recreation center. Your rec center.”
When I first told her about my plans for the project, it had been little more than sketches and schematics on paper. A dream I’d been trying to make happen for a couple of years before I met her. “Would you like to go inside and have a look?”
Her entire face lights up. “Yes!”
I park, then ditch my suit coat in the backseat and grab the box of hardware, tucking it under my arm as we head toward the entrance. Avery’s practically bouncing with enthusiasm by the time it takes me to unlock the door and let her in.
As I shut the door behind us, she wades ahead of me into the spacious lobby, her long tan legs carrying her to the center of the room. Her head swivels from the gleaming floor inlaid with motivational quotes about overcoming adversity, to the open rafters of the ceiling festooned with hanging kites that look like wind-filled sails, to the painted mural that runs the entire length of the walls that will greet everyone who enters the center.
I watch her take in everything, all of the details I personally selected and oversaw. When she glances back at me, it’s as if my pride is hers too. “This is incredible, Nick. This place, it’s all you, isn’t it?”
I shrug casually, only because inside me something soft, something alarmingly vulnerable, squeezes tight at her praise. I clear my throat and point toward the mural that’s a bright tangle of trees, flowers, animals, and people, all of it connected by a joyful randomness of color and abstract flourishes. “We brought in kids from the surrounding neighborhoods to paint this. I wanted the community to understand this center belongs to them, not me.”
Avery’s voice is quiet with unabashed wonder. “This is amazing, Nick. It’s perfect.”
“Not quite.” I jiggle the box of kitchen hardware. “Just one last thing to take care of. Come on, I’ll show you around.”
I bring her through the central lobby into the large gymnasium. Benches surround the regulation-size basketball court, which is outfitted with multiple hoops. Rolling carts filled with a dozen brand-new balls stand in one corner. In the other is a collection of wrestling mats and volleyball nets.
Avery takes one of the basketballs off the cart and bounces it a few times, grinning at me. “Think we could come and watch the kids play sometime?”
I chuckle. “Sure. For a second I thought you were going to ask me to throw down with you right here and now.”
“Afraid I’d beat you?”
“Only if I have to play with one hand holding on to this box at the same time.”
She laughs. “That sounds like a challenge, Mr. Baine.”
“If you’re not careful, it will be.” I swipe the ball in mid-bounce, palming it and setting it back on the cart. “There’s more to see. Come along, Ms. Ross.”
