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“What! Fancy dinner? Theater? We’re going to a show?”
“Oh, Marco, not just any show.” She reached in her bag, took out an envelope. “What I have here are two tickets, orchestra, third row center, for… wait for it. A revival of… drum roll.La Cage aux Folles.”
He dropped down on one of the streamlined chairs. “Don’t you toy with me, girl.”
“Carlee helped me score them. How could I come to New York with my gay best friend and not get tickets forLa Cage?”
He sprang up, danced around the room, grabbed her, danced her around the room.
“It just gets better and better. Thank you. I love you! Oh, holy shit, we’re going to seeLa Cageon fucking Broadway.”
He kissed her hard while she laughed. “Get yourself unpacked because I’m paying you back. Your gay best friend’s going to help you find the perfect outfits for tomorrow.”
“Ten minutes,” she promised, and turned toward her room. “‘Outfits’? That’s plural.”
“You got a business-type lunch and a business-type dinner. That’s two.”
“But I brought—”
He shot up a hand, made anEh!sound. “Don’t make me pull out my serious-as-fuck face.” And singing “Downtown,” he walked to his room.
Marco was a force, and one that could not, would not be stopped. Or even slowed, Breen discovered. He whirled her into shops where he chatted up the clerks until they fell under his spell.
He took countless pictures and videos on the streets, talked to sidewalk vendors and cart operators like old friends. He insisted they take the subway to Midtown because he was going to, by God, walk on Fifth Avenue with her just like Fred Astaire and Judy Garland.
He dragged her into souvenir shops and boutiques with equal fervor, taking a break only to sit down to a New York pizza—a must on his very long list—which he graded exceptional.
Because she, too, fell under his spell, she bought too much and had one of the best days of her life.
She turned it around to give him the night.
Dinner for two, candlelight, a good bottle of wine, and food presented with a quietly elegant flourish.
Yet another world for both of them, she thought. One neither of them would spend much time in, but so perfect for this one day, one night.
When he snagged the check, she slapped a hand over his.
“No, Marco. This is my treat.”
“Nope. You gave me New York. You gave me Ireland and Talamh, and that gave me Brian. I’m writing a cookbook and signing with an agent because of you. You’re giving me Broadway, so don’t make me pull out my SAF face in this fancy-ass place, Breen. I’m buying my best friend and first love of my life dinner in New York.”
She drew her hand back. “Thank you, Marco.”
He grinned as he took out his credit card. “Good thing you pay me the decent bucks while I’m living rent-free. I never in my life expected to be able to do something like this. Feels so damn good. It’s not our life, all this, so that makes it special.”
“And our life, the one we’ll go back to, that’s what you want?”
“I’m going to bring Brian here one day, and I want to see other places, too—like we always talked about. And I want one of those awesome TV mirrors. But I got you, and I’ve got somebody who loves me and wants to make a home with me. There’s nothing I’ve ever wanted more than that.”
The show was everything. She lost count of the times he looked over at her with wonder in his eyes. There were all kinds of magicks, she thought, in all kinds of worlds.
And in this one it soared with color and joy and voices and movement. She’d come back again, if she could, and bear witness to magic.
And when she tumbled into bed, very late, as they’d shared some wine and talked and talked about the day, the evening, the show, she took the magic with her.
When Marco surfaced in the morning, he walked into the parlor to see Breen sitting at a room service table.
“Coffee!” He lunged for it. “You ordered us breakfast? I figured we’d go out, try a deli or something.”
