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I start to get up, but his arm tightens, trapping me in place against his chest. When I glance up, the line of his jaw is sharp and tensed. I give in, relaxing against his chest, and the muscle relaxes.
At some point, I fall asleep in his lap.
* * *
Savannah is already waiting when I climb out of the car Oliver insisted on calling for me. Her light brown hair is swept back in a neat chignon, a few strands blowing in the slight breeze. It’s a perfect spring day, sunny and low humidity. And early enough on a Saturday that New York’s normally bustling streets are mostly deserted.
“Hey, Savannah.”
She spins, the front of her white trench coat blowing open with the motion.
I’m dressed casually, in jeans and an oversizeYalesweatshirt that belongs to Oliver. It was a shock to discover he owns comfortable clothing. And since I was only planning to stay in New York for three days, I’m short on clean clothes. And wedding guest attire, which is the reason for this outing.
“Hannah!” Heels clip against pavement as Savannah hurries over. She hugs me, then pulls back to survey my outfit.
She, of course, looks much more fashionable. Back when I visited New York more frequently, Savannah was the one who always styled me when we’d go out.
I brace for judgment, but all she does is raise an eyebrow. “You look happy,” she says.
“Is that code for homeless?” I tease.
Savannah laughs. It’s light and airy, like a tinkling bell. And I’m quickly reminded of why New York wasn’t for me, how I always felt inadequate.
But I don’t now. There’s nothing I’d rather be wearing than my favorite jeans, a comfy sweatshirt, and sneakers, my natural waves pulled back in a messy bun. I’m cozy and warm, and I’m not wondering what strangers on the street think of my appearance.
“No. It’s not whatIwould wear. But it works on you.”
I smirk. “Thanks.”
“Let’s head to Fifth first.”
“Sounds good.”
I figured that would be our first stop based on our meeting point and Savannah’s expensive taste. Which is exactly what I need for today.
Garrett Anderson’s wedding will be a who’s who of New York’s elite. I can only imagine the cost of some of the dresses that will be worn there. And I’m showing up with Oliver Kensington, which will draw attention.
Attention I’m worried about, honestly. Attention that I didn’t think Oliver would want.
“Have you talked to Rosie lately?” Savannah asks as we walk along the sidewalk. She and Rosie know each other from growing up in the city, which is how I first met her. Unlike Rosie, Savannah never left Manhattan.
“Not for a few days,” I answer. I’ve been avoiding it, knowing she’ll have many questions about why I’m still in New York. “You?”
“For a few minutes yesterday. She was busy with Jude.”
“He’s nice. I met him on my last visit to Chicago.”
“Well, he’s lasted longer than most.” Rosie tends to fall fast and hard, and then lose interest just as quickly. I’ve always envied her ability to be so willing to stumble. It’s rare, I think, to be so consistently open. Of course, Rosie is usually the one ending things, which is an easier position to be in.
“What about you?” I ask. “Any guys?”
Savannah blows out a frustrated breath. “No. There aren’t many straight men working in the fashion industry. And work has been so crazy and hectic, I’ve barely gone out. I didn’t get home until almost midnight last night.”
“Seriously?”
She nods. “No one leaves until Scarlett does.”
My stomach twists at the mention of her name.
