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DREW
Thanks to a last-minute screw-up by one of the associates, I’m running late. I check my watch, as if I didn’t check it just two minutes ago. I’m seriously pushing it to make the Staten Island ferry on time.
I throw my leather weekend bag over my shoulder, adjust my jeans over my boots and try, once again, to leave the office.
‘Sarah, can you keep trying to reach Becky? Tell her not to get on the ferry until she sees me.’
‘Sure thing. Have a great weekend. Your mom is going to be so happy to see you.’
I respond to Sarah’s maternal beam with an exasperated sigh, but truthfully, I am looking forward to seeing my family.
My direct line rings as I start walking by Sarah’s desk. I turn back and glare at my phone through the window-wall. ‘For fuck’s sake.’
It’s pointless, but I check my watch again.
‘I’ve got it,’ Sarah says, shooing me away with her hands. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Harrington is in a meeting at the moment.’
I mouth thanks and actually run to the elevator. I promised Becky we would make this ferry. I promised my mom would be there in time for dinner. I may not commit to doing things for others often, but if there is one thing I am, it’s a man of my word. I bounce my foot as the elevator stops at every floor on the way down Lexington Tower. There are a lot of things to love about being in the gods section of a high-rise. Painfully long descents to the ground floor are not one of them.
My driver is waiting outside in his staple black suit and white shirt and takes my bag from me. I tell him the plan while looking at my watch, again. I swear time is speeding up.
‘We’ll get you there, Drew. Sit back and relax.’
I try Becky’s cell again, but she doesn’t pick up.Where are you?I have visions of her standing on the ferry, alone, without a clue what to do at the other end, and me waving from the terminal.
We pull up at the dock on Whitehall Street with a minute to spare. I run into the terminal building and spin in circles, trying to find her.
‘Drew!’
I eventually locate her voice. She’s standing on the upper level. Her hair is curled at the ends and draped across her shoulders. The shirt that’s tucked into her skinny jeans is draped off one shoulder. She looks like an ad for Ralph Lauren or something: casual yet incredibly appealing.
‘Hurry!’
I snap back into action and bound up the stairs where we both run onto the ferry together. She’s laughing and breathless when we reach the outside deck of the boat.
‘That was close,’ she tells me, her hands finding their way to my chest.
I work out, I’m a fit guy, but all that running has me panting. ‘Don’t you ever answer your phone?’
She takes her hands away and dips one into the purse that’s across her shoulder. ‘Oops. Sorry.’
‘You’ll be the death of me,’ I tell her, mildly annoyed at how funny she finds the situation. Mostly, enjoying the sound of her laughter. I notice the bag by her side for the first time and take it from the floor. A voice comes over the speaker to announce departure.
‘Come on, we’ll get a better view up here.’
I lead her to the front of the ferry. Despite the number of rush-hour commuters, I find us a spot with a view and plant our bags by the safety rail.
‘Get your camera ready. You’ll get a great shot of the Statue of Liberty.’
Giddily, she takes a digital camera from her weekend bag, then leans her forearms on the safety rail, mirroring my pose. The wind blows her hair back from her shoulders as she takes in the surroundings. I take in her. Only her.
It’s a good thing she has sworn off men because, right now, I’m not sure how much more self-restraint I have.
Once she’s taken about a million pictures – I would exaggerate but there’s really no need to – she comes back to stand beside me. ‘So, Mr Tour Guide, tell me something about Staten Island.’
‘My family lives there.’
She nudges into me. I notice goosebumps on her bare shoulder and take off my jacket to wrap it around her. When she opens her mouth to protest, I place a finger over her lips. I freeze at the softness of her skin. She seems to be locked in this moment with me, until she opens her mouth wide and bites down on my fingertip, taking me by surprise.
