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So that was that. Probably a good thing. When he woke up in the morning, maybe he’d think it was a lucky escape from making a fool out of himself. And making a fool of her, too. She was far too pretty and far too young to deal with his grumpy ass, anyway. She should go back to her friends, have a good time.
And he’d head up to his room and sleep, like he should be doing right now.
“I guess we’ll always have New York.”
“And Paris.” She lifted a brow.
He was surprised she got the reference. Did twenty-somethings watchCasablanca? Grabbing his glass, he took a sip of whiskey, looking at her over the rim of his glass.
“Here’s looking at you, kid.”
She grinned. “Did you know Lauren Bacall was twenty-five years younger than Humphrey Bogart?”
He tried not to smile at her sudden change in direction, fromCasablancato Bogey’s love life. “No, I didn’t.”
“They met when she was nineteen and he was forty-five.” She shrugged.
“I guess he was a dirty old man, too.”
She grinned again. Her lips were swollen from their kiss, and he liked that too much. “I guess that’s how she preferred them. They got married and stayed married until he died.”
“You seem to know a lot about them,” he said, and she nodded.
“I’m an old movie buff. If they made it in the nineteen thirties or forties, I’m there.”
Yeah, he could see that. Like those old golden age movies, there was a timeless glamor to her. He wondered if she did that on purpose or if her style was just innate.
“You should go back to your friends now,” he said, his voice low. “I think we convinced them.” Because if she didn’t…
She blinked, as though she’d forgotten about them. “Oh. Yeah. I guess.”
“It’s your friend’s birthday,” he reminded her, because he needed her to leave. He was already regretting kissing her. Regretting stopping more. If he walked away now, it would be fine. A funny little memory to think about when he next took the train to Paris and stepped out into the springtime sun. A girl who’d always stay pretty and young in his imagination, as he got old and cynical.
Who was he kidding? He was already cynical.
“Oh. You’re right. I should.” She looked almost reluctant. She touched her bottom lip with her fingertips, as though she were thinking the same thing he was.
That he wanted to kiss her one last time.
And then she turned to look over her shoulder and let out a little ‘oh.’
“Everything okay?” he asked her, because she was looking back at him with a frown on her face.
“My friends have left.” She sounded confused.
He glanced over her shoulder, seeing that she was right. The booth they’d been sitting at was empty. The server must have taken their glasses away and wiped the table clean. It was as though they’d never been there.
“Oh hey, your friend asked me to give you this,” the server said, holding out a phone and a small purse. “She said to check your phone.”
She was still frowning as she took them from the server, sliding her finger on the screen and reading whatever came up. Then she tapped furiously on the screen the way only somebody her age could. He smiled, because his thumbs were so damn big he could never text that fast.
“Where did they go?” he asked her.
“She didn’t say. Just some club.” She shook her head.
“Want me to get you a cab so you can join them?”
She looked up from her phone and her eyes caught his. They were both smiling at each other again, because that’s what he did. He was her cab-caller.
