CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When I get to my bathroom, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. “What are you doing? Where did all that come from?” I can’t believe I’m being so stupid. The guy was about to leave me alone in an empty apartment where I could finally get something accomplished, and the first thing I do is what, exactly? Volunteer my services as his tour guide? How can I be a tour guide in a city I don’t even know myself?
I turn on the water and pump some soap from the dispenser onto my hands. It quickly turns green. The rubber gloves did not protect me completely, but to be fair, the pigment was probably there before I put the things on. I’m a messy painter, which is why, at home, I’ve been relegated to doing my work out in a shed where no one else goes.
I scrub the blue and green paint specks off my nose and wipe away the purple smear that Sam spread across my cheek. As I stare at my complexion, I almost wish I had some makeup to brighten my look a little. I’m too pale. I look . . . sad or something. Oh well, nothing I can do about it now.
I double-check to make sure I have nothing in my teeth before I leave the bathroom and, on an impulse, grab the little pile of change I found in the bottom of my suitcase. As I head back down the hall toward the foyer, I try not to act like I’m in a hurry, like I’m not panicked that he’s already left, like I’m not actually looking forward to being with him for another minute more. I pause to adjust my skirt and check my nonexistent watch, just for good measure, but I have nothing to worry about. He’s standing in the same place I left him, and he’s facing the elevator doors; he’s missed all of my cool moves.
As I step into the foyer just behind him, he pulls a plastic card out of his pocket and holds it up at me. “You have your key?”
“Uh . . . no. Can we use yours?”
“Sure, but what if we split up? Won’t you need your own?”
I nod as my heart sinks a little. “Yeah. That makes sense. I’ll be right back.” I go into the kitchen and grab the key fob and card off the counter, sliding them into my small purse.
So what if we get separated? I head back to the foyer. We don’t have to stick together. I was just offering to keep him company, but he doesn’t need to take me up on it. It’s not really rejection. Or it is, but it doesn’t matter because it’s not like he’s my boyfriend or anything. I’m not really responsible for him. He’s a grown man and I’m a grown woman, and if we go our separate ways after leaving here, well, Amber will just have to chill about it.
We step on to the elevator together. “You have anywhere special you like to wander around here?” he asks as he selects the button for the lobby.
I think of what Amber told me to do: Find his buttons and push them. “No. I just got here today. I don’t know the city at all.” We’ll see if the helpless damsel in distress works as a hot button for Mr. Weirdo Beardo.
“Oh. I thought you’d been here for a little while.”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
When he doesn’t offer to show me around or make another comment, I decide this button isn’t going to work with him. Maybe I should have just taken charge and picked a place I’ve heard of, faked my sense of the city. Oh well. Too late.
Our trip down to the ground floor is utterly silent. I wish I were better at small talk, but . . . mmm . . . no . . . I pretty much suck at it. I’ve always depended on Amber and Rose for starting and keeping a conversation going. I literally cannot think of a single thing to say to this man.
What I really want to know is who this Sadie girl is, but I can’t very well ask him about her again; that would be rude. Since he didn’t answer me before when I asked and he managed to change the subject, I have to believe this is an off-limits topic . . . which of course makes me want to talk about that and only that until I get to the bottom of the mystery. She could be his girlfriend. Or a woman who broke his heart and left him in the dust. Or maybe she’s his mom. I don’t remember if Amber ever mentioned her when she was telling me about Ty.
When we get outside into the dark night, the cold air hits me and goes right down into my bones, making me wish I’d brought a jacket. Sam walks fast, and I struggle to keep up, ignoring the pain in my knee. I’m soon happy for his speed, though, because it’s warming me up quickly.
“Do you know where you’re going?” I ask, almost matching him stride for stride. I have to take an extra step for every three or four of his to not fall behind. The pain in my knee has disappeared. This may be because the cold has numbed my skin all the way through.
“I was thinking Central Park. I don’t know when it closes, though.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and looks at it. “It’s ten now.”
“Does it close? I thought it was open twenty-four hours.”
“I heard they had problems with crime in the park, so they started closing it at night.”
“Oh. That’s probably a good idea.” My teeth chatter at the end of my sentence.
“Are you cold?” He slows down to look at me.
“No,” I lie, trying to sound really convincing. “It feels great out here. Invigorating. It was getting really stuffy up in that room. I needed to get out.”
“Yeah, in mine too.”
Maybe I’m imagining it, but it seems like he slows down a little bit to make it easier for me. We’re not at the point where we’re strolling, but I also don’t feel like I’m competing in a 5K anymore. I’m warm enough to fend off the chill without a jacket, but I’m also not sweating. Nice.
We get to the edge of the park and stop to read a little sign. “It’s going to close in three hours,” Sam says, looking left and then right. “Which way?”
There’s live music coming from our right, so I gesture that way, feeling inspired for Sam. “Let’s go over there.” Maybe hearing somebody else playing will help motivate him to stop using his guitar as a baseball bat on his amp or his furniture or whatever. Watching somebody else paint does that for me sometimes. Other times it makes me feel completely unworthy to pick up a paintbrush, but hopefully that won’t happen in the park tonight. The stuff someone is playing down the path from us doesn’t sound particularly fabulous from here, so hopefully it’ll just remind Sam how talented he is. I have to believe the sounds coming from his bedroom earlier were just him banging out his frustration with his life. Amber can’t be that tone-deaf.