CHAPTER TWENTY
Sam turns around and walks back in the direction we came from, continuing his phone call. His voice is low, but I hear parts of it. I’m sad because it sounds like someone back home is trying to convince him to return.
“I can’t do that. I can’t leave. Not right now. Just . . . call Patty. Maybe she can help.”
I think he’s talking about Sadie. It’s his girlfriend, it has to be. And if he has a girlfriend, I need to stop flirting with him.
Manhattan looks a lot more dismal to me now than it did thirty seconds ago. I wonder if our bet will still be on. I don’t really want it to be, of course, because the idea of painting in front of anyone, let alone a park full of strangers, sends fear slicing through me. It’s bad enough trying to create something all alone in my studio when my muse has abandoned me for parts unknown, but trying to come up with something worth looking at in front of a group of strangers in the middle of Manhattan? Holy balls. What made me say yes to that bet? To upping the ante? Madness. It had to be the connection I felt between Sam and me . . . the shared fear we have about performing in front of people who are expecting something great to come from our hands and minds. Somehow, that shared fear is easier to manage, I guess.
“Call me later and let me know how it goes,” he says. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you soon.” He ends the call and slides his phone into his pocket.
He doesn’t say anything about the conversation, and it doesn’t feel right to question him about it. We walk along the path lit by streetlamps, Sam with his hands in his pockets and me with my arms folded over my chest. The temperature is dropping rapidly, and I can’t stop shivering. We’re both staring at the ground as we head out of the park.
“You hungry?” he asks, startling me. His voice sounds abnormally loud now that the park has mostly emptied and we’ve been quiet for so long.
“I wasn’t hungry . . . earlier.”
He glances at me briefly. “Does that mean you’re hungry now?”
“I guess I could eat something. But I don’t mind eating what’s in the fridge back at the apartment.”
“You on a budget or something?”
“Not exactly. I just don’t know any place to eat around here. That hot dog wasn’t so great, and I’d rather not repeat the experience.”
“Yeah, I’ve had better, which is too bad because I had high hopes for New York.”
I smile. “Yeah, me too. It’s my sister’s favorite place, though.”
“What’s up with her and that guy? The one outside the place.”
“The homeless man? Ray?”
“Yeah, him.”
“I don’t know, really. My sister’s the kind of person who sees a problem and then wants to solve it. I’m sure she took one look at that guy and decided she was going to help him out somehow.” He definitely looked to me as though he needed help from someone.
“That was nice of her to buy him that blanket.”
“Yeah, it was.”
I can’t think of anything else to say, so I focus on the rhythm of our footsteps on the sidewalk. We’re out of the park now and headed back in the direction of the apartment. Maybe we’re going to eat there after all.
“So, I guess my brother and her are pretty serious,” Sam says.
“Yeah, I guess they are. They live together.” I look at him, wondering if he’s fishing for information, but I can’t read the expression on his face; it’s too dark out. “How much do you know about it?” I ask.
“Not much. Just that they’re living together and that they met a few months ago.”
“Oh. Well, you have the basics.” I shrug, loath to divulge too much of my sister’s business, even though it’s his brother’s business too. Maybe there’s a reason they haven’t shared details with him.
“How did they meet, exactly?” he asks.
He’s looking at me, waiting for an answer, and I’m stuck in that place again where I want to keep conversing with him, but I don’t want to reveal too much about our private lives. The band means nothing to me, and I’d really love to tell him why, but they’re a group of men that he wants to work with, so I hesitate to say anything that will cause any negativity between them.
So . . . how do I explain how Amber and Ty met without revealing our big secret? Argh. I hate subterfuge; I’m so terrible at it when I’m not bluffing at the poker table. But I have to say something. “My sister got a job with the band, and Ty was kind of showing her around in the beginning, and they just . . . connected.” I shrug, hoping this will be enough for him.
“But you said that she was living in Maine, right? With you?”
“Yes. But she always wanted something more. I guess she didn’t realize it until she got here, but she was meant to live in the city.”
“Unlike you?”
“Yes. Unlike me. I prefer a quieter life, I guess.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
I nod.
“If you don’t mind,” Sam says hesitantly, “I’d rather grab something to eat outside the apartment. I saw some of the food your sister has in the fridge, and no offense, but I’m not sure it’s my thing.”
“Sure. No problem. And hey, you don’t have to stick with me. If you want to go find something on your own, I’ll just head back to the apartment by myself. It’s no biggie.” Actually, it is a biggie, but I’d never admit that to him.
He shakes his head. “No way. I’m not letting you walk around out here in the dark by yourself. This place isn’t safe.”
There are still plenty of people around, many of them walking down the sidewalk right next to us, so I don’t know why he’s feeling this way. “I’m not alone, as you can see.” I gesture at all the strangers busy going somewhere. “And I’m not totally helpless either. One of our guests showed me some self-defense moves, so, you know . . .”
“Oh, yeah, I heard; you’re one of those badass hippie chicks. I still can’t let you go home alone when it’s dark out. Sorry. Call me old-fashioned.”
I’m flattered that he feels so protective toward me, and I’m hoping in a tiny corner of my heart that he knows full well I could catch a cab home and be perfectly safe. It’s a little inconvenient, though, because I don’t want to waste all my savings on restaurants in the most expensive city in the world, and I have no desire to spend Amber’s money. So if we’re going to eat together at a restaurant, I either have to order a tiny salad that’ll probably cost me twenty bucks or tell him to take his chivalry and stuff it. “Okay, fine,” I say. Despite my financial situation, the decision is easy; I’d rather spend another hour with Sam than assert my feminist power. “What are you in the mood to eat?”
“I don’t want to force you to hang out with me,” he says in a teasing tone.
“No, no.” I wave away his concerns. “Ignore me. I was just worrying about my budget.”
“How about pizza? I hear that’s pretty cheap around these parts.”
I smile, grateful he isn’t mocking me. “I can handle that.”
“Cool. I understand they’re pretty good here, too.”
“Like the hot dogs?”
He chuckles. “Let’s hope not.”