“Fuck it!” I drop the spoon for the fifth time tonight.

“You wash your damn hands with butter before you got here or what, kid?” Joe hollers.

“Might as well have,” I grumble, bending to pick it up. I throw it in the sink and take a clean one from the rack. My pan on the hob starts to bubble frantically, and I rush over to the cooker to find the rice I was cooking boiling over.

“Shiiiiiit,” I hiss, turning the gas off and taking the handle of the pan. I empty it into a colander in the sink. There’s half an inch of rice stuck to the bottom. My body deflates and I bang my head against the fridge.

Hard.

Joe puts a hand on my shoulder. “Look, Blake, I don’t know what’s going on with you tonight, but perhaps it’s best if you leave early. We’re quiet for a Friday and you’d be taking off in an hour anyway.”

“No.” I shake my head, grabbing a scouring pad to clean out the pan. “I’m good, Chef. Really. I’ll finish out my shift.”

“Son.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Go home. No good you being here and beating yourself up every time you make a mistake. Get yourself a good nights’ sleep and come in here tomorrow for your lunch shift, alright?”

I sigh, drop the scourer, and nod. “Got it.”

He pats my back a few times and disappears back into the main kitchen area, yelling at Matt. I pull off my chef clothes and shove them in my bag, leaving the stifling building in record time.

There’s a chill in the evening air when I step outside, and I breathe in deeply and gratefully. My steps are slow and lazy as I make my way home, my head somewhere up in the clouds. The waning light doesn’t bother me as I trundle through Brooklyn’s streets. I notice nothing and nobody around me.

All I can think of is a pair of blue eyes, wide and frantic. All I can focus on is the fear and confusion that glazed them over, clouding them until they were barely recognizable. All I care about is that she’s okay.

My craziness is made worse because she wasn’t in class yesterday. Because Bianca just shook her head with a hint of sadness when I asked where she was. Because somewhere in the back of my mind, I recognize the fear that shone in her eyes. I recognize the panic, the painful tears that dripped from her eyes, the heartbreaking shaking of her body as I carried her from the studio to Bianca’s office.

And the sobs. I recognize the body-wracking sobs because I listened to my sister cry them for months.

Every minute we spend together, I see more and more of Tori in Abbi. But I also see something Tori never had – a spark. It’s a spark that holds an honest to God dream.

Yesterday though … There was no spark. Every bit of light in Abbi’s body went out. She was a different person – there was no fun glint in her eye, no amused smirk, and no sarcastic comments. The shadows that hide in the depths of her eyes took her over completely.

The way Tori’s used to.

I have no idea why Abbi broke down; all I know is that I want to know. I want to know why she fell apart, why someone who’s so silently strong had a moment of such crippling weakness. And I want to make it better. Something about her is so endearing I can’t help but be pulled in by her – I can’t help but want to want her.

I want to hold her waist as she gets lost in the dance. I want to spin her round en pointe until she doesn’t know which way is up anymore. I want to lift her above my head and dance her across the stage so gracefully she believes she’s flying.

I want to take the tears and the pain and change them into a smile and happiness.

Maybe that’s why, when I enter my apartment, I change into a polo top and jeans and call her number without a bloody clue what I’m gonna say to her.

“Hey,” I say softly when she answers.

“Hi.”

“You weren’t in class yesterday … I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I …” She pauses, and I swallow as I wait for her reply. “I know it’s getting late, but I thought of another place to show you in Brooklyn if you want to see.”

I don’t miss that she’s avoiding my question, but something in me hopes she’ll talk more if we’re face to face.

“I think I can deal with that. As long as we don’t meet at Whole Foods again.”

“No … No Whole Foods. Promise.” If I didn’t know better I’d swear she was smiling a little.

“Where to then?”

“Brooklyn Promenade.”

 

~

 

I climb from the taxi and get my first look at the promenade. Directly across the East River is the lower Manhattan skyline on backdrop of the setting sun. I stop for a second, staring dumbly at the golden hues of the sunset crawling across the sky, only broken by towering skyscrapers. Brooklyn Bridge stands to my right, stretching across the river, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m looking at one of the most amazing things this side of the Atlantic.

I draw my eyes away and look to the actual promenade. Benches stretch along the length of it, backed by trees and dimly lit lampposts every few feet. Couples, families and groups of friends stroll up and down the promenade, some sit on the benches. They’re all laughing and joking, and I rush past behind the benches searching for Abbi.

I find her a good few feet away from the majority of people here. She’s sitting on the back of one of the benches with her elbows on her knees. Her hair is swept to one side and tucked behind her ear, giving me a perfect view of her profile as she gazes out at the city.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asks, turning her face toward me.

“Yeah,” I reply, not taking my eyes from her. “Yeah. It is.”

She stares at me for a beat before looking away again.

“This doesn’t look like somewhere you’d hide.” I climb up onto the bench next to her, perching on the back the same way she is.

“Sometimes the best hiding place is in plain sight.” Peering sideways at me, she smooths her hair back around her neck when a breeze sends it flying. “How many people do you think you walk past every day that are hiding from something?”

“Point taken.” I nod.

“I come here to remember that life goes on. It’s always so busy; the promenade is always full of people, cars are always racing over Brooklyn Bridge, and New York is always alive. Sometimes your world just stops, you know? And that’s when I need to remember its still turning.”

I don’t reply, instead watch the sun drop down even further. Gradually, one by one, the buildings of Manhattan begin to light up. The sunset is washed out by the brightness of the buildings reflecting both in the water and against the sky. Shades of orange, pink, purple and blue fill the sky behind the city as the artificial lights mix with the natural one, creating something I’m sure you can’t see anywhere else in the world.

I don’t reply, even as the colorful sky is taken over by the inky blackness of the night sky. There are no stars here, their light drowned out by the city.

“You asked me if I’m okay,” Abbi says, breaking my reverie. “I don’t know how to answer that. Sometimes I am, sometimes I’m not. Sometimes I don’t even know myself.”

I wait for her to continue, watching her as she fiddles with a lock of her hair.

“I was diagnosed with depression a year ago. It’s not something I usually tell people, but after Tuesday, I feel like you have a right to know.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“No, I do. You deserve to know this much, at least.” She takes a deep breath, finally looking at me properly. Her blue eyes are wide and earnest, completely clear of everything but a tiny dot of fear. Fear of what, I don’t know. I just know I see that fear.

“I don’t know what happened on Tuesday. The panic attacks … They kind of come along with my depression, and there’s always something that starts them. Usually I can feel when one’s coming and stop it, I can fight it, but I couldn’t on Tuesday. I haven’t had one for weeks now, and I have no idea what caused the last one. I guess I was lucky it happened when I was in a place where there was someone who knew how to calm me down.”

I scratch my nose, remembering how swiftly Bianca moved to her side. “Bianca was with you in seconds, and asked me to carry you into her office. No one really noticed – and she didn’t want you in full view of everyone.”

“Thank you,” she whispers. “For getting me out of the studio.”

“It’s okay. Really.” We both smile at each other. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead. I can’t promise I’ll answer, though.”

“Warn a guy next time, can ya? You scared the shit out of me. I’ve been wondering if I’m really that bloody bad at dancing.” I wink at her, and she laughs quietly.

“That’s it. It must be your dancing. Why didn’t I think of it before?” She shakes her head. “I’m gonna have to talk to Bianca and get her to find me a new partner.”

I half-smirk, happy to see a light back in her eyes. “Shut up,” I mutter.

Her lips twitch with a suppressed grin. “I really want some ice cream. Let’s get some.”

“You realize it’s almost nine p.m., don’t you?” I raise my eyebrows at her.

Abbi shrugs, jumping up from the bench. “It’s never too late for ice cream. Especially not from Holly’s place.”

“Of course,” I mumble as I get up. “An ice cream parlor open at nine o’clock. Bloody Americans.”

“I heard that, freakin’ British,” Abbi replies, her cheeks twitching with the fight of a smile. “It’s perfectly normal for an ice cream shop to be open at this time. At least, it is if you’re Holly’s. I actually have no idea about any other places.”

I shake my head, completely amused, and follow her away from the promenade, leaving behind the bright skyline. She runs her hand along the bushes as we walk, and I wonder if that’s one of her little quirks. She did it with almost every bush and tree we passed in Prospect Park, too.

I watch her as she picks off a leaf and tears it up, sprinkling the ripped pieces on the pavement as we walk.

“What did that leaf ever do to you?” I ask, drawing level with her.

She glances in my direction. “It was in my way.”

“And the pavement deserved being covered in the leaf?”

“The pavement?” She smiles.

I rub my hand down my face. “The pavement. What we’re walking on. You know – the paved thing?”

“Oh. You mean the sidewalk.”

I stare at her. “Why the hell do you call it a sidewalk?”

“Because it’s at the sides of the road and you walk on it?” Abbi snorts, stopping outside a building with a sign lit up announcing it as Holly’s Ice Cream Parlor. “I have no idea. I didn’t call it that. I told you before, it’s not my fault if you Brits don’t talk properly.”

“I’m not getting into this again.” I push open the glass door of the building and let her pass through. “Not when I’m still trying to understand why anyone would eat ice cream at this time of night.”

“You don’t have to understand it. You just have to do it. Ice cream tastes best at this time of night.”

“Okay. I’ll take your word for it.” I look at all the names on the boards hanging behind the counter, then at the freezers in front of me. And drop my jaw. I’ve never seen so many types of bloody ice cream in my life, and I have no idea what any of the dishes on the board are called.

“You’ve never been to an ice cream shop before, have you?” Abbi asks me in a voice that says she thinks I’m completely hopeless.

Honestly, I’m a little inclined to believe her on the hopeless thing. London has been holding out on me, clearly.

“Never in my life.”

“I thought I heard your voice.” A young woman, no older than thirty, comes bustling out from behind a beaded curtain, and beams at Abbi. An apron is tied around her waist, and she wipes her hands on it, her brown eyes flitting between the two of us. “Oh dear,” she mutters, her eyes settling on Abbi. “He’s a newbie, isn’t he?”

Abbi nods. “Yep.”

“I thought so. He looks as lost as a penguin in the desert, that one. What shall we give him, Abbi?”

“I was thinking the chocolate sundae. The double one. With extra brownies.” She pauses, then nods. “Yep. That one.”

The woman – who I’m guessing is Holly – grins. “I agree. It’s always a good startin’ place. And you’ll have the Rainbow Splash?”

“You bet.” Abbi turns to me, smiling.

“I’d love the chocolate sundae, thanks.” I try for annoyed, but completely fail.

“See? I knew you would.” She dances across the parlor and sits on one of the high stools at a small round table, spinning to face me. “Everyone loves chocolate sundaes.”

I follow her over and sit opposite her. “So why didn’t you get the chocolate one?”

Holly sets two glasses full of ice cream in front of us. One is layered with vanilla and chocolate ice cream, chocolate brownies, chocolate sauce and topped with a bit of cream and colorful sprinkles. The other is a mix of what looks like every color ice cream Holly has in the freezers, layered with strawberry and toffee sauce and topped with biscuit pieces, chocolate chips, and a whole pot of sprinkles.

“That was quick,” I say.

“I’ve been doing this since I was fifteen,” Holly replies. “No one in this city can whip up an ice cream faster than I can.”

“Or better,” Abbi interjects, licking her spoon.

Holly winks. “Enjoy.” She turns and strolls to the back of the shop.

“And to answer your question …” Abbi’s feet kick mine under the table. “If I ordered the chocolate sundae, I wouldn’t get to do this.”

She leans forward and sticks her spoon in my dish, taking a mound of ice cream and brownie. She closes her mouth around my ice cream before I can say anything, crinkles forming around her eyes.

“Just as well you didn’t, then,” I reply, twirling my spoon between my fingers. “Because that’s a great idea.” I dip my spoon into her ice cream but come away with a pile of sprinkles and barely a slither of ice cream.

Abbi laughs loudly, clapping her hand over her mouth to stifle it. I run my tongue across my teeth, staring hopelessly at my spoon, and try not to smile at the sound of her laughter. For all the sadness she has locked away in her body, she has the lightest, happiest laugh I’ve ever heard, and it’s almost impossible to not want to laugh along with her.

I look at her, and her eyes are closed as her giggles peter out. She opens her eyes, showing me their brilliantly blue hue. I stab my spoon childishly into my ice cream, take a big scoop, and shove it into my mouth.

And I completely and utterly underestimated how fucking cold this ice cream is.

My eyes widen as I swallow the lump of frozen cream. Abbi purses her lips and her shoulders shake yet again with laughter.

“You seem to have a habit of making a bit of a twat of yourself,” she observes.

I wipe some cream from the corner of my mouth. “I think you bring it out in me.”

“Is that a good thing?”

I tilt my head to the side and watch her lick her spoon clean. “As long as you don’t do it when we dance.”

She smiles. “I think I can manage that.”

“By the way …” I point my spoon at her. “… You have ice cream all around your mouth.”

She wipes at her lips with her fingers and looks at them, then at me. “No I don’t.” She narrows her eyes.

I grin and stick my spoon in her ice cream again. This time I get a spoonful of ice cream, and I poke my tongue out at Abbi. She half-smirks, staring at me. My eyes flit between her and the spoon, and I slowly move it in her direction. She opens her mouth and closes her lips around the spoon, sweeping the ice cream from it.

“The stealing was utterly pointless,” I say, observing the smeared spoon.

“Oh. Hang on.” She reaches forward and snatches it. She beams at me, and her tongue flicks out. It licks across my spoon, removing every last trace of ice cream, and I can’t focus on anything but that pink tongue sliding back behind even pinker lips. She puts the spoon back into my hand. “Missed a bit.”

My fingers close around it. “Uh huh.”