Move the Stars (Something in the Way 3)

I rubbed my nose to get it to stop tingling. “I don’t know. Sometimes we stick a chair under the handle.”

He looked at me dead on. “Jesus Christ, Lake. Don’t tell me that.”

“You asked.”

He opened the hall closet and squatted to rummage through the cardboard box of tools. “Someone could pop that door right open in the middle of the night,” he said.

“Someone meaning . . . you?” I asked.

He stopped inspecting a screwdriver and let his eyes travel up my body. I thought of him breaking all the rules, then the walls we’d built between us, and then the locks in the night to finally get to me. “If it was in my way,” he said, “yes.”

I suppressed a shiver. We’d flirted before but never when he wasn’t trying to hide or stop it. Right there in his gaze was the heat I’d fantasized about, and years apart hadn’t dulled it.

While Manning worked, I touched up my makeup where it’d smeared and managed to avoid looking myself in the eye the entire time. I had no idea how I could go through with this. Or exactly how dangerous it was. If I got hurt tonight, it would be my fault. If I hurt someone else, I’d be to blame. I was choosing this. There was still time to stop it, and yet I wouldn’t. Val was wrong; one night didn’t mean I was willing to forget everything. I’d grown up the past four years—I’d had to.

“Goddamn it,” Manning said. “I didn’t get the right measurements. You have a fucked-up door.”

If I’d had any question about whether Manning still thought of me as a girl, him cursing in front of me was my answer. He’d done it so rarely back then, it still sounded a bit foreign. “Just leave it. There’s hardly anything valuable in here.” I came out of the bathroom, picked a clutch from my bedroom, and met him in the entryway. Noting the wrinkles between his eyes were unnaturally deep, I told him a little white lie. “I’ll get the super to replace it in the morning. Let’s go.”

He shoved the box into the closet, then selected a black, polyester coat from the rack. “This yours?” he asked, taking it off the hanger as if he did it all the time.

“Yes, but it’ll ruin my outfit. I don’t own anything nice enough to go with this.”

He opened it for me to slip in. “You’ll freeze.”

I didn’t want to wear it, but considering this dress was all straps and open back, he was right. I’d be cold. I took the jacket and reluctantly put it on.

“Almost forgot.” He patted the lapel of his suit. From the inside pocket, he took something squishy wrapped in tissue. “There’s a holiday market happening in in Union Square and I noticed you weren’t wearing gloves earlier.”

I lifted the taped edges to reveal a pair of brown mittens. The palms had pink leather pads knit to look like cat paws. “These are for me?”

“Well, they’re not my taste. I know they don’t go with your outfit, but you can take them off when we’re inside.” He took the wrapping from me, balling it up. “I didn’t want you to be cold.”

I tried one on, wiggling my fingers. “Manning.”

“Don’t worry, they’re handmade,” he added. “Didn’t cost much.”

I wasn’t sure what he saw in my eyes, but I wasn’t upset. It was just that I loved them. “Thank you.”

He held open the door, ushering me through. “Don’t mention it.”

Downstairs, Manning stood on the curb to hail us a car.

“We should take the subway,” I said as two cabs passed us by. “It’s cheaper and faster.”

“I’m not taking you underground looking like that,” he said with a quick head-to-toe glance.

“The subway is perfectly fine, but if you insist, then this is how you do it.” I stepped into oncoming traffic with my hand raised.

Manning grabbed my bicep to pull me back. “Careful—”

A taxi screeched to a stop in front of me. I looked back at Manning and laughed. “See?”

“You’re going to give me a goddamn heart attack,” he said, opening the car door. Still holding my arm, he urged me inside. “I’m an older man than I was when you knew me, Lake.”

“You were always an older man to me,” I said as I ducked into the backseat. Was Manning still sensitive about our age difference? As we pulled away from the curb, I checked his expression. Instead of the shame I’d sometimes see, he raised an eyebrow.

I leaned between the seats toward the driver. “Fifty-third and Broadway,” I said. “Can you turn on the meter, please?”

“Broken,” he said.

“Then pull over and we’ll get out,” I said.

“It’s no problem.” He waved me off. “I make you a good flat rate.”

“I’ve got the fare covered,” Manning said.

“No, he’s going to rip us off,” I said. We stopped at a red light, and I opened the door to get out.