There’s no masking the fact that I’m semi-hard.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I scold myself under my breath. “What the fuck are you doing? Get dressed now.”
I drop the towel and head toward my suitcase while Emma eases into the chorus for a third time.
***
Thirty minutes later, Emma emerges from the guestroom, looking like she took two hours to get ready.
She paired dark jeans with a pink, short-sleeve sweater. The black boots on her feet match the leather bag slung over her shoulder.
As she nears me, she pushes a lock of her dark hair behind her ear, luring my eyes to her beautiful face.
I can’t tell if the attraction I feel to her is based on the fact that she’s off-limits or not. Either way, staring at her isn’t the route I need to take here.
I drop my gaze to the screen of my phone. “Good morning, Emma.”
“Morning,” she chirps. “How are you?”
Does anyone ever ask that question expecting an answer other than I’m fine, or I’m doing great ? I haven’t been truthful in my response to it in years. I don’t see a reason to change that up now. “I’m all right. You?”
“I’m fine.” She bounces to her tiptoes. “Do I need to stay away until five again?”
There’s no frustration in her tone. She’s genuinely asking if I need her to get lost until late this afternoon. I appreciate her willingness to accommodate me even though she has no idea what I had going on yesterday.
I shoot her a glance. “No. You’re free to come and go as you please today.”
“That’s good to know.” She looks down at the watch on her wrist. “I think I’ll explore the city for a few hours. I’ve only been to a handful of places with Drake. There’s a lot more I want to see.”
She’s an untainted tourist. I may have left Manhattan years ago, but once you live here, the city becomes a part of you. I’m not a native New Yorker by anyone’s standards. I’m just a guy who thought his dreams would come true on this island until his greatest nightmare became reality.
Since she brought up her brother, I relay the message he wanted me to deliver to her. “Drake got in touch with me last night. He wants you to hang around until he’s back in town.”
“He does?”
I nod. “I don’t know what you’re looking at in terms of time off from your job, but…”
“That’s not an issue,” she interrupts me.
Curiosity drives the next question out of me. “What do you do, Emma?”
She hesitates for a split second. “I’m a teacher.”
It takes a certain degree of patience and compassion to devote your time to the education of others. I’m impressed.
“It’s summer break so I have some time off before I go back to work.” Her hand scrubs at her forehead. “I will be going back to work.”
She spits out the word will like it’s done her wrong. I don’t ask what that’s about because she’s eyeing up the door of the apartment like she wants to break free.
Pushing back from the dining room table, I stand. Smoothing my hand over the front of my gray suit jacket, I toss her a glance. “I’m heading into the office.”
“I’ll see you later?”
It comes out as a question, so I answer honestly. “I should be back around six.”
“I’ll be here.” She steps back when I approach her on my way to the door. “Have a good day, Case.”
A good day would include me getting on a flight headed back to California. The sooner that happens, the better.
Chapter 13
Emma
Manhattan has endless hidden treasures.
I’ve spent almost thirty minutes on this block, admiring the art that covers the brick exterior of many of the businesses. None of it is extravagant and noticeable from the street, but I could see small, intricate paintings interwoven with romantic phrases once I got closer. The sun may have faded the colors, but their beauty is still undeniable.
They are random love letters written to people who may not even be alive anymore.
I snap a few pictures and save them to a folder on my phone. These creations are too unique to be forgotten after a stroll past them. They deserve to be appreciated over and over again. I’ll print them and glue them in my scrapbook back at home.
The empty feeling in my stomach reminds me again that I haven’t eaten anything yet today. I considered grabbing a hotdog from a street vendor, but then I remembered that Case’s cousin said something about Calvetti’s authentic Italian food. I looked up the address and made my way here before the neighborhood art sidetracked me.
I approach the glass door and yank it open to find the restaurant teeming with people.
The aromas wafting from the kitchen edge my hunger up a notch.