Completely (New York 3)

Rosemary Chamberlain was no pink-cardboard-and-plastic princess. She was a flesh-and-blood woman with plans that made it impossible—literally impossible—for the two of them to turn into anything.

She had her own stuff, her own interests, her own power, her own life. He liked that about her, liked that she listened and formed her own opinions, but he didn’t like that it meant she saw things. Rosemary wasn’t the kind of woman he could pick what he wanted to show her and not show her, hiding behind a nice-guy mask, ghosting her if he had to, telling her he was busy or had a lot going on in his life until she gave up and went away.

She’d looked right at him when his mom mentioned the degree he’d abandoned, had dug into the whys and hows of it when that was the last thing Kal wanted to talk about.

This morning, there’d been another voicemail from Brian and a couple emails from people who knew he’d been on the mountain and wanted to hear what he had to say about the avalanche.

What he wanted to say was he didn’t have anything to say. Not anymore.

But there was his mom chatting up Rosemary inside, playing her part as a neighborhood celebrity, the nice lady who’d climbed Everest seven times, and Rosemary practically vibrating with interest.

It would be smart to break it off with her. He could pretend they’d made it to the end of the path they were on, a journey that was only about Everest, rescue, and getting home. He could pretend he didn’t want to spend the rest of the day with her.

He wouldn’t, though.

He knew it even before she shook the reporter’s hand and walked away, gathering her hair into both hands and pulling it over one shoulder into a loose twist. He knew it when she came directly over to him afterward, knew it from how gratified he felt when she looked right at him, gave him her attention.

Kal wanted more of her. Wanted more from her.

He just wanted her, however stupid that made him.

“Lunch?” he asked.

She had her phone in her hand and was already thumbing at it, down by her hip. She glanced at the screen, then back at him. “Maybe? I’ve just texted this editor, and I’m not sure—” Her phone began to vibrate. Her smile became an apology, her body already turning away from him as she said, “I’ve just got to speak with him a moment.”

When she returned, she said, “Sorry, I can’t do lunch. I have to meet him in an hour somewhere called Lhasa Fast Food. He says it’s on Seventy-Fourth Street. Do you know it?”

“Yeah, it’s a five-minute walk that way.” He pointed. “The food’s good. I could show you the way, leave you to your meeting.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean, I don’t imagine the meeting will take long, and we could do something afterward.” She glanced up the street. “I like this neighborhood. It looked like there were lots of shops and things from the taxi window. If you’re not busy, I’d be happy to see more of it with you.”

“Sure.”

Their eyes met. They stood in the sunlight in front of the steps, staring at each other, ignoring the rest of the world, the people moving around them, the cars in the street. Her eyes were the same blue as the sky, bright with her interest, her curiosity.

Where will you take me? What will you do to me?

Rosemary was dangerous, and Kal was exhausted with danger. But her kind of danger wasn’t death, it was life, and it felt like maybe he’d avoided death just to have a moment like this, with her.

Just to feel this alive.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you around.”

They walked slow, because her shoes made walking fast impractical, and because the sun made him feel stoned. Once they turned from Broadway onto Seventy-Fourth, he pointed out restaurants and shops that were good. The subway tracks ran over the street, and they moved into shadow and back out of it into the syrupy light that made him notice his body, how it moved and how good it felt to move it.

The streets were full of traffic, the sidewalks busy with people, street vendors selling tacos and dumplings and hot corn pancakes, bike delivery guys zipping past, kids with their moms and dads. Kal told Rosemary that Jackson Heights was maybe the most diverse place in the world. She said that was fantastic, and it was.

It was fantastic, walking through Jackson Heights with Rosemary Chamberlain beside him.

“So what’s this meeting?” he asked.

“I’m writing a book.” She glanced at him, shy. “I’m meant to be writing a book.”

“What’s it about?”