Imaginary Lines (New York Leopards 3)

He laughed. “I hope your mom sees those pictures and believes it’s real.”

“Oh, God.” I flopped back on the bed. “So much for going out on dates.”

He rolled over to face me. “Let’s get away.”

I propped myself up on my elbow. “What d’you mean?”

He gestured impatiently. “Leave. Take a vacation from all of this.”

“How? We both have jobs.”

He shot me an arch look. “Well, I don’t think anyone’s going to be in your office tomorrow, given that it’s Christmas.”

I shrugged. Good point. “Actually, no one’s really going to be in the office until after New Year’s. Though we’re all supposed to be working from home.”

He bounced upright. “And I don’t have to be anywhere until the second.”

“And where will we go?”

“Somewhere we can be anyone.”

I laughed.

He propped his head up. “I mean it. Let’s get out of here.”

“I don’t exactly have the cash.”

He shrugged. “I do.”

We hopped a metro-north train and took it until we hit Lake George. We tossed out the idea of Lake Placid, where our grandparents used to vacation, but it seemed filled with enough athletes to be risky. Besides, George (did they just do the name here, a la Tahoe?) was slightly closer.

We checked into our bed-and-breakfast at two o’clock. The yellow-with-red-shutters Victorian perched on top of a gently sloping hill, surrounded by evergreens and sky. Snow blanketed and softened everything, a pillowy white cushion atop the peaked roof, and weighing down green branches. Our breath puffed white in the cold air, and we had to stomp the snow off our feet before going inside.

Everything looked just like I’d hoped: wooden paneling and brocaded upright chairs, lines of bookshelves and a crackling fireplace.

The receptionist smiled at us widely. “Merry Christmas.”

Sure, why not. At least he was honest; if he said “Happy Holidays,” he’d be way late for anything except Christmas and New Year’s. “Merry Christmas.”

“Do you two have a reservation?”

Abe glanced at me and smiled. “We do. Mr. and Mrs.—Rosenfeld.”

My eyebrows shot up and I smiled at him. The idea of play-acting a married couple was silly but fun, and my name definitely provided more anonymity than Abe’s.

The receptionist typed away and then handed us two keys. “Second floor and down the hall. Breakfast starts at eight and goes until ten.”

Our room was tucked under the eaves. Out the windows, tall, snow-draped trees spread out in every direction. I felt a rush of tension drain out of me and my shoulders relaxed. Abe came over behind me and began kneading the knots in my neck. I groaned in appreciation and leaned my head forward. “This is perfect.”

“The inn or the massage?”

“I meant the trees,” I murmured. “But the other two are pretty wonderful, too. I’d turn and kiss you, but I don’t want the massage to stop.”

He laughed and kissed the top of my head. “Greedy little thing.”

“Mm.” My bones slowly turned to water. “I’ll give you a massage later.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he murmured into my ear.