He stopped, and I watched his face close down.
“Did you ever think about it? Teaching?”
He shrugged. “I volunteer at two youth programs. I do basic math and English tutoring. And sometimes we toss a ball around. And, um, I’m thinking about starting another foundation.”
“You’ve already started a foundation?”
Ryan sounded more awkward than I had ever heard him. “Well, uh. Um. Yeah. For breast cancer.”
I blinked. “You have a charity for breast cancer?”
“Yeah, I mean, what else was I going to do with the money, you know? My mom...” He shrugged.
“What’s it called?”
“The Jean Carter Foundation.” He grimaced. “Not very original, I know.”
The Jean Carter Foundation pulled in money from big names and turned it all to research. They’d made enough steps in the right direction that I’d actually caught a couple of features on them in the media. My first reaction was not “how unoriginal, naming a foundation after your mom.” It was holy shit. Ryan founded the Jean Carter Foundation? That was his mother? That tiny, sweet-faced lady on all the posters with the spiky short hair? No wonder I’d recognized the framed picture in his room. “Wow. That’s impressive. Congratulations. Are you—involved a lot? I mean, what do you do?”
“Not the science.” He started to sound a little more like his old self. “I fundraise. Sign people up to sign away their money. And I show up to events. Sometimes they make me give speeches.” He bowed his head again, and mumbled the next part. “I’m not very good at giving speeches.”
He looked so forlorn all I wanted to do was cheer him up. Well, I wanted to hear more about this charity, too, and how he had gone about founding it—how did one just found a charity? Did he hire someone to take care of it? Did he search out the head scientists?—but mostly, I wanted him to stop looking so sad. “Why, Ryan,” I quipped. “You may try to hide it, but I think you’re actually a good guy.”
To my relief, he laughed and directed a mock glare my way. “I don’t try to hide it. You should see the publicity work my agent does! You’re just determined to think the worst of me.”
“Hey. I am not the one being fawned over in car commercials by scantily clad girls.”
He leered at me. “I would watch that car commercial.”
Okay, I was flattered despite myself. “Ha. Please. I am not a car person. I can only recommend transportation by feet.” I tilted my head. “Or perhaps the magical steeds of Central Park.”
Ryan’s brows winged up. “What, the police horses? No! I know! It’s those guys who drive the tourist carriages around! That’s how you’d like to get around the city.”
“Actually, not a bad idea. I could do that. But I was actually thinking of painted wooden horses.” At his blank look, I nudged him slightly with my foot. “The carousel?”
“There’s a carousel in Central Park?”
I gaped at him. What kind of human being—what kind of New Yorker—didn’t know about the carousel? “What do you mean?” I asked. “Of course there is!”
He shrugged. “I’ve never been on a carousel.”
“Ever?” I gasped. “But—but you live right over Central Park! You can practically see it! And it’s the carousel!”
“I’ve ridden horses.” As though that had anything to do with it. “What’s the point of going up and down on a piece of wood when you have the real thing?”
My lips quirked. “That’s what she said,” I muttered, not quite able to help myself.
He snorted. “How come I get yelled at when I say stuff like that, when you make the exact same jokes?”
I spread my arms out airily. “Because I am filled with grace and poise.”
“You’re about to fall asleep on my sofa.”
“I am not!” I argued, and then proved my point by yawning. “Fine. I might be a little tired.”
“Yeah. Well, it’s almost two.”
“What!” I sat upright, filled with disbelief. “No. You’re lying.”