All the Way (Romancing Manhattan 1)

“It’s adrenaline,” I reply, and she nods enthusiastically.

“Yes, absolutely. My mom loved it. She enjoyed the frilly, girly outfits that I’d wear for recitals, and she enjoyed helping my high school with costumes. I think that my mom would have been an amazing fashion designer.

“And my dad was way more reserved.”

“Is that code for he hated it?”

“With a passion,” she replies with a nod. “He was a controlling man. And he was wealthy, but that money came with strings. His thinking was, if I’m paying for college, or anything else, for that matter, you’ll do as I say. But I didn’t want to be a doctor, or a lawyer. I wanted to be a performer.”

“So how did you manage to talk him into it?”

“We agreed on a school in New York, and I went to school while also auditioning, taking dance and voice classes, and working full-time. I decided that I’d do both, and I’d prove to him that I’d make the performing a success.”

I can’t take my eyes off of her. Her animation in the way she moves her hands and face while she talks is hypnotizing. It’s no wonder she’s so successful as a performer.

“Wow, that’s a lot of work for a student.”

“I didn’t care,” she replies before taking a bite of a potato. “I wasn’t interested in anything else. I was a virgin until I was twenty-two because I didn’t give two shits about boys or anything else aside from the work. I graduated with honors and still managed to land roles on Broadway.”

“That’s amazing,” I say. “I’m sure your parents were very proud of you.”

“Mom was ecstatic. Dad was reluctantly tolerant.”

“That sounds harsh.”

She shrugs. “I know. I loved him, very much, but he didn’t make it easy for me to be an adult. He liked to have his thumb on all of us. It’s why my brother rebelled so strongly. My mom . . . she loved him. And she didn’t mind working as a housewife and mother, despite the fact that she could have done so much more.”

“She was fulfilled,” I suggest.

“I think so.” She thinks about it for a moment. “I hope so.” She leans back, patting her flat stomach. “I’m full. You’re going to have to roll me out of here. My apologies.”

I laugh and toss my napkin on the table. “I call uncle too. Are there some of those wet naps over there?”

She searches at the end of the table and comes up with several small packages of the premoistened towelettes so we can wipe our hands mostly clean. Before we take our bibs off, I reach for my phone.

“Do you mind if I take a selfie of us like this?”

“A first-date bib selfie? Doesn’t everyone do that?” She leans in to smile for the photo and then we ditch the bibs and I pay the bill.

“I’d like to pick up dessert on our way back,” I say as I lead her to the car. “I know it feels like I’m trying to cut this short, and I’m definitely not doing that. I’m having a great time.”

“But Gabby is home alone,” she says with a nod. “I get it. I’ve had fun too.”

“Why don’t we pick something up for all three of us, and we can eat it out on my deck and watch the water?” I suggest, earning a wide smile from her.

“I’d like that. I know a place with great pie.”

“Lead the way, my lady.”

She directs me to a little shop that you’d miss if you didn’t already know it was there. When we step inside, the smell of delicious pie greets us.

“What do you suggest?” I ask London.

“The cran-apple is my favorite,” she says. “But really, you can’t go wrong with any of it.”

“We’ll take a cran-apple,” I say to the lady behind the sales counter. “Do you sell ice cream here as well?”

“We do,” she says with a smile. “Would you like a half gallon of the vanilla?”

“That’s perfect.”

Before long we’re headed home with our treats. Gabby’s where I left her less than two hours ago, and barely glances up from her movie when we walk past her to the kitchen.

“So glad we’re not burglars,” I call out to Gabby, who just waves at me.

“Told you she was okay,” London says with a smile, and sits on the stool at the island while I find a knife and plates. I dish us all up, deliver Gabby’s to her, and then lead London out to the back deck, which has killer views of the water.

“This is beautiful,” London says as she sits with her dessert.

“It’s the same view as yours,” I remind her.

“Yeah, and it’s still beautiful.” She smiles and takes a bite of her pie, then lets her head fall back as she moans in happiness. “Oh my God, so good.”