where we sit in a booth made of vinyl and plastic and not much else.
But it’s hard to fuck up eggs and toast. Coffee? That’s easy to mess up, but thankfully, the cup sitting in front of me is steaming hot and bitter. Not Strega’s, but damn good nevertheless.
As I shovel a bite of over-easy egg onto my fork with a bit of toast, I look at Kyle, leery that he’s going to shut right back up again. Screw two. We just went a good ten steps forward, and I’m fully expecting the backslide to be epic this time.
But I’m hoping that the progress I’ve made into his inner psyche will get me back to this plateau and we can continue growing from here. It’s a huge hope, but for some reason, I’m feeling hopeful today.
A question has been burning on my brain since I first saw him, and I look squarely in his eyes but lift a flirty eyebrow to keep it non-confrontational. “How’d you end up in NYC from Italy?”
“A plane.”
I pause, toast half-lifted to my mouth and egg dripping down my fingers like the lady I’m not. “Jokes? You’ve got jokes. What miracle will you show me next?”
He shrugs, and there’s a tilt to his lips that makes me think he likes the compliment. But he didn’t answer the question, which seems intentional. Everything with Kyle is intentional.
“All right, I’ll let you skip that for now then. How about . . . what’s next? Where are we going after breakfast?” I look out the window at the people hustling by. It’s not crowded, exactly, just that constant pervasiveness of people you always feel in New York.
There’s not really anywhere, or any hour, to truly be alone here in the city that never sleeps. I guess in some ways it’s an effective camouflage, since you can melt into a crowd anywhere, anytime, but it makes me feel like Robert or my parents could be walking right next to me and I might not even notice. Vulnerable, that’s what the crowd here makes me feel.
“To find Nathan Stone.” The words are easy but weighted with importance as he murmurs them. I’m honestly not sure whether he’s answering me or talking to himself.
Chewing my too-big mouthful of food, I murmur, “What do you want Nathan for?”
Kyle’s eyes narrow and his voice grows rough. “You say that like you know him.”
I swallow the rest of my mouthful. “Kinda. Just met him. My bestie is dating him. Dating? Not sure that’s the word. But she’s seeing him.”
Click.
With a single sentence, the monster is back. Every muscle in Kyle’s body tenses, and if he wasn’t staring so intently at me, I’d probably look around to gauge the threat triggering the response. But he’s not looking behind me at somebody sneaking up on us.
Oh, no. He’s leaning forward, invading my space across the table and grabbing my hand in a decidedly not-flirty way.
“Where is he?” he demands.
It doesn’t occur to me to lie, not to him. Not even for Emma.
“Probably at home? I came to New York to see Emma’s play—that’s my best friend,” I offer plainly, trying to keep my voice level. “She’s an actress and her opening night was last night. He was going to watch her big debut, so I’d guess they’re probably still in bed, celebrating.”
I waggle my brows, trying to lighten the darkness that’s descended back over Kyle’s mood. But still, the intensity of his eyes troubles me.
If he’s here to meet Nathan, I expect him to focus on where Nathan lives, or maybe whatever info I might have, but his next words surprise me. “You were supposed to see her play last night? That’s why you came here?”
I nod, though I’m still torn up about missing it. She’s my best friend in the whole wide world, but Kyle . . . I remind myself that this is not a ‘dicks over chicks’ situation and that Emma gave me her blessing and encouragement to see where this thing with Kyle is going.
“Why didn’t you say something?” he asks. “You could’ve gone.”
I fidget with the napkin in my lap, biting the words back at first but on second thought, jump in like there’s no tomorrow. Because maybe there isn’t. “Because you wouldn’t have gone with me. Because I love Emma, but she’s always going to be there. Not that I’m taking her for granted . . . she understands. I just don’t want to let go of you, and as