The Bookish Life of Nina Hill - Abbi Waxman Page 0,73

area. Tom sat on the giant armchair and pulled Nina onto his lap. “Is this where you spend all your time?” he asked, between kisses.

“Yes,” she said, “it’s my favorite place in the world.” She was straddling him in the chair, and as she tugged her dress over her head, Tom smelled lemon and honey again, and pressed his lips against her stomach. “Although,” she said, undoing the buttons on his shirt, “I’ve never done . . . this . . . here before.” She finished with his shirt and started on his belt, loosening the buckle and tugging it out of his waistband.

“You surprise me,” said Tom, standing and lifting her in order to step out of his pants, her legs around his waist, then turning and setting her down in the chair again, kneeling on the rug in front of her. “It’s so perfect for it.”

He bent his head to her stomach again, then began to work his way down.

“Oh,” said Nina, closing her eyes and leaning her head back. “You’re right. It’s . . .”—her voice faltered for a second—“perfect.”

The next morning, Nina woke and through her sticky contact lenses saw Tom moving around in the kitchen. She smiled, remembering the way it had been. For once, she didn’t want to leave, or get him to leave, or do anything other than everything all over again.

He looked over and saw her watching him. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said. “Coffee?”

She nodded.

“I went out already and got breakfast,” he said. “And I made peace with your insanely jealous cat.”

Nina realized Phil was standing on the kitchen counter, eating something. “How did you do that?”

“Old-fashioned bribery,” replied Tom, carrying two mugs of coffee over to her. “It turns out he’s happy to share you in return for organic smoked salmon.” He sat on the floor next to the bed and leaned forward to kiss her. “How are you?”

She sipped her coffee and smiled at him. “I’m good. You?”

“Very good.” He smiled back. “Last night was amazing. You’re amazing.”

She handed him back the coffee cup and lifted the duvet. “Come back to bed,” she said. “I thought of a few more amazing things.”

He grinned and slid under the sheet.

A few hours later, they managed to make it out of the apartment, and wandered hand in hand to Larchmont Boulevard, which was wearing its Sunday best. Sunday was not Nina’s favorite day in the neighborhood, because the Farmer’s Market brought what felt like a million visitors to the hood, all of them vying for limited parking and carrying ethically sourced string bags they filled with overpriced produce.

Tom turned to Nina. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Not really,” she replied. “But I can always have ice cream.”

He smiled and kissed her softly on the lips. “You don’t think you’re sweet enough already?”

She made a face at him. “I might be sweet, but do I contain an interesting variety of carefully curated ingredients? I don’t think so.”

“It’s a good point,” he said. “Besides, what if you collapsed from vanilla deficiency?”

“Exactly,” she said. “Only the rapid application of ice cream will prevent disaster.”

They turned into one of the two, yes, two, artisanal ice cream stores on the Boulevard. Sometimes Nina imagined their workers, late at night, coming out onto the street, scoopers at the ready, or maybe with a giant ice cream trebuchet, throwing enormous balls of frosty death at one another, competing to be the Ice Cream Monarch of Larchmont Village. An Ennio Morricone version of an ice cream truck jingle would hang in the air, and in the middle of August, the ice cream would melt on the hot street and cream would run in the gutters.

Nina told Tom about her theory as they waited in an impossibly long line, and he listened to her very carefully, nodding at the trebuchet part and pursing his lips in consideration of the street-cleaning ramifications. Then he sighed and kissed her so deeply that conversation in the line stopped while people admired his technique. Finally, he let her go and said, “You are a complete lunatic, Nina Hill, and I doubt I will ever have any idea what’s going on in your head.”

Nina caught her breath and nodded. “It’s probably just as well,” she said, although right at the moment, he was the only thing in her head. No need to tell him that, of course.

Then she ordered a scoop of salted peanut butter with chocolate flecks and Tom ordered Brambleberry Crisp and they went outside to