‘What are you doing this evening?’ James asked, next morning, as we sat eating breakfast.
I thought for a moment. ‘Nothing. Why?’
He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I’d just like to do something nice for my darling little sister, that’s all.’
He’s in trouble, I told you, said a little voice in my brain.
I ignored it and smiled at him. ‘What sort of nice, exactly?’
James winked. ‘Rosie, you’re always so suspicious. Just make sure you’ve got something posh to wear, OK, because I’ve got reservations at somewhere rather special tonight. And I’m paying.’
I frowned. ‘If you’ve already made reservations, why did you bother asking me if I was free tonight?’
James surrendered. ‘Curses, rumbled again…OK, OK, I checked your diary while you were making the tea last night and I called the restaurant when you went to get the ice cream.’
‘OK.’ The explanation would suffice. For now.
ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME? demanded my conscience, stamping its foot. He is in big, big trouble and you’re going to get involved in it. Again. You don’t need this! I let out a breath and mentally pushed the voice into a corner.
‘Is everything OK?’ asked James, seeing my expression.
I smiled. ‘Everything’s fine.’
Marnie was waiting for me as I arrived to open up the shop. She sat slumped against the windowledge looking like she’d lost a million dollars and found a nickel. Even considering her rollercoaster of a love life, it was extremely unusual to see her like this.
‘Hi, Marnie. How are you?’
She stood up as the shutter lifted and we walked inside. ‘I’m good.’
‘You’re obviously not,’ I said, switching on the lights and taking off my coat. Marnie followed me into the workroom and hung her coat up next to mine. ‘Want to talk about it?’
Her eyes blinked quickly as tears welled up. ‘Please. But I don’t know if you can help.’
I smiled. ‘Let me try. How about you sit down and I’ll fire up Old F? And,’ I added, reaching into my bag and producing a warm M&H Bakers bag, ‘I took the liberty of getting some of Luigi’s double choc-chip cookies this morning, so you can help me with their disposal.’
Marnie’s eyes lit up and she threw her arms round me. ‘Thanks, Rosie. You’re a good friend.’
Once Old F had noisily produced a jug of rich, smoky coffee, I joined Marnie on the well-worn brown leather sofa by the window. This is another long-serving fixture at Kowalski’s and, I now realised as I sat down, yet another secret weapon in our struggle against Philippe. When customers are deliberating designs it is so much more civilised to seat them in a comfy corner, surround them with flowers and let them enjoy the fruits of Old F’s hard labour. Ed and I rescued the sofa from a closing-down coffee house not long after I took over from Mr K, and I still have fond memories of Ed risking life and limb to stop the traffic on West 68th Street as I tried to push it across the road. Marnie certainly seemed to be responding to its comfort as I sat down next to her.
‘OK, Rosie. Here’s the deal,’ she began, nibbling a cookie. ‘I’ve met this guy at my community theatre. His name is Mack, he’s from Brooklyn but now he lives in East Village and he’s twenty-two years older than me. He lectures English at Columbus University and he’s one of the Hudson River Players’ directors. He’s so amazing, Rosie. You know, it’s like everything he says is worthy of recognition? I’m totally in awe of him.’
‘So what’s the problem?’ I asked.
Marnie sighed and looked into her coffee. ‘He doesn’t even notice me. I overheard him saying to one of the others that he’s just come out of a long, lonely marriage and he’s got his eye on someone in the class. I kinda hoped it would be me, you know?’
‘How do you know it isn’t?’ I asked.
‘That’s just it. I don’t know,’ Marnie wailed. ‘I haven’t slept for a whole week. I can’t get him out of my mind. How do I approach him? What do I say?’
‘I’m not sure you’re asking the right person,’ I smiled. ‘After all, I’m not the world’s greatest authority on relationships…’ I looked at Marnie. She wore a smile, but it was weak and transparent. It was time for a different tack. ‘Um, OK…Why don’t you invite him out for a drink after class? Say you’d like to get to know him a little better. Or…tell him about your work here and invite him over to see your latest project? Just try to be his friend for a while and see what happens.’
Marnie looked up at me. ‘But what if he’s repulsed by the sight of me?’
I patted her hand. ‘Not possible, mate. You’re gorgeous. Concentrate on becoming his friend. Look at it this way: if he likes you, you’ll have opened the door for something to begin; if he doesn’t, well, then you’ll have gained a friend you already respect. You win either way. OK?’
‘OK,’ Marnie said, still uncertain but brightening slowly. She hugged me again. ‘Thanks, Rosie, I’ll try.’
The bell on the front door chimed as Ed arrived. ‘Ugh!’ he exclaimed, covering his eyes with his copy of the New York Observer. ‘Female bonding alert! Get me out of here…I need air…’ The paper was whipped away, revealing an eager smile. ‘No, wait—tell me all the juicy details.’
Marnie and I stood up. ‘None to tell,’ Marnie said, walking past him aloofly.
‘Great,’ Ed moaned. ‘As usual I’m discriminated against purely because I have no womb.’
‘Ooh, Ed with a womb—now there’s a scary thought…’ I began.
‘Hey, I’d be great with a womb,’ Ed protested, following me over to the counter. ‘I pride myself on being fashionably in touch with my feminine side. Despite the fact that it’s obvious to anyone I’m an undeniably awesome hunk of manhood.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ Marnie laughed. ‘Name your feminine attributes then.’
‘I understand flowers,’ he replied proudly. ‘I eat chocolate when I’m depressed. I’m not averse to a good bit of gossip every once in a while. So spill the details, sisters!’
Marnie and I exchanged looks. ‘Should we be worried?’ I asked.
Marnie giggled. ‘Does he have a weekend name?’
Ed looked mystified. ‘A weekend name?’
‘Oh, you know—“At weekends my name is Janice.”’
The look on Ed’s face was worthy of exhibition at the Guggenheim. ‘The only name I answer to at weekends is Mr Highly Desirable,’ he answered haughtily, as Marnie and I collapsed in hysterical laughter. ‘Oh, yeah, go ahead. Laugh. But I’ll have you know I turned down two—that’s two—offers of dinner for tonight from a couple of very lovely ladies who are impatient to date me. Because tonight, my friends, I am going to a Broadway show with a certain lady by the name of Yelena Ivanova.’
His careful emphasis was wasted on Marnie and me. Our blank expressions revealed that we had absolutely no idea who this was.
He groaned. ‘Yelena Ivanova—you know— “The Face of Jean St Pierre”?’
‘The model?’ Marnie asked incredulously. ‘How did that happen?’
Ed smiled. ‘She’s going out with my best friend, Steve, who’s a photographer for several big fashion houses. He got called away to a shoot in Hawaii but he was supposed to be taking Yelena to see Kevin Spacey’s latest play on Broadway tonight. So there was a spare ticket. So I offered to step in.’
I grinned. ‘Ah, Ed Steinmann, Kowalski’s resident chivalrous knight in shining armour.’
Ed shot me a sly smile. ‘That’s Sir Ed Steinmann to you, peasant! Although, maybe not so chivalrous. See, I heard Yelena’s on the verge of breaking up with Steve so I’m hoping to catch her on the rebound.’
‘What?’ Marnie exclaimed. ‘Ed, you’re awful!’
‘I know,’ he said happily, disappearing into the workroom, ‘but that’s why you love me.’
The morning continued with more calls and customers than on a usual Thursday. Kowalski’s was obviously still benefiting from the Mimi Sutton Effect.
At eleven the door opened and Brent Jacobs strolled in. His extra-wide smile appeared as soon as he saw me.
‘Rosie! Hi! Hope I’m not too late?’
‘No,’ I reassured him, ‘you’re right on time. Welcome to Kowalski’s.’
‘Do I smell coffee?’ Brent beamed, his eyes wide and innocent as a child attempting to win sweets with charm.
‘You most certainly do. Milk and sugar?’
‘Black with two, thanks.’ A sudden sheepish look temporarily usurped the grin. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Not at all.’ I smiled, handing him a hand-painted blue and white mug bearing the store’s name.
‘Cute mugs. You do these yourself?’
I laughed. ‘No, my friend Lucy has a ceramics store in West Village and she made them for me.’
We sat down on the sofa and I presented my design books for Brent to view. After much discussion, he decided on a large hand-tied bouquet of yellow and cream roses, lilies and gladioli, accompanied by dark green foliage, eucalyptus and rosemary sprigs. Yellow was, I discovered, his wife’s favourite colour and the hue of her bridesmaid’s dresses on their wedding day. Rosemary was her middle name and the name Brent called her when nobody else was listening. On their honeymoon they had visited his relatives in Australia and had been taken to see koalas munching eucalyptus in a local nature reserve…I filled out the order form and arranged delivery for the following morning at ten thirty.
‘Have you spoken to Celia recently?’ Brent asked.
‘Yes, I saw her last night,’ I replied, not looking up from the counter.
‘Did you hear about Jerry?’
I stopped writing and looked at him. ‘Yes—how did you…?’
‘I heard. Word gets around. My wife works for his old company. How did Celia seem to you last night?’
I decided to be noncommittal. ‘Like her usual self, I guess. Maybe a bit quieter.’
Brent’s concern remained etched across his face. ‘Hmm. I care about her, Rosie. And I don’t think she’s coping as well as she shouts out to the world.’
My discomfort was increasing. ‘Brent, maybe you should talk about this with Celia, not me. I’m not sure how much of her situation she wants others to know.’
Brent smiled his reassurance. ‘Listen, kid, Celia and I go back a long, long way. You needn’t worry. If you speak to her again before I do, just tell her that Old Bee Jay is still there for her, OK? She’ll know what I mean.’
Still in the dark, I smiled. ‘Fine, I’ll do that.’ I handed Brent his copy of the order.
‘Thanks. So, did you hear what I saw at the Lincoln Center, Tuesday night?’
My interest level jumped up a few thousand notches. ‘Celia told me. Have you heard any more?’
‘Ah, we’re always ready for gossip here,’ quipped Ed as he walked past with an armful of roses. ‘Who’s the object of rumour today?’
Brent grinned. ‘A certain young man who was very impressed with Ms Duncan a couple of weeks back at Celia’s soiree.’
Ed raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Oh? You didn’t tell me about that, Rosie.’
My heart had begun a bid for an Olympic sprint record and I tried to change the subject. ‘Ed, have you phoned Patrick’s with our order for the weekend yet?’
‘Did it earlier.’
‘Good…um…then isn’t there something you should be getting on with out back?’
Ed leaned against the counter, obviously revelling in my discomfort. ‘You know, as a matter of fact I’m just taking a break. So I have a moment to listen to any extremely interesting information Mr Jacobs cares to share. So, this young man…?’
Brent could see my embarrassment rising and honourably declined to conspire against me. Gossip thus denied for the second time that morning, Ed groaned and returned to his work.
As he was leaving, Brent inclined towards me and whispered, ‘Rosie, right now I’m working on further details. But let’s just say Nate isn’t as in love as certain journalists would have you believe.’
He said his goodbyes and left the store.
Brent’s last comment buzzed around my head all through lunchtime and well into the afternoon. Which was annoying and intriguing in equal parts.
At two o’clock Marnie left early for her art class and I joined Ed in the workroom to begin an order due to be delivered at close of business. Any illusions I may have had of Ed forgetting about Brent’s comment dissipated like steam from Manhattan drains when I saw the tell-tale sparkle in his eyes. Mr Steinmann was determined to have his fun and nobody would stop him.
‘Nice guy, that Brent.’
I drew up one of the wooden stools around the workbench and started stripping leaves from a carnation stem. ‘Yes, he is. I told you that you’d like him.’
‘Great guy. Very observant.’ He pulled a length of ribbon from a spool on the bench and began looping it skilfully into a bow. ‘Especially when it comes to certain guests at Celia’s events.’ He lifted his gaze and winked at me.
I shook my head, adding vivid orange lilies to the cream carnations and greenery held in my left hand. Much as I didn’t want to rise to the bait, I had to concede that the subject was unavoidable. ‘So, ask me.’
His eyes returned nonchalantly to the Cellophane he was arranging around the large bouquet before him. ‘Ask you what?’
I let out a long groan. ‘About the guy? He’s nobody, Ed, really. Celia’s been stirring again, that’s all.’
‘I see. Sure, OK…So, this Mr Nobody…is he a special Nobody?’
‘What? No! He’s just a guy I met at the Authors’ Meet the other week. He seems perfectly nice, I suppose. I’ve only spoken to him twice, so I don’t know any more.’
‘Twice, huh?’ If Ed’s eyebrow got any higher, NASA could send an astronaut up with it.
At that moment, however, someone came into the store. Relief spread from my head to my toes. Saved by the bell. Thank you, God. I breezed past Ed on my way to the shop floor. ‘Sorry, Ed, there’s a customer—I’d better go…’
Ed growled in defeat as I left.
‘Good afternoon, welcome to Kowalski’s,’ I chirped happily.
The new customer was inspecting one of our large displays by the door. When he heard me, he spun round. ‘Hi.’
I froze. ‘Hi,’ I responded weakly.
Nate Amie grinned as he approached me. ‘Your store is cool,’ he said, offering his hand.
I regained my composure and accepted his greeting. ‘Thanks. I like it.’
‘So do your customers, it would seem.’ Nate smiled, his deep brown eyes circumnavigating my shop and then finally returning to me. ‘I heard you’re rapidly gaining favour with the great and the good of New York.’
‘Yes. Thanks to Mimi Sutton, it seems…’ I checked his expression, but it didn’t alter. ‘Although I think it’s going to bring me more problems than benefits. I’d prefer people to recommend me on my own merits, rather than being a token of someone else’s—’ I stopped, shocked at myself. ‘I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that.’
Nate’s amusement was evident as a smile danced across his face. ‘No, no, I agree with you. It’s no fun being a pawn in someone else’s power game. Believe me, I know.’
Hmm, interesting…But while the temptation to press him further on this comment was immense, I fought it valiantly and changed the subject. ‘So, how come you decided to sample the great delights of Kowalski’s today?’
‘I was in the neighbourhood and…Oh, wow, you have coffee too?’ He moved to the counter and laughed when he saw Old F. ‘I see the culprit, but I don’t believe it. Tell me, how can a smell so good come from something so battered?’
‘Don’t mock Old Faithful till you’ve tried his coffee,’ I defended, walking behind the counter and patting the machine protectively. ‘Appearances can be deceptive, Mr Amie. Don’t be fooled. You are looking at one of the great, undiscovered talents of New York City.’
Nate turned to look straight in my eyes and I caught my breath. ‘Oh, really? I’m always waiting for my perceptions to be disproved. So, surprise me…’ Seeing my expression, he added, ‘If that’s an offer, I’d love a coffee.’
As I prepared Old F for another vociferous onslaught on fine espresso blend, I checked myself. For absolutely no reason whatsoever, my hands were shaking. Get a grip, girl, the little voice in my mind scolded me. This is not—repeat, NOT—a big deal. He’s simply come to see the shop, like any other customer. You are in control, repeat with me now, you are in control. I am in control, I repeated with silent internal obedience. Really, I am…I poured three mugs of coffee and put two on the counter. Picking up the other, I looked up at Nate.
‘Here’s your coffee. Feel free to look round…I’ll just take this to my co-designer.’
‘No need,’ Ed said, appearing beside me and nearly getting a hot caffeine shower in the process. ‘He’s here. Hi, I’m Ed Steinmann, Rosie’s co-designer.’
Nate smiled and they shook hands. ‘Nate Amie—I’m an admirer of Rosie’s work.’
‘That so?’ Ed turned to me with an innocent smile, thinly veiling the mischief within. ‘Good, well, I must carry on her great work, so if you’ll excuse me…’ As he passed me, he whispered, ‘Mr Nobody, huh? Ni-i-i-ice…’ I resisted the urge to trip him over, resorting instead to a forced smile in his direction.
Nate sampled his coffee and let out a low growl of satisfaction. ‘Now that is great coffee.’
I patted Old F lovingly. ‘You see, I told you.’
‘Indeed you did.’
There was a pause. We exchanged smiles and sipped our officially certified Excellent Coffee. Now, at this moment I suppose I should have been thinking of the next highly efficient and consummately In Control thing to say. But I wasn’t. I was too busy noticing the way Nate’s right eyebrow lifted at a complimentary angle to his lop-sided grin. And how the shadow of his brow darkened his eyes, increasing the intensity of their gaze…
‘So…I decided to come visit because I need to make an order,’ Nate stated suddenly. ‘It could be a regular order,’ he added.
‘That’s fine,’ I replied, my control returning.
‘It’s just that I don’t know what to…uh…I guess I need some advice, Rosie,’ he frowned. He put his mug down on the counter and twisted it slowly from side to side. ‘Here’s the thing: I’ve ordered I don’t know how many of these bouquets before, but they’re all the same. I want to send something different now. I…I need something different.’
I nodded. ‘Ah, I see you’re experiencing what we in the business call The What Do You Get For The Woman Who Has Everything dilemma?’ I smiled calmly, mentally awarding myself several brownie points. Thank you, Celia… It’s amazing how one titbit of background info about Nate’s love life had transformed me now from Regular Florist to Official Font of All Knowledge.
His eyes widened slightly. ‘Yes—how did you know?’
‘I just guessed,’ I replied, hoping my air of wisdom didn’t belie the truth. ‘Well, I suppose it all comes down to what you want to say to the lady in question.’
Nate shook his head, confused. ‘Sorry, you lost me. What I want to say?’
I took a breath. It’s always difficult attempting to explain how I work. Right from the first time I ever designed a floral arrangement, I found I instinctively knew what I wanted to say. ‘Say it with flowers’ is an old cliché, I know, but it’s essentially what I do in my work. My designs aren’t solely based on colours, species or scents, although these are obviously important components. Instead, each one has a meaning, an emotion to convey, with a deeper significance than just a nice thought. Mr Kowalski used to say there are many reasons why people choose to send flowers—celebration, commemoration, declaration, apology, regret…
‘But you got to look beyond the reason and convey the Big Story. It’s not the What but the Why. Why is this man saying sorry? Is he apologising for a mistake he made, or for the man he finds he has become? You gotta be detective, doctor and counsellor when you create something, believing that what you create will have the power to change somebody’s life. Design with your eyes, your wisdom and your heart.’
People have said that I design as if I intimately know the person who is going to receive the flowers. I can’t explain it any better than Mr K put it, really—I design with my eyes, my wisdom and my heart.
Nate’s eyes focused on a point a million miles away. Thoughts I wasn’t party to washed over his face and his voice was quiet when he spoke. ‘I…I guess I need to think about what my story is, then. I need to think…I’d like to come back and hear more, Rosie. And talk about it. Would you talk about it with me? Look, I have some time free tomorrow—about the same time. Can I make an appointment for coffee then?’
This was utterly unexpected, but inexplicably welcome. ‘Of course,’ I replied softly. ‘No problem at all, Nate.’
Once Nate had left the shop, Ed appeared from the back room like an inquisitive meerkat from its burrow. ‘Hmm. So that’ll be three times you’ve spoken, to date. And would I be correct to assume he’s just booked a fourth?’
I ignored him and flipped the Open sign to Closed.
‘Aw, come on, Rosie, you gotta tell me now. I just shook hands with your secret guy. We’re practically family.’
‘I’m going to cash up,’ I replied coolly, going to open the till. But Ed never gives up. Not without a fight, anyhow. He reached over, pushed the till drawer shut, stole the key and sprinted to the other side of the room, holding his trophy aloft.
‘Don’t be an idiot, Ed. Give it back please.’
He held out his hands, a wicked expression lighting up his azure-blue eyes. ‘So come and get it, already.’
‘Fine.’ Annoyed, I walked over to him and attempted to retrieve the key. But it was no use. As my fingers touched the palm of his hand, Ed lifted it high above his head, laughing as I fell forward and ended up face to face with The Grateful Dead on his faded vintage T-shirt.
‘Well, hello there,’ he grinned down at me as I rested awkwardly against the warmth of his chest, ruffling my hair with his free hand before stepping away, the key still frustratingly out of reach. It’s one of the things I hate about being five feet four inches tall; it means irritatingly tall people like six-foot-two-inch Ed always have the upper hand on me. Literally, in this case.
After much jumping about and other failed tactics like pleading, demanding and tickling (which, I must confess, made the fight far more amusing than annoying because Ed has a giggle like the Mayor of Munchkinland), I resorted to the vertically challenged person’s ultimate move. Mustering every scrap of strength possible, I stamped on his foot. Surprised and shocked by pain, he doubled over and I skilfully caught the key as it fell from his hand. Works every time.
‘Too easy,’ I mocked. ‘Never underestimate a shortie, tall guy.’ Flushed with victory, I swaggered back to the counter and resumed my task.
‘That’s so not fair!’ Ed wailed, clutching his wounded limb.
‘Sorry. Are you OK?’
‘Oh, sure, I’m fine,’ he shrugged.
I let him sweat it out for a while. But once I’d finished cashing up, it was time to put him out of his misery. Grabbing his hand, I led him to the sofa and we sat down.
‘OK, mister. You want details? I’ll give you details.’
Ed did his best to feign disinterest, but his eyes were far too twinkly for someone who didn’t want to know what I was about to divulge. ‘Well, in the light of the callous injury you’ve just inflicted on me, I reckon that’s the least you can do,’ he sniffed.
In truth, there wasn’t an awful lot I could tell him. I wasn’t sure why Nate had chosen to visit today. After all, I still didn’t know a great deal about the man. But I could see there was a lot more to him than first impressions suggested. And I found that…well, intriguing. Ed smiled as I tried to explain this. The only way I could represent my gut feeling was by comparing Nate to an iceberg. Which, inadvertently, revealed my secret theory about Ed, when I added: ‘He’s just like you.’
‘You think I’m an iceberg?’ he repeated, more than a little taken aback.
‘Yes. In a good way, though.’
Ed ran his hand through his dark brown hair and shot me a quizzical look. ‘What’s good about an iceberg?’
I have to admit I was stumped for an explanation, but I made a valiant attempt anyway. ‘Well, you’re a good iceberg—meaning there’s a lot more to discover about you than first meets the eye. You know, as opposed to a bad iceberg, as in bad news for the Titanic. You get what I’m saying?’
Ed’s expression remained unchanged. ‘I’m an iceberg…’ he muttered, as though considering an awful diagnosis and finding a deeper implication that I hadn’t meant.
I put my head on one side and peered at him, my hand lightly resting on his knee. ‘Trust me, it’s a good thing. I find you…intriguing.’
He laughed despite himself. ‘You sound like Celia Johnson in Brief Encounter.’ He adopted a clipped, old English film actor accent. ‘Do you find me terribly, terribly intriguing, darling?’
‘You are such an idiot sometimes,’ I smiled.
‘Hey, but this is only one-tenth of me,’ he replied. ‘Imagine how bad the other nine-tenths could be.’
I squeezed his leg and let my eyes rove around my shop, so still and quiet now the Closed sign was turned. Outside New York continued to pulse with life, the rush-hour traffic along Columbus Avenue crawling at a snail’s pace; a colourful procession of frustration past our window. ‘Glad I’m not stuck in that today.’
‘The subway is a great invention,’ Ed agreed. ‘So Nate, huh? Reckon we’ll be seeing a lot more of him, then?’
I took a breath and looked him straight in the eye. ‘You know, I think we might.’
So there we sat: my hand still on Ed’s knee and his hand stretched across the back of the sofa, his wrist making the lightest contact with my shoulder. He smiled but his eyes were strangely serious as they bored into mine. Taxi horns blared in the traffic jam along Columbus and the clock behind the counter marked the passing seconds with its long, measured ticks. Just when the scrutiny was beginning to feel uneasy, he spoke. And it wasn’t what I was expecting to hear.
‘I’ll make the delivery tonight, Rosie.’
‘Oh.’ Disorientated by this sudden mood-shift, I stuttered, ‘Y-yes, great—if you don’t mind?’ I tried to gauge the emotion in his eyes. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘No problem.’ He turned and walked briskly to the back room, then reappeared carrying the pair of bouquets.
‘You have the paperwork?’ he asked, looking straight at me. His smile was bright as ever but somehow the tone was wrong.
I reached behind the counter and handed him the order sheet. He thanked me and I followed him to the door, switching off the lights as we stepped outside into the noisy buzz of the city. As he went to leave, I grabbed his sleeve. ‘Ed, are you…is everything good here?’
Ed leaned forward and gently kissed my cheek. ‘We’re good, Rosie. Stop worrying. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He smiled, turned and began to walk away quickly.
Remembering something, I called after him. ‘Ed!’
He spun round. ‘Yeah?’
‘Have a great time with Yelena tonight.’
Without answering he raised a hand, saluted briefly and resumed his journey.
I watched him until he disappeared round the corner of the next block. A ball of anxiety rolled to the bottom of my stomach. I pulled the shutter down, locked it and slowly set off on my journey home.
New York was as loud, hurried and colourful as usual, but as I passed familiar blocks and crossed familiar streets it seemed to fade into the background somehow. Questions flitted around my ears like the insistent butterflies inside me. Nate, Ed, Marnie’s love life, Mimi and Caitlin Sutton, and that thing about ‘certain journalists’ that Brent had mentioned—all appeared like jigsaw pieces before me that didn’t quite fit.
I was two blocks away from my street when I heard a familiar shout.
‘There you are, sis!’ James appeared at my side, face flushed and happy. ‘Mind if I walk back home with you?’ He held up a brown paper grocery bag. ‘I’ve stocked up from Dean & DeLuca.’
‘Then you’re more than welcome to come home with me,’ I laughed, suddenly glad of the company.