“I think they’re about to move.”
Cole nodded. “Yeah, but Lady and the Tramp back there are gearing up to make a run for it. Do you think we can beat them?”
We were huddled at the table, Cole taking the final bites of his Reuben sandwich and me slurping my matzo ball soup. “Absolutely. Their lovey-dovey bit is ultimately going to be their downfall. Look at them. They can’t stop touching each other.”
“I see. You’re proposing a little more man-to-man as opposed to zone.”
“Exactly.” I set down my spoon and took a sip of soda. “I think if you block them, I can use some offensive line to get in there and do some special-teams stuff before they even get out of the penalty box.” Cole smirked at me, and I shrugged. “Whatever. Sports. Blah, blah, blah.”
“Okay, then I’ll deal with Lady and the Tramp while you go straight to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Don’t back down.”
I stared at the three kids who had been in our crosshairs for nearly an hour. “They don’t even know what they’ve got. It’s just wrong.”
The two boys and a girl (who actually looked like very nice kids whose parents I was half inclined to write a letter to commending them on raising such polite young people in this modern age) had been happily eating their sandwiches together, having a great time, about seven feet away from us. They were clearly Lower East Side kids who had walked there for lunch, lived in the neighborhood, and had an appreciation for delicious cured meats. But time was running out, and they were sitting at the When Harry Met Sally table. All I wanted was one decent picture at the iconic location and then Cole and I would be on our way.
But we’d figured out pretty quickly that almost everyone else at Katz’s had the same aspirations. Most had come and gone. Many had just squeezed in a little too closely to our teen friends and snapped pictures anyway. But Lady and the Tramp, so named because they kept nibbling at dill pickle spears from opposite sides until they met in the middle, had waited it out.
But they hadn’t been waiting as long as we had.
First date or no, Cole and I had been on the same wavelength longer than our friends from Hogwarts had been alive. That table would be ours.
“They’re gathering their trash,” Cole informed me through gritted teeth.
Of course they were. Dear Professor McGonagall, or whoever is responsible for these delightful urban rats . . .
“On it.”
I picked up our tray and began heading toward the garbage can before turning back to ask Hermione if she knew where the restroom was. While she pointed to the back of the deli, I slid closer to their table to get out of the way of passing patrons. By the time I was thanking her and telling the kids to have a nice day, Cole was bending over to pick up a napkin he had dropped, providing me just enough time to slip into one of the chairs while Lady and the Tramp impatiently waited for him to stop blocking the aisle.
“Oh, pardon me,” he said to them as he slipped into the chair across from me.
We both controlled our emotions and refrained from gloating apart from a soft fist bump under the table. Our rivals were fuming, standing there with their arms crossed, not looking too lovey-dovey at all.
“I almost feel bad,” I whispered as I pulled my phone out of my pocket and began snapping photos. Cole leaned in and got his face in the pictures—over the table, in front of the neon sign, and with Lady and the Tramp in the background. I sat back in the chair and sighed happily as I flipped through the photos I had just taken. “This is amazing.”
“Yeah . . . but I guess we should get going.”
I stuffed my phone back into my pocket as Cole picked up our tray and we stood from our seats. We hadn’t even stepped into the aisle before some totally new people swept in and stole the table out from under those we’d believed were set to inherit the Harry and Sally throne.
“Yikes.” I spoke over my shoulder to him as we walked to the door. “Who knew romantic comedy was such a brutal blood sport?”
“Did you get some good pictures for your trouble?”
“I did.” He held the door open for me, and I smiled up at him as we stepped out onto Houston Street. “If you want to give me your phone number later, I can send them to you.”