I was stupid to come here. But when Garrett would ask me to do things, I found it hard to say no. When he’d started talking about doing the things I’d never done as a kid, I’d felt myself melting for Garrett Finnegan all over again.
I’d spent many weekends in this city as a child, but I’d never seen a single part of it. I’d never been to Central Park or gone ice-skating. I’d never seen the lights of Times Square at night or had tea at The Plaza—and I’d stayed at The Plaza.
Garrett wanted to make up for that even though it wasn’t his place, and I wanted to let him. But now that I was here—staring at this map, knowing my parents were in the same city and sharing the same space—I wanted to run. It was what I was good at after all.
I needed to do something, anything to distract myself from the map sitting in front of me. I stood up, grabbed my purse and key card, and made a dash toward the elevator.
One taxi ride later, I ended up at the Met. I’d always loved art, and The Metropolitan Museum of Art seemed like the best way to spend the afternoon. It didn’t require talking or interaction with others—just quiet observation. I could roam through each room as quickly or slowly as I wanted, enjoying each piece of art as I went.
Around the second hour of my visit, I came into a room filled with children on a field trip. They had a docent leading them, patiently asking them questions and answering theirs. They were very well-behaved for being so young. I quietly snuck behind them and immersed myself in the painting on the far wall.
“She’s pretty,” a little girl said to my right.
She was petite with long brown hair and a cute button nose. Her eyes were green, and she had the same uniform on as every other child in the room.
“Yes, she is,” I said in reference to the ballerina in the painting.
“I want to be a painter when I grow up.”
“You do? I think that’s wonderful. Do you paint at home?” I asked.
“Yes, Mommy bought me all sorts of paints. She even got me an easel for Christmas!”
“Wow, you are a very lucky little girl! How old are you?”
“Seven,” she answered, holding her fingers out to show me.
My heart lurched for a second, and I nodded. “You are very grown-up for your age.”
“That’s what my daddy says. He says I was born middle-aged. What does that mean?”
I snorted a bit, but I covered it up with my hand.
“I think your daddy just finds you very mature for your age.”
She beamed, obviously understanding the meaning of the word mature.
Someone called the group, and the little girl said her good-byes, waving as she went.
Then, I was alone again.
I wasn’t much in the mood for being alone anymore after that, so I headed back to the hotel. The taxi pulled up to the curb just as Garrett was walking up to the front entrance.
He looked handsome in his dark gray suit and teal tie. He had a laptop bag strapped over his shoulder and looked the part of sophisticated businessman. Just as he was about to enter the hotel, he turned and caught my eye as I was stepping out of the cab.
He didn’t say anything. He just watched as I took the few steps closing the gap between us.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
“Where did you spend your day?” he asked, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.
I didn’t even think he’d realized he’d done it until my breath faltered. He hastily tucked his hands in his pockets.
“I went to the Met.”
“Ah, good choice,” he said, abruptly turning.
We both stepped forward and entered the hotel. We talked about the museum during our short elevator ride. He asked me several questions about which pieces were my favorite, and he told me his.
“So, you have something to make up to me?” I said as I slipped the card into my door to unlock my room.
“I haven’t forgotten. Be ready in twenty, and wear something comfortable. We’re walking—a lot.”
He disappeared into his room, and I slipped into mine. I raced around, freshening up my makeup and brushing my hair. I slipped on a pair of comfortable sandals and kept on my dress. It was comfortable, and I liked how I looked in it. I grabbed a sweater and tied it around my purse before making it out my door just in time.
“Not bad,” he commented. He was dressed down again, wearing dark jeans and a gray T-shirt. It clung to him and showed off the definition of his upper body.
I tried not to let my eyes linger too much.
“So, where are we going?” I asked.
We started walking down the streets of Manhattan.
“Well, you mentioned that you never left the hotel when you were a kid, so I’m taking you somewhere every kid has to go when visiting New York.”
Twenty minutes later, we were standing in front of FAO Schwarz.
“Oh my gosh! Are you kidding me? We’re going to a toy store?” I squealed, looking up at the massive store.
“Not just any toy store. This is the toy store. It’s awesome.”
We took the required cheesy photos with the live toy soldier standing at the entrance. I wondered how many photos that poor guy posed in each day.
Garrett wasn’t kidding. The store was massive with two floors and an escalator in between. It was insane. We spent an hour or more on the first floor, squeezing stuffed animals and playing with toys that were much too young for us. I didn’t think I’d laughed so much in my life.
We made our way upstairs and took a turn on the giant keyboard from Big. We were terrible.
Garrett went to go check out Legos, and I walked around. I stopped to check out something called Floam. An employee was doing a demonstration, and I was slightly envious that I hadn’t had cool stuff like that when I was little.
Now, I sounded old.
I made my way away from the Floam and wandered into the doll section. It was huge. They had every doll imaginable from expensive-looking porcelain ones that must have been imported from foreign countries to the type of dolls found at Target. My steps faltered in the aisle that had the baby dolls. I stood nearly frozen in place and stared, looking at the tiny outfits and shoes, as my fingers grazed the soft fabric of a baby blanket.
“There you are. I’ve been looking all over—” Garrett’s words evaporated as he came closer. “Are you crying?” he whispered.
I reached up with my fingertips and felt the wetness of tears.
“Hey,” he said cautiously, pulling me into his arms.
It was the first time he’d held me in years, yet it still felt familiar and safe.