Once Upon A New York Minute: Part 1

by Sherry Ficklin

  “Carpe Noctum, Liam.”

  “And you speak Latin? I suppose I should have known.”

  Now he motions for me to turn around and I do, albeit reluctantly. After a few moments I hear the splash as water cascades over my head. I turn back just in time to see him bubbling to the surface, shaking the water from his hair.

  “I knew there was a rebel in there somewhere,” I tease, swimming back toward the ledge. “Come on.”

  He follows and we drape our arms over the side. In the distance we can see the river, and the first slivers of light as it begins sweeping through the narrow streets.

  “This is the best place in the whole city to watch the sunrise,” I tell him.

  “Ah, so you’ve done this before.”

  I shake my head. “Not like this. Not with you.”

  With that I release the wall, swimming into his arms. He catches me, holding me above the deep water, one hand on my waist, the other clutching the wall for support.

  “Where did you come from?” he whispers, his breath warm as he brushes his cheek across mine. “How have we been a few miles apart all these years and I’m just now meeting you?”

  “And tonight you walk into my restaurant of all places. Feels a bit like fate, doesn’t it?” I ask.

  “Then fate is cruel indeed. Because it’s not enough. I want more time. More days to watch the sunrise with you,” he says, his voice breathless.

  “You only get one,” I remind him.

  His lips are inches from mine now, his eyes dark and swirling with need. I feel it, an ache down to my bones, my skin is on fire where it touches his. Reaching up I lay a finger across his soft lips.

  “No kissing, remember?”

  He grins behind my finger. “Rules are made to be broken.”

  This Kiss

  I want him. I want him so much there’s a weight in my chest that keeps me from drawing breath. But suddenly kissing him seems like a bad idea. Terrible. A self-inflicted wound I may never recover from.

  Because soon he’ll be gone, and I’ll never get to kiss him again.

  But then, my mind pleads, maybe that’s reason enough.

  Rising through the water, I move in for the kiss. His lips part, a sharp intake of breath as his chest rises and falls. His gaze is locked on mine, heavy with a mixture of desire and fear.

  He must feel it too. The weight of this moment, as if nothing will ever be the same again.

  This is the kiss that will change everything.

  Lowering my lips to his, my body erupts in goosebumps despite the warmth of the pool. His lips taste like saltwater, like oceans and tears. I want to kiss it all away, to erase every bad memory, every moment of sorrow. He holds me gently, as if he’s afraid I might break like so much glass. But the only thing breaking is my heart. Shattering and repairing itself over and over in my chest with every beat. It’s as if I’m falling into him, the walls I’ve so carefully constructed around myself are crumbling at his feet and he doesn’t even know.

  My kiss grows more desperate, my tongue and teeth ravenous. He moans into my mouth and it drives me forward until I’m pressing myself against the lean, muscular length of him. He releases the wall to take hold of the back of my neck and we sink down into the water, clinging to each other like lifelines.

  It’s only when my lungs burn, when I can no longer remain below the surface, that I draw back and kick towards the light. He follows me, but instead of swimming away, he plunges forward through the water, driving us both back to the shallows, as he kisses me over and over, my lips swollen when he finally trails his kissed down my neck and across my collar bone.

  Opening my eyes, I see the full glory of the morning sun, orange like fire along the rooftops.

  “You’re missing it,” I whisper, hardly able to recognize my own voice.

  “No, I’m not,” he says, not opening his eyes. He pushes us further until we are sitting on the lowest step, only our lower halves still submerged.

  His hand wanders from my side, across my waist and down my stomach.

  I flinch instinctually, bolting upright as I cover my midsection.

  Diving back into the deeper water, I struggle to catch my breath.

  “What is it?” he asks, following me but not touching me. “Did I do something wrong?”

  I turn to him, his brow furrowed, his eyes wide.

  “No, no of course not. It’s just…” I hesitate, taking a deep breath before forcing the words from my mouth. “I have these scars. I’m kind of sensitive about them.”

  “Scars? Where? From what?”

  I wipe my face with my hands, composing myself. “I don’t really like talking about it.”

  He crosses the distance between us, his hands up as if surrender.

  “Will you show me?” he asks. His voice is so gentle, I can’t imagine refusing him anything. My fear and reluctance crumble away at the sound.

  Reaching across the water, I take one of his hands, drawing it to my stomach and laying it over the first—the worst—of the scars. With tender fingertips he traces the angry, crisscrossing lines of raised flesh. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have to. His face remains carefully neutral, a mask to hide his true feelings.

  After a minute I swim away, keeping my back to him.

  “Did someone hurt you?” he asks finally. “Is that why you knew that self-defense move earlier?”

  I nod once, still not looking back.

  He hesitates, as if choosing his words with the utmost care. “And the person that hurt you, are they somewhere they can’t hurt you anymore?”

  I nod again, grinding my teeth against the weakness I feel.

  He swims up beside me, looking off into the distance as he speaks, his voice trembling. “I don’t know what happened or how you survived, but I’m really glad you did. I don’t know much, but I know that the world is a better place with you in it.”

  A lump forms at the base of my throat, cutting off my voice. The only other person who knows about the scars is Liz, and even she’s never seen them. So why does showing them to Liam feel so easy?

  It feels as if I could tell him anything at all, and I don’t even know him. The idea is so absurd I can’t help the flustered blush that rushes to my cheeks.

  I snort, “I just realized I don’t know your last name. I’ve never kissed a stranger before.”

  He smirks, “Nor have I, until now. But I’d very much like to kiss you again, if you’ll let me.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck, letting him pull me through the water and against his bare flesh.

  “I’d like that very much, in fact.”

  He kisses me for what feels like days, softly, desperately, his fingers riding the edges of my shoulders, down my back, until I’m so completely lost in him that I forget to breathe and have to gasp as his lips find their way to my neck. The wanting builds until it’s an ache in my bones, but he remains restrained, riding some invisible line, keeping us just this side of going too far. I don’t know how he manages, even as I lick the salt water from his chest I know that if he pressed, I’d give in—give him everything and take everything in return. But he doesn’t. When he finally maneuvers us back to the steps, it’s reluctant but somehow determined.

  We dress in silence, my lips swollen and my skin flushed as I slide into my dress.

  “Ok, I know where we should go next, but it’s a long train ride from here. You game?”

  I grab his shirt, pulling him to me for one more kiss before letting him answer. “Of course. If you haven’t noticed by now, I’d follow you anywhere.”

  Hand in hand, we make our way downstairs and I lead him back to the train station.

  The ride is long, as I’d predicted, and we both fall in and out of sleep along the way, my head on his shoulder, his resting against the glass window. Just as the train squeals into the last stop, I nudge him awake.

  “We’re here,” I say, pulling him to his feet.

  Short as it was, the nap has left me fe
eling rested and ready to go once more. It’s only a block from the train station, but as soon as he hears it, his face lights up with joy.

  “Is this?”

  “Coney Island,” I announce. “The finest fun park New York has to offer. It’s the ultimate in noise and light related fun.”

  “You’re going to laugh, but I’ve never been to an amusement park before. My parents always considered them trashy.”

  “Well, they aren’t wrong. But this is the fun kind of trashy. Come on,” I say dragging him through the gates.

  We ride roller coaster after roller coaster. Only when I notice him getting a little green around the gills do I calm it down with a turn on the merry-go-round, and then, we end the trip with a ride on the Wonder Wheel.

  At the top, we sit, our car rocking softly as we look out over the water.

  “It feels like we’re on top of the world,” Liam marvels, laying an arm around my shoulders.

  I snuggle against him, holding up my pink cotton candy to his lips so he can tear off a bite. “We are. Liam and Haven on top of the world.”

  He hesitates, his smile faltering just a bit before he speaks. “It’s how it should be, really.”

  “I agree.”

  His phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out.

  “It’s Aiden, checking in to make sure I’m not dead,” he chuckles.

  “May I?” I ask, holding my hand out for the phone. He sets it in my palm without hesitation.

  “Oh, so trusting,” I tease, opening the camera and holding it out. Leaning in, I make a silly face, and Aiden does the same. Snapping the pic I send it off before handing the phone back. His response vibrates a moment later.

  Why does it look like you’re a hundred feet in the air?

  This time Liam takes a snap looking down at the ground. He sends it.

  Opening the camera again, he holds his arm out.

  “Ok, this one’s for us.”

  I lean in, giving him my best smile just as he plants a kiss on my cheek and snaps the photo at the same time.

  “Sneaky,” I say, taking his cell. “I’m sending this one to myself.”

  Handing the phone back, I lean forward, looking down as we finally start moving again.

  “How long is this ride?” Liam asks.

  I shrug. “A couple minutes is all. Why?” I ask, sitting back.

  “I was just wondering how long I had to kiss you.” Reaching out he takes my chin in one hand, hesitating until I lean forward in silent acceptance. Only then does he close the distance, his lips crashing against mine in a tidal wave. I find myself clinging to him, even as the wheel slows, our time far too short as always.

  I could kiss him forever. Every minute of every day and never get tired of it.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks, releasing me as we wait for our turn to exit the ride.

  I lick my lips, the taste of him lingering there. “I was wondering if we could really do it, cram a lifetime into a few hours.”

  “We will do our best,” he swears, helping me off the ride.

  “We should head back uptown. There’s still more to see.”

  He turns to me, holding my face in his hands, “As long as I’m with you. I don’t care where we go from here.”

  He kisses me once more, softly, hesitantly. A promise he’s not sure he can keep.

  Together we walk back to the train, and while I curl against him once more, neither of us close our eyes. We are both unwilling to lose a single moment of the time we have left.

  An hour later we pull into Midtown Station. By the time we eat and talk and set off again the street is already crowded with people, the sun setting quickly. The lights around us buzz to life, glowing like neon stars. I lead him up and into Times Square. The crowd is thick, people shoulder to shoulder as they bustle from shop to shop, from bar to bar. They make their way to shows on Broadway or to the towering restaurants overlooking the square. Others just mill about, their heads up as they lose themselves in the lights.

  Liam stops to watch a street artist spray paint his canvas, then he moves to watch a magician doing card tricks on a cardboard box. I follow him as closely as I can, seeing the wonder of it all through his eyes as if I’m seeing it again for the first time. We wind up at a row of tent vendors peddling their wares.

  “Hey,” he calls me over to him. “We could get matching tattoos.”

  I laugh at his exuberance. “Sure. Why not?”

  He looks at me blinking, “Really? You’d do that?”

  I nod, “I would. But would you?”

  He thinks about it for a moment. “Probably not.”

  “That’s probably a good call. I’d hate to send you home with hepatitis or something.”

  He laughs, stuffing a giant Statue of Liberty hat on his head.

  “How about this?”

  I squint at him, “Do you want lice? Because that’s how you get lice?”

  I’m teasing but he immediately pulls the hat off, running his fingers through his hair.

  “Here,” I say, standing outside a tee-shirt shop. “I need to grab something. Wait for me?”

  Liam offers me a suspicious glare, but shrugs and moves to the next tent. I’m done in only a few minutes, my bag in hand.

  “What did you buy?”

  “It’s a surprise,” I say, wagging my eyebrows.

  After wandering a bit longer and pausing on the famous Times Square steps, we decide to flee the growing chaos.

  Looking around he leans sideways, trying to see past a slow-moving group of tourists.

  “I’m starving. Where’s good to eat around here?”

  “Nowhere,” I say flatly, taking his hand. “Come on. I know where the good food is.”

  Leading him out of the heavy crowds and down the street, we pass into Little Italy. The street is cobblestone, lights strung from building to building giving the whole street a Venetian ambiance. Still holding hands, we walk down the block until I spot the place I’m looking for.

  “Here,” I say, walking up to the maître d who rests at a stone pillar near the outside tables.

  “Table for two please,” Liam says before I can even open my mouth. With a bow of the neck, he grabs two menus and leads us to one of the tables along the street. Inside a woman strums lightly on her guitar, music swelling through the open-air restaurant.

  “This place seems nice,” he offers, looking over the menu.

  I sit back, “I figured you should have something besides food cart food for your final hours. Besides, I love Little Italy. It feels like you’ve stepped outside the city, you know? It’s always so calm here.”

  “I can see that. Have you ever been to big Italy?”

  I take a sip of water. “No, but it’s on my bucket list.”

  He grins.

  “We should go sometime.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, his smile falters, falling into a troubled frown.

  “Yeah, that’d be nice,” I say off hand, bringing my menu up to hide my face. I have to take a long, deep breath before looking at him again.

  “Tell you what. I’ll order the food, you order the wine?”

  “Deal. Red or white?”

  “White.”

  He nods, motioning for the waiter. We put in our order, then sit quietly for a few minutes, watching the people stroll past. The silence grows thicker by the moment until it’s uncomfortable—stifling.

  Holding a hand out, Liam finally speaks. “Would you like to dance?”

  “No,” I blurt. His face falls, his hand retreats.

  “All right.”

  I shift in my chair. “It’s just… I don’t know how,” I admit. “I mean, club dancing, sure. But slow dancing isn’t actually in my skill set.”

  He tilts his head, “Really?”

  Sighing, I fold my arms across my chest. “There was never any need to learn back on the farm. We were all homeschooled so it’s not like there were any school dances or anything.”

  “I se
e,” he says.

  The wine arrives and the waiter pours us both a glass. To my surprise, it’s sweet-smelling and bubbly.

  “Champagne?” I ask. “What’s the occasion?”

  He lifts his glass, and I do the same. “To our first date, of course.”

  We clink glasses. “The longest first date in history, I think.”

  Offering him a wink, I take a sip, the tiny bubbles exploding on my tongue.

  “Now as for the dancing,” he continues.

  I cringe.

  Seeing my reaction, he holds up his hands. “I just want to clarify, do you not want to dance because you don’t know how, or do you not want to dance because you don’t want to dance?”

  “I feel like this is a trap.”

  “Because I’d be delighted to teach you,” he offers, holding out his hand once more.

  Against my better judgement, I lay my hand in his. Hell, he’s let me drag him all over New York and back all day without a single protest. It’s the least I can do.

  Probably.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I whisper as we glide to the small wooden dancefloor by the young guitar player.

  He leans over, dropping a large bill in her case. “Something we can slow dance to, if you would be so kind.”

  With a grin, she begins picking at the strings. I know the melody at least, and as soon as she begins to sing softly, I remember the song.

  It’s, I can’t help falling in love with you.

  Fitting.

  Taking my hand in his and holding my waist with the other, we take our places.

  “Just move with me,” he whispers, pulling me close.

  I obey. He steps forward, and I step back. He rocks to the side and I follow. Managing to only step on his feet a few times, the song ends and we stand there for the space of a moment. I wonder if he’s going to kiss me again, but he doesn’t. Instead he leads me back to the table, pulling out my chair so I can sit.

  “Thank you for that,” I say, embarrassed at my poor attempt.

  “It was quite good for your first time,” he offers.

  “We should try it again after your feet recover,” I tease.

  I don’t realize my slip up until the words are out. I’d done it too. Imagined a future we weren’t going to get.