Autumn Anthology

by Heather B. Moore

  Whitney laughed so hard at the image that she nearly spurted lobster bisque from her nose, something Stephen seemed to beam at.

  She told him about a time a big-name actor had come to her resort and sent back every dessert he got, declaring that they were all too “French.”

  “I had no idea what he meant; he’d ordered a mousse, an éclair, and tiramisu—”

  “Which isn’t even French,” Stephen interjected with a laugh.

  “Exactly! I had a mind to go out to the floor and dump the mousse on his head.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I figured he had to have a bland palate, so I made the most boring thing ever: chocolate-chip cookies… with store-bought dough.”

  “You didn’t.” Stephen said it as if she’d suggested using dirt.

  “Seriously. I had one of the staffers run to the grocery store and get the cheapest stuff possible. He had to wait for his dessert, but he loved it.” She shook her head. “Some people aren’t worth wasting the good stuff on, am I right?”

  Stephen looked into her eyes then, and her laugh caught in her throat. “I bet we’d work well together…” His voice trailed off, but then he finished the thought with, “In the kitchen,” as if the statement needed clarifying. But she was pretty sure that’s not what he’d been thinking at first.

  “Yeah. I bet we would,” she said. In the kitchen… and out.

  Chapter Two

  By the time their soup was gone, they’d made it to Central Park, but they hadn’t eaten the bread and grapes. They crossed the street at Columbus Circle, navigating three of the traffic circle’s crosswalks before reaching the park itself. Stephen led the way a couple of hundred yards into the park.

  As he walked, he couldn’t help but remember the first time they met. He’d noticed her brilliant smile and flawless skin; he hadn’t known what her hair was like, because at the time, it was pulled back in a bun and tucked under a chef’s hat. He glanced over now as they walked, shoes crunching dead autumn leaves under foot. Her hair was dark, but not quite brown— more auburn.

  He’d admired her as a professional for years, and he’d hoped to impress her with his skills the way she’d impressed him. But besting her in competitions only turned her away. Why he’d ever thought winning would help him get the girl, he’d never know; always beating her out was the equivalent of pulling her pigtails at recess, made worse by the fact that he knew the judges were often sexist. She did deserve to win. Of course she’d hate him for it. Why hadn’t he seen that before?

  He pointed to an area past the swings, which was near a huge rock outcropping kids were climbing all over. “There’s a fence we can lean against.”

  The fence was out of the way, and it would be quieter there. “Sure.” They walked over to the fence, which had a couple of bikes and a mini cooler beside it.

  Stephen leaned against the top rail. “I figure this is far enough in that he won’t be able to see us from the street.”

  “Good thinking.” Whitney joined him at the fence, setting her paper bag of food and her purse between her feet but holding a sprig of grapes.

  She plucked one grape and popped it into her mouth as she settled close to him— not inches away as she had in the cab. Granted, only their forearms were touching, but it was progress. He’d have a long way to go before winning her over for more than their shirts brushing up next to each other. Which he had every intention of doing.

  “This is cool,” she said, indicating the playground. “I would have died and gone to heaven with a place like this.”

  They couldn’t see all of the equipment from their position, but not too far off stood what looked like a small concrete city, with at least three dome-like structures that had interconnecting bridges, slides, and even doorway-like openings into the caverns inside.

  “That would have made the coolest fort for war games,” Stephen said.

  “I probably would have played house inside and used the bridges to go to tea or go shopping.”

  They sat eating quietly for several minutes. Whitney popped grapes into her mouth as Stephen took bites of the hearty rye bread, which was divine. “So after we eat, do you want to head back to the hotel? You’re at Washington Square Hotel too, right?”

  “Right,” she said with a nod, and then her head came up as if a disturbing thought had just occurred to her. “Jeremy can’t possibly know where we’re staying, can he?”

  Stephen lowered the bread and slowly swallowed a bite. “I doubt it. But even if he could find out which hotel, he can’t get your room number.”

  “I’m getting paranoid.” Whitney sighed. “After this meal— which is delicious, by the way— I’ll be looking forward to a hot bath and resting in my hotel room until I fly out tomorrow.”

  Stephen nodded thoughtfully in agreement. The idea of being able to relax after a grueling week sounded great, but somehow he wanted to be with Whitney a bit longer.

  He heard a ding, and Whitney touched her slacks pocket.

  “Just a text,” she said. “It can wait.”

  “What if it’s Ellie?”

  “You’re right.” Whitney groaned. “And I was just starting to enjoy this trip.”

  Stephen hid a grin at that. Me too, he thought, but didn’t dare say.

  She pulled her phone out with the other and checked it.

  “Is it Ellie?” Stephen asked.

  “No. I don’t know the number.” Her face was draining of color.

  A warning light went off in Stephen’s head. “What does it say?” He moved closer to see it. She held out the phone with a shaky hand.

  Enjoying your soup?

  “It’s— it’s got to be Jeremy,” she stammered, staring at the text. “How did he get my number?”

  “And how in the hell does he know we went to the Soup Nazi?” Frustrated, Stephen squeezed the bread in his hand, ruining it. He tossed it into his paper sack and stood to look around the park, examining the area, searching for Jeremy.

  “Maybe he’s guessing where we are. He had to have heard us say how hungry we were.” Whitney seemed to be scrambling to come up with a rational explanation.

  Stephen shook his head and began pacing. “He didn’t ask if we’re enjoying our food or meal. He said soup.”

  “It’s cold day. Lucky guess?” But Whitney’s voice belied the light tone of her words.

  He shook his head adamantly. “The creep has got to be around here somewhere. I bet show security had to release him, and he followed us in another cab.”

  Whitney’s phone buzzed again. “Another text.” She looked up as Stephen stopped in his tracks. He hurried over, and they read it at the same time.

  You deserve to die. Is the park nice today? See you in a second.

  A surge of adrenaline shot though Stephen. “No way. Come here.”

  He took Whitney by the hand and dragged her across the grass and paused by the huge outcropping— could they hide on the other side of that? Maybe, but they’d be too easy to see climbing up it. He wouldn’t take the chance. Quickly, he changed course and led Whitney to a retaining wall, which they hopped down, and then over to the nearest concrete dome.

  He ducked low and ran inside, into the darkness. Whitney followed suit. Two kids who looked to be about six years old gave them a funny look and scurried out. Now fully in shadow, Stephen and Whitney pressed their backs to the wall and tried to catch their breath. Whitney was nearly curled up next to him; he had his arms wrapped around her protectively. They waited in silence. But not for long.

  In the distance Stephen spotted Jeremy’s dirty jeans as he stalked around the playground.

  “Whitney! Where are you? I know you’re here.” His heavy step sounded above them; Jeremy was walking over their dome. They both looked upward, listening. An outsider might have thought he was a father looking for his daughter— a scary father.

  Stephen’s heart still hammered against his ribcage; it hadn’t gotten the message that he wasn’t running anymore.r />
  But I may have to fight or flee, he thought. I have to protect her. The thought began with the knowledge that it was simply the right thing to do, but inside, Stephen knew that wanting to protect Whitney went well beyond being a decent human being.

  He refused to lose Whitney before he got to really know her, especially when he hoped that, given the chance, he could come to care for her even more. He swallowed back the emotion such thoughts brought with them. Waiting around for Jeremy was far harder than running from him; the latter had at least kept Stephen’s mind occupied.

  Jeremy appeared in front of the dome again. Whitney sucked in her breath and held Stephen’s arm tightly. Jeremy was scanning the area, his face scrunched into a pissed-off expression as he stomped around.

  He searched the swings, the trees— even the rocky outcropping. Whitney let out a shaky breath she’d been holding. “He didn’t see us,” she whispered, but didn’t move.

  Stephen turned to look at her. His face was awfully close to hers. She looked up at the same time, and their eyes locked. He braced himself for one of her jokes, but none came. They stayed in the same position, gazing into each other’s eyes, for several seconds. They couldn’t leave yet anyway; Jeremy could still be around.

  Three inches, and I could be kissing her. His eyes sketched down to her lips— those red, beautiful lips— and back to her chocolate-brown eyes. They were the color of Peter’s Burgundy, his favorite dark chocolate to work with.

  The sound of Jeremy racing back toward the playground— kicking up gravel, crunching dried leaves— broke the moment. Whitney looked away and licked her lips— had she been thinking the same thing?

  Probably not. She’s barely past wanting to rip my arms out of their sockets.

  Several yards ahead, Jeremy turned in a circle. He lifted his hands to each side of his mouth and yelled, “I’m coming for you! Don’t think I won’t find you!” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket as if checking a text then ran off in the direction they’d entered the park.

  Stephen leaned close to Whitney’s ear to whisper; instead, he smelled her shampoo— fruity, with something else in it he couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, he almost made him want to stay right there and smell it for hours. But they had to get out of here. “I’ll go grab your purse,” he whispered.

  “I didn’t even realize I’d left it by the fence,” Whitney said, bending to the side, checking to see if it was still there. It was, right next to the cooler and near the bikes.

  Stephen went on. “When I return, we book it out of the park, back to Central Park South. From there, we’ll grab a taxi and go… somewhere.”

  She nodded. “Deal.”

  He mentally counted to three then scurried out of the dome and raced to the fence. He scooped up the purse and headed back to the dome. Whitney was already out of it and running in the direction he pointed. He caught up, and together they sprinted along one path and then another, dodging people and nearly tripping on a dog’s leash. The whole way, Stephen prayed that Jeremy had kept going all the way back to the Soup Nazi and that he wouldn’t see them when they reached the street.

  The cold air burned Stephen’s lungs as he ran. Whitney kept up, her arms pumping furiously. They returned to the street a block farther east from where they’d entered the park by Columbus Circle.

  Stephen held out his arm to hail a cab. Miraculously, one stopped almost immediately. Stephen opened the back door, ushered Whitney inside, and was about to climb in himself when he spotted Jeremy at the traffic circle.

  “Stop!” Jeremy screamed. He was running.

  Stephen practically jumped into the car then slammed the door shut. He locked it and yelled, “Drive, fast. Please! And lock the doors!”

  The cabbie nodded and pulled into traffic, the locks clicking shut right as Jeremy reached the cab and tried the front passenger door. He yelled obscenities as Stephen and Whitney blended in with the other yellow cabs on the streets of Manhattan and drove away.

  Stephen handed over her purse. “That was close.”

  Whitney hadn’t scooted to the other side of the bench. She sat right by him, no space at all between them. Stephen would have thought it felt good, except that a deep furrow creased her forehead, and her eyes were watery. He wasn’t used to seeing this vulnerable side of Whitney. And he didn’t like it.

  Hesitantly, he lifted his arm and let it slowly settle around her shoulders. He held his breath, waiting for her reaction. Please let it be good, not bad. I just want to help.

  Whitney shuddered as if with relief and sank into his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Of course.” Stephen couldn’t help himself. He turned his head and kissed the top of hers.

  Chapter Three

  The cabbie cleared his throat to get their attention. “So where to?”

  Without any hesitation, Stephen answered, “Battery Park.”

  Whitney had no idea where Battery Park was, but it sounded familiar, and she figured she ought to know where— or what— it was. She hoped it was a long drive away, maybe in another borough.

  I’d be willing to pay a lot to sit with Stephen like this, in quiet closeness, for hours.

  The thought stunned her. Since when did she want to not only be with Stephen, but be close to him? To touch him, to sit at his side, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder? And there was that delicious smell again. Not just cologne or aftershave. Something else was mixed in— his own masculine scent? Whatever it was, she would be happy to sit here all day, smelling it, knowing she was safe from Jeremy and with a man who seemed to take her well-being seriously.

  She didn’t remember the last time a man had really cared about her that way. Stephen had stepped in to confront a total stranger, defending a woman that he knew considered him to be her mortal enemy.

  Maybe he doesn’t see me as an enemy the way I’ve seen him. Maybe he’s not as big a jerk as I thought. Maybe he’s not a jerk at all. She hadn’t ever interacted with him; she’d just seen him on stage, getting his awards and accolades— the ones she deserved.

  She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent then realized she was practically snuggling with Stephen.

  I’ve lost my mind. It’s got to be the shock of dealing with Jeremy. Our emotions are already running wild. That’s all this is— temporary insanity. That’s all this is.

  She pictured the two of them going back to Park City when all of this was over: working in the same city, knowing that they were rivals and that it was part of her professional duty to try to beat this guy in every way. The idea felt like chocolate that had been heated too high and had turned into an ugly, gritty, unsalvageable mess, and a total disappointment— scorched.

  Deliberately, Whitney continued to breathe deeply, letting out as much stress and emotion as she could. This wasn’t the time to think about what would happen after this crazy day was over and they went back to their own lives and kitchens. But with her eyes closed, she couldn’t help imagine what it would be like to share a kitchen with Stephen.

  Imagine what kind of amazing sculptures we could create together.

  Stop that!

  She forced her eyes open; closing them only helped her fantasize about something ludicrous. Time to focus on reality and losing Jeremy altogether.

  Another text came in. Stephen stiffened, apparently recognizing the chime. Mouth dry, Whitney clicked her phone open.

  Heading back to Washington Square? I hear the hotel is really nice. Lobby’s a bit pretentious, though.

  “He knows.” Whitney’s voice sounded hollow to her ears. “How?”

  Her mind spun. Maybe she could check out of the hotel a day early then head to the airport to wait for an earlier flight— during which time she’d make a point out of not thinking about how Jeremy could very well meet her at the hotel when she got there or follow her to the airport. Once I’m past security, he couldn’t touch me.

  As much as she wanted to suggest going
to the hotel, she knew it wouldn’t be wise right now. Instead she said, “What’s at Battery Park?”

  “A lot of things,” Stephen said. “I figure it’ll give us options— and distance. It’s at the bottom tip of the island, so he’ll have a harder time finding us or getting there too, I’d think. From there, we can take the subway to—”

  “No subway.” Whitney lifted her head and shook it. “Not when I’m running. Maybe I’ve watched too many movies with subway fight scenes, but…” She shuddered.

  “Okay, no subway. I’m good with that.” Stephen smiled. It didn’t escape her notice that he didn’t even mention how expensive continuing cab fares might even up being— several times higher than subway fares.

  “Thanks,” she said, and lowered her head to his shoulder again. His arm pulled her close in a comforting squeeze. She wanted to enjoy the moment and melt into it, but she couldn’t, not with Jeremy’s texts staring at her.

  Stephen cleared him throat. “Okay, so how about this: from Battery Park, we take the ferry to the Liberty Island— maybe see the Statue of Liberty— and then visit Ellis Island.”

  A ferry ride, two historic landmarks, and all of it far from any freaky Jeremy moments?

  “Sounds great.”

  “Plus, to get on the ferry, you have to go through a metal detector,” Stephen added with a layer of significance in his voice.

  Message received: Even if Jeremy figured out where they’d gone and tried to follow, he couldn’t bring a weapon.

  “No metal detector?” She smiled and tilted her head to look up to him. “Even better.”

  After a fifteen- or twenty-minute ride, the cabbie dropped them off near a grassy area with old trees. They got out, and Stephen paid the fare— Whitney made a mental note of how much it was so she could pay him back. Somehow she knew he wouldn’t take the money right now. Not that she had much cash on her anyway.