The November nip in the air had her hugging herself and wishing she hadn’t left her jacket at the booth. Stephen gestured at the grassy plot. “Battery Park.”
“This is a park?” Whitney asked, looking around.
“It is by Manhattan standards— it’s got grass and trees. But yeah, it’s several times smaller than Central Park.” Stephen jerked his head up the street. “The twin towers used to be there.”
Whitney turned to take in the symmetrical glass structure. From where they stood, she couldn’t see the memorial gardens or fountains. Maybe they’d have time to pay their respects later. She tried to picture the twin towers being there instead, of smoke billowing from the them, of people running down the streets to get away from the debris and smoke after the towers came down. She’d been a kid then, but she still remembered how the news footage had looked like a lot of the movie scenes with people running down streets away from alien invaders.
She shivered and turned away to look out onto the water. “Which direction is the ferry?”
“Over here.” Stephen led the way.
They reached the ticket booth and learned that they’d lucked out; the next ferry would leave in about five minutes. They went through the security checkpoint, boarded, and found seats below deck. Whitney would have loved to watch the water and Statue of Liberty approach, but it was too cold and windy without a jacket. Maybe the Ellis Island gift shop would have a hat or gloves or jacket or something.
As before, Stephen’s arm rested around her shoulders. Whitney couldn’t help but wonder if it was a habit now, or something he felt he could do, or maybe just a comfortable position for him. Certainly it didn’t mean anything more than that.
When the ferry pulled away from the dock, Whitney breathed a sigh of relief.
Stephen noticed. “We did it. Jeremy’s nowhere to be seen.”
Even so, the levels of adrenaline shooting through her system were enough to make her want to cling to the one person who’d helped her shake Jeremy. Even if that person was her rival.
Not enemy. That’s too harsh a word for someone willing to pay through the nose just to keep a colleague safe.
Even as the thought passed through her mind, she had wonder if she was right. Why was Stephen helping her? Being so... nice? And why had she never noticed that he had such awesomely defined arms? How many pastry chefs lifted weights? She’d known from her first glance at Stephen that he was handsome. But not until today did she know he was ripped— his white chef’s jacket covered all of that up. She’d never again see his embroidered name on the front without smiling, knowing the physique hiding beneath the tent-like material. Having his arm around her, sitting this close, made her insides feel like the population of a beehive had taken flight in her middle.
They both leaned back and relaxed, Whitney with her head still on his arm. She found herself resting a hand on his thigh— a friendly gesture, right? But she really wanted to see if his biceps were a fluke. Maybe he carried cases of chocolate instead of using a dolly. But no, through his slacks she could feel a tight, toned muscle. The bees went crazy again, and she had to turn her face away so he wouldn’t see her smile.
Now, thanks to their time in the concrete dome— had he been about to kiss her, and would she have let him?— she knew that his eyes were a dark golden brown, like honey. And that he had a cowlick, which made his hair curl on one side of his part and stick up sometimes. She wanted to reach over and tame it.
Neither of them talked for the first leg of the ride to Liberty Island, home of the Statue of Liberty. In theory, Whitney wanted to see the Statue of Liberty up close, but a greater desire had her wanting the ferry to get moving again so they could get off at Ellis Island.
When the ferry finally moved on for its last leg, she breathed another sigh of relief.
Stephen eyed her but then looked away. “So I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Out of curiosity...”
When his voice trailed off, she turned to him, her smile only partly under control, and raised her eyebrows in question. “Yeah?”
A pink flush came to his cheeks, making him look adorably vulnerable. Whitney smiled more broadly. Not arrogant at all.
“So I’ve gotten the impression that you sort of hate my guts.” His eyes locked on hers for several seconds, which felt like an eternity— an awkward, horrible eternity.
She wished she could undo her behavior of the last few years, or at least convince him that she really was a nice person under the prickly competitive exterior. Whitney’s cheeks were the ones heating up now. She swallowed and broke eye contact.
“Do you?” Stephen asked. “Hate my guts, I mean.” She looked over; his eyes seemed to plead with her.
What could Whitney say? Of course she hated his guts? That she used to, but had changed her mind in the last hour or so?
For that matter, did she hate him anymore? Today, she’d found herself drawn to him. But that was probably due to Stockholm syndrome or something.
Wait. If this were Stockholm syndrome, wouldn’t I be attracted to Jeremy instead of Stephen?
Nothing changed the basic facts: they worked at rival resorts, and he beat her unfairly in competitions.
Is that a reason to hate his guts? Isn’t that a bit like middle school?
The silence between them stretched on as Whitney tried to come up with an answer. How long was this ferry ride, anyway? She peered out a window in an attempt to see Ellis Island approaching.
“I see,” Stephen said, and he withdrew his arm from around her shoulders.
Whitney wanted to grab it and put it back around her. “It’s not like that.”
Stephen leaned forward, resting his forearms on his legs. Dang, he looked good like that— somehow all the right muscles showed in all the right ways, and his cowlick was begging to be brushed back by her fingers. But the pained look on his face when he looked over made her focus.
She was about to try to explain, although no nothing she could come up with sounded remotely decent. Stephen spoke first.
“Truth is, I’ve liked you from the moment we first met.”
“You— wait, what?”
“Actually, since before we met. Your dragon sculpture for the contest in San Diego blew me away. Holy cow, was that amazing. I knew right then that I had to meet you. Every year, you make me up my game. I’m constantly trying to find ways to be as good a pastry chef as you are.”
Whitney’s mind spun in circles. “But... you always win.”
He smiled a bit sheepishly at that. “It’s felt good on the one hand, but who are we kidding? Your stuff blows mine out of the water. Honestly, I think the judges tend to be biased toward men. You deserve to win. I mean seriously, your castle this year— with the turrets and fairies—” He shook his head. “Brilliant. I have no idea how you did that.”
“Thanks,” Whitney said, smiling in spite of herself. Stephen admired her work? Always had? “I don’t usually use so much glitter, but you sort of inspired me to, especially on the fairies.”
“Really? Wow.” Stephen seemed to take that in. “If anything, every year I’ve sort of hoped that any award I got would…” He cleared his throat and flushed bright pink; his neck was redder than her favorite purse back home. “I sort of hoped you’d be impressed and want to get to know me.” He shrugged. “But that hasn’t happened, obviously, and instead, I somehow keep making the worst impression ever, and—”
“And you made me hate your guts,” she finished.
He looked over; their eyes met, and he sat there staring at her. “So you do.”
“No! I mean, I did. Not anymore.” She leaned over and slipped her arm through his.
Mmm, that bicep. That Stephen smell.
Focus!
Stephen looked down at her hand, looked into her eyes, and then slowly, hesitantly, covered her hand with his own.
Sparks seemed to go off inside her. She gulped down a big piece of humble pie. “It’s because of my pride. I’ve let it get the
better of me, never letting myself see past the fact that our resorts were rivals and that you kept beating me. I thought we were sort of obligated to be rivals too, and it never occurred to me that maybe the guy behind the trophies and blue ribbons is actually a really cool guy. I should have seen that when you volunteered at our booth today. Who does that?”
Stephen smiled wryly. “Someone desperate for a chance to get to know you.” He shrugged. “So I guess I can thank Jeremy for being a stalker, because this has given me a chance to spend a little time with you.” He tilted his head one way and then the other. “Not under the most ideal circumstances, but still.”
“It has been nice,” Whitney said.
“Really?”
“Really.” She leaned closer, resting her head on his shoulder in hopes of regaining the connection they’d had before. “Only a really good guy would help out a girl who hated his guts.” Whitney chuckled, but he grimaced. “What?” she asked.
“Good guys always finish last.”
“Not necessarily.” Whitney gave in to what she’d wanted to do ever since the ferry had left the dock; she reached up and pressed her lips against his cheek.
In shock, Stephen turned toward her, which brought their lips only inches apart. He glanced to his side as if checking to see whether any of the passengers in the quarter-full room was watching before moving closer. Whitney held her breath and crossed part of the distance, aching to feel his lips on hers.
But then, in her right hand, her phone dinged yet again with an incoming text. It was as if Jeremy knew exactly when to ruin a moment. She blinked, dissolving the chemistry between them. The text would almost certainly be from Jeremy.
Stephen rested his forehead against hers. “It’s okay; check it.”
She swiped the screen. Together, she and Stephen looked at Jeremy’s text.
Enjoying the ferry ride? I’ll meet you on the island. Be sure to look over your shoulder. I’ll be there. Always.
Chapter Four
“No way,” Stephen said. “No freaking way.”
Whitney gaped. “How in the…”
Had Jeremy followed them after all? That seemed farfetched. Following a cab in Manhattan was like trying to follow a one person in a crowd. Not impossible, but awfully hard to do. Maybe someone was helping him track them? But if he knew they were on the ferry, why hadn’t he boarded with them? Maybe he was trying to hide a gun or something before getting his ticket and didn’t get through security in time.
Which meant he’d be on the next ferry, which would arrive fifteen or twenty minutes after they reached the island.
“Great,” Stephen said. “Here I was thinking that we were going to get away from him and—”
“Instead, we’re setting ourselves up to be trapped,” Whitney finished. Her voice sounded surprisingly calm in her ears.
Stephen ran his fingers through his hair, seemingly annoyed— at the text, or at the timing? If Jeremy had to text, couldn’t it have been after he’d kissed her?
“What should we do?” Stephen asked.
She considered. “If we hadn’t already docked at Liberty Island, I’d say we hide out there, but it’s too late for that.”
“We should probably get off Ellis Island as fast as possible. What do you say we stay on board and head back?”
“What if he’s there waiting for us to get off at Battery Park?”
Stephen licked his lips as he concentrated on the problem. “You’re right; there’s no way to know for sure when he’ll follow.”
“I’ve never been to Ellis Island,” Whitney said. “Do you think we could hide out there until after he’s off the ferry and then somehow get back on it before it leaves without him seeing us?” The timid Whitney from the cab ride had been replaced by the one she recognized— the go-get-em professional who found a solution to any problem and attacked it with confidence. No more of this pathetic damsel in distress. She hoped Stephen liked this— real— side of her.
“There’s nowhere decent to hide outside, at least, none I remember. But inside, there are a lot of small, interconnecting rooms. We’d want to avoid the restaurant and main-floor areas, I’d think. Then again, if we stay upstairs, we could end up even more trapped— the small rooms have displays that wind around, so there’s really only one way in or out.”
“We can do it. If we can get back on the ferry without him seeing us, he’ll be stuck on the island until the next ferry. We’ll have enough of a head start to get back to the hotel, pack up, and we’ll be our way to the airport for an earlier flight, all before he gets back to Battery Park.”
“‘We,’ huh?” he said with a smile.
“Oh, uh… I shouldn’t have assumed that you’d—”
“No,” he said, interrupting. “I like hearing it. And you’re right; we’ll finish this thing together.”
After the ferry docked, they stepped onto the man-made island where millions of immigrants had passed through a century before on their way to what they hoped was a new life. Whitney sure hoped they’d have the same fortune as those who got through— and that maybe when this whole ordeal was over, she could find good fortune, maybe with Stephen at her side. But first things first.
He took Whitney’s hand and led her under the red metal awning that led to the gorgeous old building. It had white stone arches along the front and almost looked like an old-time railroad station. In the center a square tower stood, with stripes of different colors of stone. She held Stephen’s hand tightly and kept her pace close to his. Stephen strode purposefully, looking around as if searching for places to hide that would be easy to reach the ferry from, when the next one docked— after Jeremy got off it.
She did the same; they’d need a way to see him without being seen, and to board the ferry after he’d passed.
“I wonder if the gift shop has windows overlooking the ferry. I don’t remember,” Stephen said.
“No good place to hide outside,” Whitney offered.
The best option was behind one of the concrete pillars below the red poles of the awning, but only one person could hide behind a pillar— and even that wasn’t a sure bet for not being spotted. Whitney could probably hide behind one, but Stephen was probably too tall and would have to crouch down. Even then, they’d be hidden from only one angle. If Jeremy moved a couple of feet either direction, as he would walking into the building, they’d be noticed.
What were their other options?
“How long until the next ferry arrives?” Whitney asked, even though she had a general idea.
Stephen glanced at his watch but didn’t seem to register the time. “Fifteen minutes, maybe? Not enough time.”
Inside the building, they came to a display of old trunks and suitcases from the Ellis Island immigration period, stacked neatly together, with a placard explaining some of the history. Whitney normally liked reading museum signs, but today she didn’t have the luxury. She looked over at Stephen, hoping he had an idea of what to do next. He was rubbing his neck with a pinched look on his face.
“You okay?”
He nodded and lowered his arm. “Just a headache. Probably from all the adrenaline of running from a psycho.” He tried to smile, but it came off thin and didn’t reach even an inch past his mouth.
“I’ve got some ibuprofen.” She opened her purse, holding one handle out as she looked for the little white bottle she carried with her.
Stephen peered into her purse. “I thought you were an Android girl.”
Whitney furrowed her brow. “I am.” She pulled her cell phone out of her slacks pocket and waved it. “See?”
“Then what’s this?” Stephen reached into her purse and pulled out an iPhone.
“Weird.” Whitney cocked her head in surprise. “Maybe it belongs to someone who worked the booth, and it fell into my purse accidentally.”
“Maybe,” Stephen said, but his tone said he didn’t think so. He turned it over, and Whitney, too, looked for anything that would indicate whose it was. Noth
ing. Not even in a protective case.
“Looks brand new,” Whitney said.
“Yeah.” Stephen clicked it on and swiped the arrow on the screen. It didn’t even have a passcode. But instead of seeing the main screen, an app was running. It showed two pulsing dots, one blue, the other purple, on a map.
The map showed the blue dot on Ellis Island and the purple one on the water, halfway between Liberty Island and Ellis Island. Across the top of the screen read the words Locate My Friends.
“This is how he’s been following us!” Stephen said. “Jeremy put this into your purse somehow, and he’s using the GPS signal to track us.”
His outburst garnered several stars, but Whitney didn’t care. “How could he get it in there without me knowing it? He couldn’t have gotten to it under the table.”
Stephen squinted in thought. “But he did step into the booth briefly. Did you have your purse on you then?”
Whitney felt sick. “I did. He even leaned in and threatened me, but I was so distracted and creeped out that I didn’t notice anything. He totally could have dropped it inside without me knowing it.” Even more understanding dawned on her. “He’d probably watched me enough during the contest to know that I keep my phone in my pocket and that I wouldn’t look in my purse when he texted me. How could I be so stupid?”
“Hey, I didn’t realize what was happening either.” Stephen began pacing back in forth in front of the luggage display. “We need to find security.”
“Let’s start there,” Whitney said, pointing at a sign with an arrow that directed them to an information booth.
As they hurried that direction, Whitney checked her watch. The next ferry would be here in about eight minutes. She pictured her Jeremy’s purple dot on the app, getting closer and closer to their blue dot.
After getting directions from the woman at the information, they strode briskly down a corridor to security. A thought occurred to Whitney, and she stopped. “How come he didn’t find us in Central Park?”
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