by Penny Wylder
When I check the mirror a half an hour later, I grin at myself. I look good. Really good. It feels nice to dress up, because I normally don’t. I’m a casual scrubs and jeans kinda girl. But the change can be fun every now and then. It’s nice to feel girly.
I grab a leather coat rather than my usual enormous winter one, and toss a cross-body bag over my shoulder. One of my cute little bright red ones that pretty much only holds my phone, a subway card and a credit card. Not that Russ will let me pay when we go out together—he won’t even let me buy us lunch in the work cafeteria, the couple times we’ve dared to eat together down there. But still, I bring it just in case, along with an ID. I wonder if I’ll need anything else. But I figure Russ would have told me if we were doing something off the beaten path that required special supplies.
I just hope we aren’t really going to a soup kitchen again, or I’m going to be obnoxiously overdressed for the occasion.
Still smiling at the thought of last time we met up like this, I troop downstairs, only to find my mother in the kitchen, in the middle of mixing up her and Dad’s usual post-work cocktails—Manhattans with a cherry on top. She eyes me, then does a double-take, her eyebrows rising. “Someone’s all dolled up.”
My cheeks flush a warning pink. “Meeting up with some friends.”
“Some friends?” Mom’s eyes narrow knowingly. “Or one special friend in particular?”
I force myself to laugh lightheartedly, despite the jolt of panic that floods my veins. “What are you talking about?”
She shrugs, a look of pretend innocence on her face that I’m not buying for a second. Anyone who knows my mother would recognize this as her None of my business, but… expression. “I’ve just seen you texting a lot lately. And you get this little half-smile on your face when you do, like you’re daydreaming…”
Damn. I thought I was being careful. So much for subtlety. I’ll need to be more cautious about when I text Russ in the future, if I want to keep this up. “Nobody special,” I say aloud, not allowing my smile to slip. “Just been in a good mood lately.”
“That’s good.” Mom’s expression goes a little serious, and she checks over her shoulder. Looking for Dad, I realize. When she speaks again, her voice is a little softer. “I was worried when you started at the hospital. Because I know you and your father don’t always see eye-to-eye on things there…”
“Still don’t,” I admit with a faint grimace. “But it’s getting more bearable.”
“Well, good.” Mom’s smile softens as she watches me. “He cares about you, honey. And he wants you to be successful and have a great career like his.” Her expression turns a little sly. “But your father doesn’t know everything. Sometimes you need to stand up to him to show him who you really are.”
I watch her turn back to her drink shakers, my mind reeling. Your father doesn’t know everything. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Mom talk like that about him. Of course, she’s always been the only person in the world who Dad actually listens to, instead of just talking bullheadedly to prove his own opinion.
Maybe that’s how she came to be. Because she forced him to recognize that her opinion counted, too.
Can I do the same?
“Thanks, Mom,” I say absently, as I start toward the door, mulling her words over. She just waves at me with a shake of her head, and tells me to have fun with my friends tonight. If only she knew it wasn’t my friends I’m about to have fun with, but hers.
I push the thought from my mind, less some of my guilt shows on my face. If it weren’t for Dad, I probably would tell Mom about Russ and me. But my parents share everything, and even my free-spirited, fun-loving mother might react weirdly to me dating someone her age. I can’t be sure, and I’m too nervous to even think about trying it.
No, we need to remain a secret. If not for my sake, then for Russ’s, who has to keep his job at Dad’s hospital.
Outside, the winter wind bites through my light leather jacket almost immediately. I scurry toward the nearest subway, cursing myself for not wearing a thicker, albeit uglier, coat. Or at the very least, some boots, even though they wouldn’t go with this dress at all.
Finally, I slip into the subway station, where a blast of warm air hits me straight in the face. In the summer, the stations are abysmal, but in the winter months I do appreciate the heat, even if it comes with a whole host of not great smelling side scents.
My parents never take the subway, not since Dad bought his car. But as a broke student, I got used to it. Now I almost prefer it. At least there’s never traffic, even if the MTA sometimes (okay, most of the time) messes up the schedules and changes the tracks for construction all the time.
The address Russ gave me isn’t too far away though, a straight shot from here down to Chelsea. And I arrive in the station just in time to catch an express train. I hop onto it and take a seat as we speed downtown, trying to guess where we might be headed.
I could have just googled the address he sent me, but where would be the fun in that? Last time I was pleasantly surprised by where we ended up. I have a feeling tonight could be the same.
So I resist the urge to cheat, and I show up to our date half an hour later, completely unprepared. I follow the map directions out of the subway station and a couple blocks over, only to find myself standing outside the doors of a high-rise. I stare up at it, my jaw falling open. Does Russ live here? I realize I’ve never been over to his house, although I’ve heard him talk about having a place downtown. Does Chelsea count as downtown? I’m never sure where the line lives exactly.
As I’m gazing up at the building, a warm hand comes to rest on the small of my back, and someone leans down close to my ear. “New dress, hmm? I like this one even better.”
Just the sound of Russ’s low, baritone voice is enough to warm my blood and set my heart skipping in my chest. I smile, without even meaning to. It’s automatic whenever he’s close to me—and he’s very close now, his hand warm through the thin fabric of my dress, his breath a hot tickle against my earlobe.
I turn to face him, and his eyes light up when they meet mine. He sweeps an appreciative look over me, his smile widening as he takes in every inch of me.
“Maybe it’s just me, but I could swear you get sexier every time I see you,” he says, leaning down, one finger reaching up to crook under my chin, so he tilts my face toward his.
“What do they say? Like a fine wine, I just get better with age,” I reply, a grin on my face.
Then his lips find mine, and I’m too distracted to think up more witty comebacks. I sink into him, let his lips part mine, his mouth hot and firm where mine is soft, supple. He cradles my face between his hands like I’m something fragile, a delicate flower he doesn’t want to hurt.
I love that. But I love it when he’s rough even more. I nip at his lower lip, and he chuckles into our kiss, his voice going low and gravelly when he draws back to respond.
“Don’t get me too excited, too soon, Maggie, or we’ll have to skip this entire date.”
My breath stops in my chest at the way he looks at me then. Like he’d like nothing better than to pull me into a dark corner and have me, right here and now. I recognize the look. He’s worn it often enough in the hospital corridors, right before he does just that.
“Is the date visiting your apartment?” I ask, crooking one eyebrow as I glance back at the building next to us.
He chuckles and loops an arm around my waist, turning me toward the double doors. “I live in Soho. This is just a visit to a friend I’d like you to meet.”
At the word friend, my feet stutter in my kitten heels, so much that I have to reach up to brace myself against Russ’s shoulder to stay on my feet. “Um… is that a good idea?” I ask, forcing my legs to start working again, as I follow him into the building.
The doorman in the corner waves and tells us to take the first elevator. The doors ping open then, and Russ steps inside. There are no buttons. No hint of where we might be headed.<
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“Don’t worry,” Russ murmurs, probably sensing the tension in every inch of my muscles. “This is not a mutual friend of your father’s or anything. Like I keep telling you, I have parts of my life they know nothing about.”
“Okay,” I reply slowly, trying to force myself to relax a little. Then it dawns on me. He wants me to meet a friend of his? Does that mean this is more serious than just a hookup?
I’ve been feeling that way, but I’ve been too afraid to ask him how he really feels, or what he expects out of this. I’m worried that if I ask, he’ll tell me it is just a hookup, and then I won’t be able to keep doing it, because… fuck. I am starting to have feelings for him, damn it. Real ones.
I swallow back the sudden realization and force myself to keep my head in the moment. Just enjoy where you are, Maggie. Stop overthinking everything. Lord knows I’m the champion of overthinking.
The elevator slows to a halt. Top floor, I realize. But when the doors open, I see nothing I expected on the other side. It’s not a penthouse, or a swanky apartment. It’s a whole restaurant, hidden up here like one of those old fashioned speakeasies that got so popular a few years back in the city.
A real, unforced smile breaks out across my face as Russ leads me out of the elevator with a sly smile. “Guessing you haven’t been here before?”
“How did you find out about this place?” I ask, my eyes widening as I take it in. It’s partially open air, with a glass enclosure over it now, though I can see that it could probably be removed in the summertime. Through the huge glass windows, there’s a brilliant 360 view. I can see all the way uptown to the new Hudson Yards development and the Empire and Chrysler buildings. Downtown, there’s the new One World Trade and a few of the apartment buildings that have popped up over Wall Street. Every time I blink these days, it seems like the city skyline is changing, yet somehow I never get sick of watching it light up at night like this.
“I told you, we’re here to meet a friend,” he says.
Closer to hand, the restaurant is a cluster of cozy little seating areas, some with velvet-lined booths, others with plush cushions in the middle of the floor. Russ leads me to a velvet booth in the corner, near where the uptown and western facing windows meet. It has the best view in both directions, I think.
On the table itself, there’s a small placard with our names in curling script. Just out first names. Russ and Maggie. Seeing them together like that makes something hitch in my chest. Our names look good together. And this feels so right, like a normal date.
We settle into the table, where a small floral arrangement greets us, alongside a menu that’s blank except for a handful of emojis.
I laugh, looking them over. “What are these?” There’s a tongue emoji, then a heart eyes one. All the way down a list of about ten of them.
“That is our menu,” replies a new voice. A man about Russ’s age has appeared behind our table, wearing an apron and twirling a drink shaker in one hand. “Do you like it?”
“What does it mean?” I ask, peering at it again.
“Each one represents the experience we’d like you to have tasting the dish,” he explains, before he deftly sets down two glasses and pours us a mixed drink worthy of my mother’s skills. “I suppose this must be the Maggie I’ve heard so much about lately?” he asks Russ, then, as Russ offers him a fist to bump.
“Maggie, this is my friend Carlos. He’s a restauranteur. This place is his newest project.”
Wait a minute. Carlos… that rings a bell. Carlos Ramirez? I remember reading a ton of articles about him—he’s got like ten restaurants across town. I had no idea Russ knew him. “Nice to meet you.” I offer a hand to shake, which he does, firmly. “Your restaurant is gorgeous.”
“Just wait till you taste the food,” he says, holding up a hand to stave me off. “Looks are nothing if you don’t have good cuisine to pair.”
“How do you two know each other?” I can’t help asking. How did I never know Russ was friends with a famous chef?
Carlos’s smile widens. “Russ, you care to explain, or shall I?”
“You can tell it,” Russ says, and there’s something about the way he phrases it that makes me think he doesn’t always like Carlos to admit it.
Carlos gestures at me, and I slide over in the booth to make room, so he can join our table. As he sits, I take a sip of the drink he poured for us, and my eyelids flutter closed for a second in appreciation. It’s delicious. Delicate and spiced. It reminds me of Christmas. “Russ saved my life,” Carlos says, without any preamble.
I glance over at Russ, my eyes widening.
“We were in the same, well… shelter.” Carlos looks toward Russ with a hesitant glance, and Russ nods. “I guess he’s told you about the couple of months he spent homeless.”
Suddenly it makes sense to me. Why he hasn’t told Dad about him and Carlos being friends. If Carlos is from that part of his life, he hasn’t told many people about it at all.
“At the time, I was an addict.” Carlos says it so easily that I almost think I misheard him. But he’s clearly come to terms with his past. “I overdosed. Russ was able to revive me and get me to a hospital in time to make a full recovery. Any longer and I would have suffered severe brain damage.”
Russ shakes his head. “But Carlos saved me too, after that. He’s the one who convinced me to admit to my dean how much trouble I was actually in, which prompted the dean to speed up my stipend applications process and get a roof back over my head sooner.”
“We both helped each other out over the years,” Carlos concedes. “But without this guy, I wouldn’t have any of this.” He gestures around him at the rooftop, and my smile softens. I cast a glance toward Russ, my heart swelling.
Another way he’s helped the world. Done real good and made real changes. “Well. I can’t say I’m surprised,” I admit softly, which makes Carlos chuckle and Russ shake his head. “He’s a do-gooder if I ever met one, though he’ll never admit it.”
“She knows you well,” Carlos says, with a grin for his friend. “I can see why you’re so into her.”
There’s a faint thunking sound, probably as Russ kicks Carlos under the table. I can’t help it. I laugh lightly. With that, Carlos slaps the table and slides back out of the booth. “You kids have fun,” he says as he heads away. “And don’t mind me. I’m just here to provide the sustenance.”
But sustenance turns out to be really underselling it. Every course we’re served is more delicious than the last. And I have to admit, once I taste them, the emojis make more sense. This one does taste like an explosion emoji, and another one like a shooting star.
Every so often, Carlos stops back by our table with a funny story about Russ from their younger years. It’s cool to talk to someone who knows this other side of Russ, the one he hides from everybody else. It makes me feel like I’m seeing sides to him nobody else does. Like he’s letting me past his walls.
And to judge by the way Carlos keeps teasing him about it, I guess Russ has mentioned me to his friends. Or at least to the ones he can get away with mentioning me to, since they don’t run in Mom and Dad’s social circles. That means something, right?
Though what, exactly, I can’t tell. But I tell myself it doesn’t matter. For tonight, this one night, I’m just going to enjoy the feeling.
For one night, Russ isn’t my father’s best friend, the forbidden older man, a possibly terrible idea. Tonight, he’s just Russ, and I’m just Maggie. Two people on a date. Two people eating great food, cooked by a funny, interesting friend.
Two people who could maybe really be something, in the right circumstances. Given the right timing.
At some point during dinner, Russ hooks his legs around mine. A moment later, his hand comes to rest on my knee, searing hot beneath the table. I inch my leg higher between his, and I’m rewarded with a flash of heat in his eyes, a serious, straightforward stare that tells me just how much he’s looking forward to getting me alone later.
We bicker with Carlos about the bill for a while—he wants to comp us the whole meal, and Russ finally settles for hiding a huge tip underneath our final dessert plates—and then we slip out together, back into the unmarked mystery elevator down to the ground floor.
Since most other people seem to only just be arriving by the time we finish—I gather it’s more of a late night spot here, and I can see why, as the city view lights up around us—we have the elevator down to ourselves. The moment the doors glide shut, Russ slides around to pin me against the corner wall, his hands grasping my hips and pulling them against his, his mouth crushing mine in a hard, deep kiss. My ruby red lipstick is long gone, thanks to dinner, and I’m grateful for it. It lets me kiss him back with abandon. When his lips leave mine, I kiss along his jaw, savoring the way his rough stubble grazes my cheek on the way past. At his neck, I gently nip his skin, just hard enough to make it sting a little. He groans and grinds his hips against mine.
“Fuck, Maggie. You don’t know how hard it was to sit inches from you all night without touching you.”
“I don’t know. You managed to touch me a little bit…” I point out with a sly grin. “At least enough to leave me aching for more.”
His eyes find mine once more. “Believe me. That was nothing compared to the way I’m going to touch you tonight.”
My breath hitches in my chest. “Tonight…”
“Oh, we’re not done.” He tilts his head, eyes dancing. “You haven’t visited my apartment yet, Maggie. And I intend to thoroughly enjoy you in every single room of it.”