by Ali Parker
I sighed and picked up my phone. Briar hadn’t responded to my congratulatory message and I assumed she was busy with her new roommate unpacking or getting things in order. Perhaps they were having celebratory drinks or something, too. I hoped she was enjoying herself, whatever she was doing.
“Send it,” Walker pressed.
“Mind your own business.”
“If I minded my own business, you’d never get a damn thing done.”
I stared at the blinking cursor on the keyboard of my phone and tried to think of the right way to phrase the message. I didn’t want to come on too strong and scare her off, and I certainly didn’t want to come off as an asshole telling her what to do. I wanted it to be an invitation she could easily decline if she wasn’t up for getting together.
But then again, did I really want that? Or was that the people-pleaser in me that wanted to give her an easy out?
I typed out the message. It was simple and concise. I told her I’d love to celebrate with her tomorrow over dinner and drinks if she was free.
I hit send and waited. My palms were sweaty.
“There’s no way you can tell me you’re not into this girl,” Walker said. “Look at you. You’re sweating bullets. All over a text message, no less.”
“She’s special.”
“Uh huh.”
“You wouldn’t get it,” I said sharply. “The only women you’re interested in are your perfect models. You want to talk about playing it safe and sticking to muses? You’re the poster boy for it, Walker.”
My friend grinned at me. “You’re not wrong.”
“Yet I take your advice anyway,” I grumbled.
My phone buzzed. I flipped it over. There, right beneath the message I’d sent Briar, was a simple capitalized word.
YES.
Walker chuckled. “I take it by that boyish grin on your face that she’d like to join you for dinner?”
“Yes, she would.”
“Which makes you eternally grateful to who?”
“To whom,” I amended.
“Get fucked, you grammar snob.”
I snorted and put my phone down. “If my date goes well tomorrow, maybe I will.”
Walker arched an eyebrow. “Confidence. Where did that come from?”
I grimaced. “I don’t know. I don’t like how that sounded. I take it back. I don’t think Briar is the sort of girl to have sex on the first date anyway.”
Walker swirled the last mouthful of his bourbon around in his glass before throwing it back. He set it down hard on the table and leaned back to cross one leg over the other. “So where are you going to take her, Romeo?”
“I’m not sure yet. I hear you when you say a nice place, but I don’t know if that’s Briar’s speed.”
“A nice restaurant is every girl’s speed, man.”
“I don’t think that’s true. But I have time to figure something out.”
“Don’t miss the mark. If you want to impress her—”
I held up a hand. “I’ve got it from here, Walker. Remember which one of us writes romance books for a living.”
Walker gave me a bemused and somewhat devilish smile. “And remember which one of us sleeps with gorgeous models on a weekly basis.”
Chapter 13
Briar
Sonia threw herself down on her stomach on my bed and tucked her hands under her chin. “So who is this guy again?”
I flipped through what little clothes I owned in my new closet. I wanted to find the perfect outfit for tonight. “His name is Wes. I met him my second night here in New York and he was the first person who was kind to me. I don’t know what it is about him but…” I trailed off.
“But what?”
“I want to know him better.”
“Cute,” Sonia gushed. “Is there a romantic something between you two?”
I turned to her as my cheeks burned. “I think so.”
“Oh girl,” Sonia squealed as she popped up to her knees on the bed. “That means there’s a lot riding on tonight.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Do you have a go-to first-date outfit?”
I shook my head.
“Well,” Sonia said thoughtfully, “how do you want to look tonight? Sexy? Confident? Pretty? Feminine? Bad ass?”
I giggled. “I didn’t realize there were so many options.”
“There are always options. That’s the best part about being a girl.”
I considered her question. What vibe did I want to put out there? “I’m not a girly girl,” I said.
“I might have picked up on that.”
“And I like being comfortable.”
“Okay.”
“But I don’t want to dress down too much. I still want to look cute. And maybe a little sexy. But I don’t want to sacrifice comfort for it.”
“You don’t have to,” Sonia said. “Why not keep it simple? A pair of black jeans and ankle boots with a cardigan and a scarf? Layers are important in New York this time of year, let me tell you.”
“Is that too simple? What would you wear?”
“Well,” Sonia said, sliding off the bed and joining me at the closet. “During this time of year, I like to wear a lot of short dresses with nylons underneath. And boots. Always boots. I like to throw a less feminine jacket over top, like a denim coat or a leather jacket. It dresses it down. It’s cute, but it’s still practical and functional, too.”
“I think you know what you’re talking about.”
Sonia gave me a knowing smile. “Is that permission for me to pick out your outfit?”
I nodded. Sonia clapped her hands together excitedly and started pulling clothes out of my closet. I didn’t own any jackets that satisfied her, so once she dressed me in a plum-colored long-sleeved blouse, black jeans, over-the-knee black boots she pulled from her own closet, and a leopard-print scarf, she went to the hallway closet and retrieved her own black leather jacket.
“The finishing touch,” she said as she slid it over my arms and we looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. “You look awesome. Do you feel good? Do you feel like yourself?”
I nodded, surprised. “I do actually.”
She put her hands on my shoulders. “Good. And you’re comfortable?”
I nodded again. “I am.”
“Then that, my friend, is a perfect first-date outfit. I think you’re going to knock his socks off.”
I gazed worriedly at my own reflection. “And if I don’t?”
Sonia draped an arm over my shoulders, looked me right in the eyes in the reflection, and said simply, “Then you drop his ass and move on to the next.”
Wes picked me up at five outside my new apartment building. As I passed the lobby, I picked up my pace because Mr. Carruthers came out of his unit to check the mail. I didn’t want to get caught up talking politics while Wes was waiting for me, so I kept my head down and hurried outside where my date was parked at the curb.
When he saw me coming, Wes got out of his car and walked around the passenger side to open my door for me like a perfect gentleman.
I watched him walk around the hood of his car and then he slid behind the wheel and looked over at me with a charming smile. “You look beautiful,” he said. “And you smell like pumpkin.”
“My new roommate likes seasonal candles.”
“Ah,” he said knowingly. “Well, lucky me.”
He waited until I put my seatbelt on before he pulled out onto the road.
“So where are you taking me?” I asked.
“You’re just going to have to wait and find out.”
“I hate surprises.”
“You won’t hate this one,” he assured me. “I promise.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He shrugged. “Every other girl I’ve brought to this place had a really good time.”
I gaped at him.
Wes threw his head back and laughed. “I’m sorry. That was a joke.
A very bad joke apparently since you’re not laughing.”
I shook my head at him but couldn’t hide my smile. “And here I thought a writer would be smoother and more clever than that.”
“Only in the written word.”
We drove through the city for about twenty-five minutes before Wes made a turn onto Central Park South. My stomach rolled over and I nearly pressed my face up against the window like a dog realizing it was about to be let out to go for a walk as the expanse of Central Park appeared on my side of the car.
Wes chuckled. “I thought Central Park might be the right way to start our date.”
The trees were turning from green to copper, gold, red, and orange. The grass was still vibrant and green and I could hardly contain my excitement as Wes pulled into a parking lot and stopped the car. I got out, did a little hop step in place, and hurried around to his side of the car to throw my arms around his shoulders.
“This is perfect, Wes. Thank you!”
His hand lingered on my waist for a brief minute before he reached down and took my hand. “Shall we?”
I fell into step beside him and we strode forward toward the entrance of the park. My heart swelled in my chest with every step and I bounced on the balls of my feet when we veered off the path to a coffee cart parked on the side. Wes ordered us each a cinnamon latte, which we sipped as dry leaves crunched beneath the soles of our shoes as we wandered the park.
“I’ve always dreamed about being here,” I breathed as I tilted my head back and gazed up at the gold canopy of maple leaves above my head. “But I don’t think I ever really believed it would happen, you know? This place always felt like something I would just pine after and dream about. A place I would only see in movies. This feels so surreal.”
“You’re seeing it at the best time of year,” Wes said. “There is nothing more beautiful than Central Park in the fall.”
“I believe you.”
Wes was right, of course. I’d never seen anything so beautiful in my entire life. That beauty was only made even more prominent when the sun began to set and it painted the already golden leaves with its yellow light. Everything seemed to glow in the most bewitching way, and I stopped in the middle of a path to soak in the moment.
Wes stopped with me and I could feel his eyes on me as I breathed in the crisp fall air. It smelled like grass, dirt, and sap. My coffee was warm in my hands and my cheeks were cold. I loved the contrast of physical sensations, along with the contrast of peace and disbelief in my heart.
“Most people never get this lucky,” I whispered.
Wes gazed up at the canopy of leaves with me. “How do you mean?”
“We’re dreamers by nature, people. You would know that. You’re a writer. And for all the dreams and wishes we have, we lack action. Our minds work endlessly to keep us safe and stepping out of our comfort zones always feels like such a risk. But when we do it the rewards are so great. So sweet. So beautiful. I thought when I bought my plane ticket to fly out here that I might have been making a mistake. I wondered the same thing sleeping alone in that motel room. And then I met you. And Sonia. And things started to fall into place. And now?” I forced myself to look at Wes. “Now I feel like I’m becoming her.”
“Who?” he asked, his eyes searching my face.
“The girl I came out here looking for.”
Wes grinned.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s just sometimes you say things that I wish I’d come up with.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to put you in a book.” He chuckled.
I blinked. “Is that a good thing?”
He nodded and took my hand. “Depends. For some people, no. For others? Like you? Well, I don’t think you’d have anything to worry about. Walk with me. I have another surprise in store for you, but we have to get there on foot.”
We spent the next hour walking the park. We didn’t even see half of it but we saw enough for me to fall in love with it and want to come back with a picnic blanket and a book. I was so caught up checking out the best trees to read under that I didn’t even notice the building up ahead until Wes squeezed my hand and nodded up ahead.
There, across the lane, was a restaurant I’d resigned myself to never going to.
The Tavern on the Green.
“Shut up,” I whispered.
Wes chuckled.
I looked wildly at him. “We’re not going in there, are we?”
He nodded. “We most certainly are. I have dinner reservations for us.”
“Are you screwing with me, Wes? If you are, I don’t think that’s very funny.”
“I’m not screwing with you.” He led me by the hand across the lane and under the awning-covered walkway to the front doors. The gardens were nicely decorated with white lights that created magical ambiance now that the sun had slipped from the sky. A hostess opened the door for us and Wes moved to a podium where he gave his name to the young woman standing behind it.
She smiled gracefully, took two menus from under the podium, and passed them to a server who just arrived to take us to our seats.
I couldn’t unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth as we passed through the restaurant and entered the solarium dining area I’d seen so many times in the movies. We sat on the outskirts, our table pressed up against the glass walls, and Wes took his seat after pulling out my chair for me. We swept our napkins off the table and draped them over our laps as our server filled up our water glasses and left us a wine list.
I can’t believe I’m here, I thought to myself as I stared at the handsome man across from me as he scanned the wine options.
He glanced up at me. “What are you thinking about?”
I gazed out the windows at the surrounding gardens and the tree trunks wrapped in white lights. “I’m thinking this is all a dream,” I whispered. “A wonderful, wonderful dream.”
Chapter 14
Wes
It feels like a dream to me, too.
“Thank you for this,” Briar said, her voice papery thin and melodic, like she couldn’t quite pull herself from her reverie. I hadn’t realized how special this would be to her. I’d just thought this would be a nice way to celebrate her victories over the last couple of days. But holy hell was I glad this was where I’d brought her.
“You’re welcome. Thank you for agreeing to join me.”
She smiled and met my eye. “If you have surprises like this in store, I’ll always say yes.”
I chuckled and turned the wine list to her. There was a bottle I wanted to try and I asked if she’d be open to it. She nodded until she spotted the price. Then her eyes doubled in size.
“Wes, that’s too much. I’d always heard this place was expensive but this is extreme! How much is the food? Can we even afford to eat here?”
“It’s on me.”
She swallowed and leaned forward. “I’m sorry if this is rude, but can you even afford to eat here?”
I laughed.
Briar didn’t. “I’m serious. This is… this is…” She trailed off, still shaking her head incredulously. “This meal will cost my whole month’s worth of rent if we buy that bottle!”
I chuckled. The prices weren’t that outlandish. “I assure you I can afford it.”
Her eyes narrowed when the server came by and I put in our order for the bottle and some appetizers.
“So these little stories you claim to write,” she said slowly, “they’re not little at all, are they?”
She’d caught me red handed. Usually, I wouldn’t tell a woman I was interested in who I was. However, there was something different about Briar. “No, they’re not little.”
“Would I know them?”
“Perhaps.”
“Tell me. Please?”
I studied her. Giving her my full name might change everything. It might ruin this thing between us in an instant. But I had to give her a chance to prove me wrong, didn�
�t I?
“I have a pen name that I use to keep my identity anonymous,” I explained. “I prefer to avoid the public eye by not letting my readers know my real name. Some people think it’s cowardly, but honestly, I’m just protecting my sanity.”
“I can understand that.”
Could she? Or was she just saying that to get the name out of me?
I sighed. “I write romance books.”
“Okay,” she said slowly. “Which ones?”
Just tell her the name.
Our bottle of wine arrived. I sat back in my chair while the server poured a splash into our glasses. We sipped at the same time and Briar commented that she liked it, so the server topped up both of our glasses and left the bottle in an ice bucket so it would remain chilled at our table.
Briar leaned forward conspiratorially. “Look, you don’t have to tell me, but I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t intensely curious.”
I rubbed my jaw. “My pen name is…”
Fuck. Why is this so hard to say?
Briar watched me contently and didn’t push me.
When was the last time you told someone who you were?
I couldn’t remember.
Just do it.
I gulped down three large mouthfuls of wine, set my glass down, and swallowed my nerves. “I publish under the name W. Parker.”
Briar stared at me completely expressionless.
For a moment, I assumed this meant she had no idea who that was and had never read any of my books. That would have been a good thing. We could carry on just like things were and my career would be what every normal person’s career was—just a part of them, not their entire identity. Then she looked around as the shock melted away, closed her eyes, and shook her head.
“Hold on,” she breathed. “You’re telling me that you’ve written over thirty-two romance books and that you’re a romance genius and best seller? I thought… I thought W. Parker was a woman!”
So much for that.
“A lot of people think so. It’s part of what makes it easy to hide, I suppose.”
Briar opened her eyes and stared at me. “I’m having dinner at the Tavern on the Green in Central Park with W. freaking Parker. Is this real life?”