by Ana Huang
If Blake were a good person, he would leave Farrah alone so she could move on with someone more deserving. But he was a selfish bastard, and now that she was in his life again, he couldn’t let her go. She was the light to his darkness, the angel to his demons, and his only excuse for trying to crawl back into her heart was that he loved her.
Even after all these years.
Even after all that had happened.
Their elbows brushed as they left Bethesda Terrace. Tingles shot through Blake’s arm, chasing away his doubts, at least for the time being.
“Have you been to the Ravine and Loch?” he asked.
Central Park was one of Blake’s favorite places in the city. It covered over 800 acres, but most people flocked to the popular spots: Bethesda, Sheep’s Meadow, Bow Bridge. He preferred the hidden gems, the quiet spots that surprised you with their beauty if you were lucky enough to stumble upon them.
“Nope.” Farrah munched on her lower lip. “I don’t come here often. I usually stick to downtown.”
“Hmm. One of those.”
She side-eyed him. “What do you mean, one of those?”
“People who think downtown is the only part of Manhattan worth visiting.”
“Uh, yeah, it’s the best part of the city. Midtown is the worst and uptown is boring.”
“Downtown snob.”
“You live in the West Village!”
“True, but I regularly venture past 23rd Street. Downtown is great, but there’s cool stuff up here too.”
“What do you know? You’ve only been living here for a few weeks,” Farrah grumbled. “I’ve been living here for years.”
“Yet I’ve been to the Ravine and Loch you haven’t,” Blake teased. He made it a point to visit at least one new place every time he visited New York. That was one of the city’s biggest draws: one never ran out of new things to see or do.
“You are seriously making me regret this walk.”
Blake’s dimples made a timely appearance. “Trust me. You won’t regret it once you see this place.”
It took them another half hour to reach their destination. During that time, Blake coaxed personal details out of Farrah, like what she did for her recent birthday (in mid-March, a month ago) and whether she was still friends with Olivia, Kris, and Courtney. The four of them had been glued at the hips in Shanghai.
Farrah had gone to Jamaica for her birthday and yes, she was still friends with them. In fact, Olivia was her roommate.
It wasn’t much, but it was a start. At least she was talking to him about non-work-related topics.
Meanwhile, Blake regaled her with tales of his travels, including the time he’d visited Luke Peterson, one of his closest friends during study abroad, in Wisconsin, and bought a crap ton of cheeses as souvenirs. Some of it hadn’t been wrapped properly, and when he opened his suitcase to unpack, it’d stunk so bad he had to toss the entire bag and its contents into the trash.
Blake hadn’t been able to eat cheese since.
Farrah laughed, causing his chest to glow with warmth. He’d missed that sound so damn much.
There wasn’t a lot of foot traffic in the North Woods, and Blake could hear the soothing sound of the waterfalls in the distance before they saw it.
“I can’t believe this is in the city.” Farrah followed him through the woods toward the stream. “I feel like I’m in upstate New York.”
“For good reason. It was designed to look like the Catskills or Adirondacks.” The roar of waterfalls intensified. Blake stepped out of the woods and spread his arms. “Welcome to the Loch.”
“Wow,” Farrah breathed. The stream meandered through the Ravine’s verdant canopy, creating a scene so idyllic it felt like they’d stepped into a painting, and the white noise from the waterfalls drowned out the city commotion in the distance, transporting them to a secret paradise where only the two of them existed. The fresh, earthy scent of the streamside vegetation tickled her nose, and she sucked it in with an eager inhale.
Blake settled on one of the big rocks by the stream and patted the seat next to him.
After a brief hesitation, Farrah sank beside him. “I feel like a tourist in my own city.” She tilted her face up, her hair shining with various hues of black and brown beneath the sunlight. It was an unusually warm day for mid-April in New York, not that Blake was complaining. “This place is so relaxing.”
“It’s better than therapy.” Blake ran his hand over the sunbaked rock, taking solace in its rough, warm solidness. “I try to visit every time I’m in New York. Although I live here now, so I guess I can come all the time.”
“Why did you move here?” She sounded genuinely curious.
“I love the city. I’m opening a new bar here and figured it was time to settle down in one place.” He shrugged. “Everything aligned.”
Farrah wrinkled her brow. “Settle down? Haven’t you been living in Texas?”
“No.” Blake curled his hand around the edge of the rock until it dug into his skin. “My family’s there, and I visit from time to time, but I’ve been traveling, going where business takes me. A few months here, a few months there. It’s fun, but it gets exhausting.” He noticed the smile on Farrah’s face. “What’s so funny?”
“I remember a time when Shanghai was the only city you’d visited outside the US. Now you’re basically a professional globetrotter.”
He chuckled. “I wish. Most of my travels are for business, but I sneak in some fun here and there.” Study abroad had opened his eyes to the possibilities that lay beyond the white picket fences and Sunday football games of Texas suburbia, and he’d never been able to go back. Not for more than a few days at a time.
The bad memories and his strained relationship with his father also played a role, but he kept that to himself.
“What’s your favorite place you’ve visited so far?”
Blake thought about it. “Depends. If we’re talking food, Tokyo. Nature? Norway. Wonders of the world? Machu Picchu.”
“You went to Machu Picchu for business?” Skepticism drenched Farrah’s voice.
“Llamas love beer and fútbol. My business doesn’t discriminate based on species,” he said, eliciting another laugh. Blake grinned. Two in one day. Now they were getting somewhere. “On a serious note, I want to expand Legends into a bigger international brand, so I travel a lot, researching markets, meeting with licensing partners, that sort of thing. Machu Picchu was just for fun, though. Have you been?”
“Not yet.” Farrah traced a star with her finger on the rock. “I’ve been so busy with work I haven’t been able to travel as much as I want, except for my birthday weekend. Though I have more flexibility now since I don’t have an office job. Not that I’m planning to take a vacation in the middle of your project,” she added quickly.
Blake wouldn’t mind—as long as he could go with her.
“Landon told me you left your design firm right before you took on my project.” Talk about fortuitous timing. “Are you looking to start your own company?”
“Maybe one day. Not now. I’m working with you as a freelancer, not a one-person studio.” Farrah traced another star. “Anyway, that’s not why I left.”
When she didn’t elaborate, Blake asked, “So why’d you leave?”
“It’s a long story.”
“We have time.”
“Not really. It’s getting dark.”
She was right. The bright afternoon sun had softened to the warm yellow of golden hour. Sunset approached, turning the sky into a palette of soft pastels.
“We could continue this over dinner. Not a date,” Blake added when Farrah frowned. “Just a meal between old friends.” He was stretching the definition of “friends,” but at least she didn’t correct him. “There are a couple of great restaurants around here.”
“Maybe, but I can’t.” Farrah unfolded herself from the rock. “I have a date.”
The green-eyed monster reared its ugly head again. “Oh. Boyfriend, or just
a date?” he asked. Light, casual, but hard tension ran beneath his words.
She hesitated. “Just a date.”
Relief fizzled through him—at least she didn’t have a boyfriend—but the tension remained. Was this the same douche who’d texted her the other day? Where the fuck was he planning to take Farrah? Probably to some cheesy Italian restaurant where he’d try to get her drunk on red wine in the hopes of hitting a home run on the first date.
Farrah doesn’t like red wine, you asshole.
Some might call him crazy for holding a mental conversation with a guy he’d never met, but those people could fuck right off.
Blake shoved his hands into his jacket pocket as they exited the park. The city’s energy crackled in the air and danced along his skin, burning off some of his steam.
It wouldn’t do him any good to act like a jealous prick, so he recalibrated.
“If you change your mind about dinner or your date turns out to be a flop, I’ll be at The Egret on the Upper West Side. Best damn burgers in the city—at least, until my place opens.” Blake grinned until his cheeks ached. “Their drink specials run till eleven, so I’ll be there till late.”
Farrah ignored the bait. “Good night.”
“Good night. Enjoy your date.”
Total lie.
It was wrong and petty of him, but as Blake watched Farrah walk away, he couldn’t help but hope she had a really, really bad date.
Chapter Nine
Farrah wanted to poke her eyes out, and they hadn’t even made it to the main course.
Olivia’s co-worker was cute, she’d give him that. Ken had dark hair, green eyes, and a nice smile. No complaints on that front. Too bad he also had the personality and self-absorption of a wet sponge, not to mention the maturity of an eighteen-year-old rushing a fraternity.
“Anyway, I was on the phone with this guy, and he was all like, dude, you should totally come to the Hamptons this summer, the parties are sick. And I was like, dude, we go to the Hamptons every summer. Let’s go somewhere different, ya know? Let’s go to Martha’s Vineyard! So, he…”
Farrah’s eyes glazed over. While Ken droned on, she sipped her red wine and tried not to stare too hard at the cutlery, lest she pick up a knife and stab herself or Ken to put them out of their misery. She hated red wine—it gave her migraines and one sip made her skin flush redder than an angry lobster—but Ken had ordered the bottle without asking, and she was desperate.
Not even the restaurant could make up for the disastrous evening. They were at a cute little Italian place in NoMad that Farrah had always wanted to try. No doubt Olivia gave Ken a nudge when it came to choosing the date spot, but that wouldn’t save Olivia from the imminent pain coming her way.
I am going to kill her. How could she possibly think I’d like this guy?
“So.” Farrah tried to steer the subject away from Ken’s summer exploits. “You like to travel.”
“Yeah. My family has a NetJet membership,” he bragged, naming a private jet company that offered leases for the country club crowd.
“What’s the most interesting place you’ve visited?”
“Easy. Ibiza.”
Farrah’s brow furrowed. “Ibiza?”
“In Spain. Españaaaaa.” Ken dragged out the last “a.”
“I know where Ibiza is.” She fought the urge to “accidentally” spill her wine all over his precious Rolex, which glinted obnoxiously beneath the lights.
Farrah had gone home to shower and change after meeting Blake at Central Park and, thanks to subway delays, arrived late for her date. Ken had greeted her by telling her she was exactly seven minutes late, according to his “$7,500 state-of-the-art Rolex, which is never wrong” but that he forgave her because she had “nice legs.”
She should’ve walked away right then and there, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt for Olivia’s sake.
Liv, you’re a dead woman.
“Well, the nightlife there is wild.” Ken chuckled like he was thinking about things too naughty to say in public. “I had my first orgy there.”
Guess they weren’t too naughty to say in public.
“Great.” Farrah forced a smile. How the hell was she supposed to respond to that? “Have you been to, um, other places? Ones without orgies?”
“Eh.” Ken shrugged. “London, Paris, Rome. The usual.”
“Anywhere outside Europe?”
“Nah. Where else would I go?”
Jesus. How did this guy get into private equity? Farrah thought the industry was for smart people. “I don’t know, maybe one of the other continents,” she said, unable to hide her sarcasm. “Asia, Africa…”
“Yeah, right. I don’t want malaria, and Asia has weird food. If I wanted to eat crickets—ow!”
“I am so sorry.” Farrah wasn’t sorry at all. “Did I step on your foot?”
If only she’d worn her four-inch stilettos instead of her three-inch ones. That would’ve made her stomp more painful.
“Yes,” Ken groaned.
“My bad.”
Farrah gulped another mouthful of wine. This was what she got for caving to a blind date in an attempt to battle her attraction to Blake. It’d backfired. Immensely. Because Ken made Blake look like the Boy Scout love child of Mother Teresa and Gandhi.
The waiter arrived with their entrees: veal medallions sautéed in lemon and capers for Ken, pappardelle al ragu for Farrah. Her mouth watered at the smell, even as her stomach churned at the thought of sitting through another course with King Douche over there.
Ken poked at his veal. “Is this medium rare?” he demanded. “I only eat veal that’s medium rare.”
“Yes sir, it’s medium rare, as you requested.” The waiter wore a professional smile, but the flicker of annoyance in his eyes showed he was dying to spit in Ken’s food.
Farrah hoped he already had.
“Good. If it isn’t, I’ll be very upset. You can leave now.” Ken shooed him away. Actually shooed him away.
That was the last straw.
Farrah’s face burned with secondhand mortification. She’d never seen such atrocious behavior in real life. The way people treated service workers said a lot about them as a human being, and she’d seen all she needed to see tonight.
“You’re an asshole.”
The forkful of veal froze halfway to his mouth. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You’re an asshole. Not only that, but you’re also boring, insufferable, and kind of racist and I should’ve done this twenty minutes ago.”
Farrah didn’t like making scenes. As her mom always said, keep the dirty laundry indoors because it was none of your neighbors’ business. But she’d be lying if she said she didn’t revel in the way Ken sputtered when she threw her wine in his face. The deep red liquid dripped down his chin and soaked into his white Brooks Brothers shirt, ruining it beyond repair.
The entire restaurant gasped.
“You bitch!” Ken spluttered. Then he noticed the droplets on the face of his watch and forgot all about Farrah. “My Rolex!”
Farrah didn’t stick around to see what he’d do next. She did, however, slip their waiter a $20 bill on her way out. Lord knows Ken was the type who’d brag about dropping $7,500 on a watch while stiffing waiters on their tips.
“Sorry about the mess I made,” she whispered while Ken wailed about his watch in the background.
“No problem.” The waiter grinned ear from ear. “It was worth it.”
Farrah stepped into the cool evening air, glad to be away from Ken’s histrionics. She didn’t take a single bite of her pasta, which was a damn shame, because it’d smelled amazing. But there was no way she could look at Ken’s face for another second without throwing up.
Her head swam from the red wine, and her stomach growled in anger as she trudged toward the subway, debating where to go next. She could pick up food on her way home. There were plenty of decent restaurants in Chelsea. Farrah usually enjoyed her alone time, but Olivia a
lso had a date tonight, and the thought of eating takeout alone in their empty apartment after a failed date seemed so sad.
She did have another option…one she hadn’t entertained until now.
If you change your mind about dinner or your date turns out to be a flop, I’ll be at The Egret on the Upper West Side. Best damn burgers in the city.
It was a bad idea, and Farrah didn’t need any more bad ideas tonight.
But a burger sounded amazing, and Blake had said The Egret’s drink specials ran until eleven. She needed a stiff drink—one stronger than wine—almost as much as she needed food and normal company after her date from hell.
Would it really hurt to meet up with Blake for one little burger? It wasn’t like she was planning to make out with the guy.
On the other hand, Farrah didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. She didn’t know what Blake was up to, but she doubted he invited all his freelancers out for drinks on a Friday night.
But he hadn’t made any unwanted advances toward her. He’d been friendly and professional this entire time—perhaps friendlier than he might have been with other people, but like he said, they had history.
Her brain ping-ponged between decisions. Meanwhile, her stomach growled again, sounding even more pissed off this time.
Farrah reached the subway station. She had two options—uptown or downtown. She took a step to her left, then changed her mind with a groan and walked to the right, toward the line that’d take her uptown.
Chapter Ten
The clock ticked toward 7:30 p.m.—close to post-dinner territory.
Blake finished his last fry without taking his eye off the entrance to The Egret. His hope of seeing Farrah walk through the door dwindled by the second.
“Who’re you waiting for? Margot Robbie?” Justin, the bartender, joked. Blake visited The Egret every time he was in town, and he’d struck up a friendship with Justin. “You’ve been staring at the door all night.”