“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think it,” he said. “But it’s not a matter of opinion. I’ve got eyes. It’s a fact. You’re clearly gorgeous.” Two guys, biker dudes, approached, and when they were within earshot, he called out, “Would you say this woman is gorgeous?” His pointer finger curved down above her head.
“Hell yeah.”
They were closer now, and she could see they each had a chain that ran from their belts to their back pockets. The larger of the two had a full beard. His smaller friend had a bandanna wrapped around his head.
“No doubt,” the second one said approvingly. “Gorgeous!”
They kept going, and at the end of the block, the bigger one glanced back and grinned.
“Did you really have to do that?” Greta asked. Dalton had a way of throwing her off balance in the best possible way.
“Just making a point.” He gestured in their direction. “If you can’t trust those guys to tell the truth, who can you trust?”
“Okay, I’ll admit I look pretty good tonight, but I had a whole team of people working on me.” She tugged at the waist of the dress so it hugged her middle just above her hip bones. “You give the average girl a fabulous dress and professional hair and makeup, and she’ll look completely different.”
“You forget that I saw you before. You were gorgeous without all that extra stuff, and you’re even gorgeouser now.”
“Gorgeouser isn’t a word.” Greta gave his shoulder a gentle push, making him chuckle.
“Oh, but it is. It’s the perfect word to describe you.”
She knew from experience that guys would say anything to get on a woman’s good side, but it didn’t seem like he was trying to seduce her. At the ball, his hands hadn’t strayed down to her backside, and he hadn’t pressed against her in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. He seemed interested in her but in a gentlemanly way. Were there still guys like that? She honestly didn’t think he was using her to get to Cece; Dalton seemed so sincere. Greta leaned back against the building, her hands in her pockets, as happy as she’d ever been. Her cousin was still out of reach, out in the city somewhere. Most likely, this fiasco would cause her to lose her internship or get fired or whatever, but this night wasn’t over, and already she would have said it was worth it. Even if nothing happened with Dalton, she’d come away with a great memory and an interesting story to tell.
Talking about professional hair and makeup reminded Greta of something ridiculous she used to do, and the buzz from the drinks she’d had earlier made her want to share. “Do you want to know a secret?” she asked.
“I always want to know a secret.” He leaned in to listen.
“I probably shouldn’t tell you this. You’ll think less of me.”
“Go on.” His lips stretched into a wide smile.
“Our conversation reminded me of something I used to do in high school. It’s just the worst thing I’ve ever done. You’re going to think I’m terrible.”
“Now I’m even more interested.”
“Sometimes,” she said, “when I was at work or school and I couldn’t stand to be there anymore, I’d excuse myself to go to the bathroom, wash off all my makeup, and go back and say I was sick and I had to go. Every single time, some guy would tell me that I looked awful, that I really needed to go home and get some rest.” He was laughing now. “Seriously. They’d say I looked terrible. That’s how much of a difference it makes. Without makeup, guys would think I had the bubonic plague.”
“Please, stop.” Still laughing, he leaned over, his hands on his knees.
“You don’t believe me?”
He straightened up and composed himself before answering. “I’m not doubting your experience; I just think it’s absolutely adorable that you consider this the worst thing you’ve ever done. What’s the second worst thing? Sometimes you don’t recycle? Occasionally you drive five miles over the speed limit?”
“I know it doesn’t sound like a big deal,” Greta said. “But for me, it was. I always felt terrible about lying. I made a decision a few years ago that I wanted to be the kind of person who is honest and has integrity. I try to be kind and caring. At the end of my life, I want to know that I made a difference, you know? In a good way.”
He nodded thoughtfully and said, “I understand.” As their driver pulled up to take them to the karaoke bar, he reached for her hand and said, “Greta, I have to tell you that in my whole life, I’ve never met anyone like you.”
His smile told her it was a compliment.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
When the car pulled up in front of the Crazy Night Karaoke Bar, Dalton dug in his pocket for some cash and tipped the driver. “I’ve got this,” he said before Greta could add a tip using the app. True, he was posing as a homeless person and couldn’t afford to part with much money, but he was also a guy hanging out with a beautiful woman. It felt like they were on a date, even if that wasn’t technically the case, and he hated being a freeloader. It wasn’t who he was. He was a good guy, one who didn’t like to impose or take advantage of other people. Greta nodded, and Dalton got out first, giving her a hand to help her over the curb.
Halfway down the block, they saw the limo. Whoever had driven it had tried parallel parking into a space along the curb, decided there wasn’t enough room, then just given up and left it on the street sticking out at an angle. Ingenious, but so wrong.
The lounge was old-school, plush booths along the back with café tables filling the space between the booths and the stage. A stage by definition only, more of a small platform with a monitor to display the lyrics, and a microphone in a traditional stand. Cece stood in the spotlight, her hand wrapped around the base of the microphone, singing in a breathy Marilyn Monroe voice. The song was “Unforgettable,” and she was a sight, there in her white dress, the stage light reflecting off her necklace and earrings. She was old Hollywood glamour and New York contemporary fashion, all rolled into one. She saw them walk in, and her expression changed from utmost concentration to one of sheer delight. She stopped singing, waved, and said, “Everybody, meet my cousin Greta and Dalton, a friend of ours. He’s a good man.”
Cece went back to singing, and the crowd turned to look, some of them shouting their names.
“Hey, cousin Greta!”
“Good man Dalton!”
“Welcome, you two!”
“Hello, beautiful cousin!”
“Hi, Dalton!”
Their initial assessment of the crowd as middle-aged people out on date night appeared to be spot-on, but what the audience lacked in cool, they made up for in enthusiasm. Dalton waved in response to their cheers while Greta, who also waved, managed to look embarrassed and pleased all at the same time.
They joined Roger at his table, and he stood up and enthusiastically shook Dalton’s hand. “So glad you guys caught up to us,” he said.
“Why did you leave without saying anything?” Greta asked as they sat down.
Roger shrugged. “Don’t ask me; ask Cece. She said she wanted to forget the Forgotten Man Ball; the place was suffocating her. I asked about you guys, and she said you’d be fine, that you needed some alone time.”
When Cece was done with the song, the room filled with the sound of clapping. Some of the crowd even whooped, and one guy pounded his feet. Cece bowed and smiled. “And now,” she said, her mouth close to the microphone, “my darling cousin Greta and her date tonight, Dalton, will be singing a duet. Let’s give it up for Greta and Dalton!”
The crowd went wild. At least as wild as that particular crowd could get. The guy who’d pounded his feet kept doing it, and everyone clapped, some of them yelling their names. Dalton looked at Greta as if to say, What do you think? and she shook her head, looking terrified, like she wanted the world to end right that minute.
Cece said, “I think Greta needs a show of support. Please, Greta? This is a friendly crowd. Let’s give it up for Greta!”
Dalton stood up and reached out to take her hand. All
around them people clapped and shouted.
“C’mon, Greta!”
“Please, Greta!”
“Greta, sing!”
The sound built to the point that it was just her name being chanted over and over again. “Greta! Greta! Greta! Greta!” She stood finally, not sure what else to do, and took Dalton’s hand. They walked up to the stage, him leading, her lagging behind as if she were debating making a run for it.
The steps to the platform were off to the side, and they climbed them together. Cece came to that side of the stage and grabbed Greta’s other hand, towing them over to the mike stand. “I picked the best song for these two,” Cece exclaimed. “‘Perfect’ by Ed Sheeran.”
The crowd reacted as if this were their favorite song in the entire world and they couldn’t believe their good luck in hearing Greta and Dalton sing it. Clapping, foot pounding, cheering, a tidal wave of sound came their way. Cece left the stage to join Roger, and Dalton squeezed Greta’s hand to show her it was going to be fine. As the music began and the audience settled down, he leaned over and whispered, “They are so drunk,” which made her smile.
Dalton took the lead in singing the song, knowing Greta wasn’t quite ready yet. After the first few words, he relaxed, knowing he didn’t sound too bad. He was able to hold a tune, nothing fancy, but he’d been good enough in eighth grade to get a solo during one all-school assembly. Luckily for them, Cece had picked a song that required more emotion than vocal ability. People in the audience were singing along, which took the pressure off as well. He got through the first verse, and when it came time to sing the chorus, Greta still looked shell-shocked, so he kept going.
Singing the lyrics, it was easy to feel like this song was written specifically for him and Greta. The lines about finding a beautiful and sweet girl, dancing in each other’s arms, and seeing the future in each other’s eyes perfectly encapsulated their experience that evening. That Cece was a crafty one. How had she known?
Greta relaxed, and her eyes glittered with tears as she squeezed his hand. Just when it looked like he might be singing the whole song by himself, she jumped in and took the next line. Her voice was soft and wobbled a bit, but she sounded pretty good. Her eyes were locked on his, like she wanted to ignore the fact that fifty people were watching them.
“Louder!” came a yell from in back.
“We can’t hear you!”
Greta sang more loudly, and when it came to the chorus, they did it together. Nothing complicated, no harmonizing, just Dalton and Greta holding hands and singing perfectly in sync. At the end, she brought it home, doing the final line solo and wrapping up the song, then grinning at Dalton.
When they finished, Dalton felt the kind of endorphin rush people get when they reach the top of Mount Everest. He was overjoyed, not for him but for Greta, who’d started off afraid but then rose to the occasion and totally nailed it. Over the course of the evening, he’d shared her anxiety and her joy. Funny how easy it was for him to read her frame of mind. He’d dated women for months and hadn’t felt as in sync with them as he did with her.
When the room erupted into applause, they bowed, and then unexpectedly, Greta threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. It took him by surprise, but looking out into the audience, he glimpsed Cece, who was smiling broadly. From her satisfied expression, the kiss didn’t surprise her at all.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Nothing Greta had done that day was in character. Never in her life could she have dreamed of a scenario that would require her to get glammed up and attend a charity event with debutantes. In the short time she’d been in New York, she’d tried new things, met new people, and taken chances she never would have taken at home. Throwing her arms around a man she barely knew and kissing him on the cheek was a pretty innocent thing to do, something most women wouldn’t think twice about, but it wasn’t a Greta Hansen thing to do. She usually had to think about things for a long time, consider all the details, weigh all the possibilities. Greta, impulsive? Never. Follow her heart? She wanted to, but she wasn’t that bold.
She wasn’t the kind of person who’d jump in the pool of love without at least dipping a toe in first.
So why did she wrap her arms around Dalton and kiss him? She didn’t honestly know. Maybe it was the alcohol kicking in, or maybe she just got caught up in the moment. Or perhaps—and this is the one reason that rang true to her—it was because he’d opened his heart to her first. What had he called it? This thing between us. An irresistible magnetic pull felt by both of them.
As they stepped down off the stage, Dalton still holding her hand, she saw that Cece was now surrounded by people taking selfies and asking her questions. An older man took the stage, reading off the next singer’s name. “Amy Cooper from South Orange, New Jersey, is going to entertain us by singing Neil Diamond’s ‘Sweet Caroline’!” he announced. As Amy got up from her chair, it occurred to Greta that she and Dalton had jumped the line. If anyone minded, she didn’t notice.
While Amy bounded up to the stage, Greta went straight to their table to retrieve her cousin. Cece had succeeded in having an unconventional night of fun without doing anything too outrageous, and if they went home now, it might still be okay. She pushed through the row of admirers and interrupted. “Cece, do you mind if we go?”
Her sweet face looked up, puzzled. “Go where?”
“Back to your apartment. I think I’ve had enough for the night.” She put her fingertips to her forehead as if she had a headache. Not a lie, exactly.
“Oh no.” She looked so sad that Greta felt a little guilty, but an instant later, Cece smiled when a woman came over for a selfie. After the flash went off, Cece got back to Greta. “Of course we can go,” she said, standing. To those around her, she said, “I’m sorry, but I have to leave. My cousin is feeling sick.”
Roger and Dalton got the cue and helped shepherd Cece out of the lounge. Navigating through the crowd, the three of them formed a protective circle, surrounding her while she smiled and waved. As they headed out the door onto the sidewalk, they heard Amy belt out, “So good, so good!” during the instrumental part of her song.
A few minutes later, they were inside the limo, Roger at the wheel and Cece next to him, giving him directions back to her place. “Can you believe I’ve never driven anything this large before?” he said, pulling out of the space.
A few stray people had followed them out of the club and were leaning on the car, so he edged forward slowly. As he drove through the city, Cece opened her window and stuck her arm out, waving like she was in a parade. “Hello, beautiful people!” she yelled to pedestrians as they drove past. “Hello, night sky! Hello, New York City, best city in the whole world! Hello, people on the sidewalk! I love you all.”
Dalton leaned in, his lips almost to Greta’s ear. “See, it all worked out. And you were so worried.”
It would have been impossible for her not to smile. The only negative was that once the night was over and they were back at the apartment, Dalton would be changing into his regular clothes and leaving. She wasn’t too worried about it, though. It was late, and they’d been drinking. Maybe she could suggest that he crash at Cece’s for the night? There was no shortage of guest rooms, and with Mr. and Mrs. Vanderhaven in Europe, there was no one there to object. They would have time together, plenty of time, and soon he could explain why he was voluntarily, temporarily homeless. There had to be a good reason.
Cece turned around. “How do you feel, Greta?”
“I think I’m going to be fine,” she said. “I don’t know what was wrong. It might have just been the noise in the lounge that got to me.”
“I’m so glad you feel better.” She turned back to Roger, and they chatted about something Greta couldn’t quite hear.
Dalton’s hand rested over hers, his thumb caressing her knuckles while he alternated between smiling at her and glancing out the window. “Roger!” he called out suddenly. “We went past it.”
“
It’s okay!” Cece called back. “Now that Greta feels better, I thought we could drive through Central Park before we go home.” She turned back to Roger. “Katrina and Vance would never let me go anywhere that wasn’t approved ahead of time. And it will be fun for Greta too. She’s never been to the park.”
Greta felt a knot of anxiety. “I don’t know about this,” she said to Dalton.
“It’s going to be okay, Greta,” he whispered. “I’m pretty sure Central Park is closed to traffic at night. We’ll get to a barricade and have to turn back.”
But they never reached the barricade, because after Roger turned on Fifty-Ninth Street, Cece pointed. “Just park here, and we can walk.” She called back to them, “Central Park at night! I can hear Vance now.” Her voice deepened. “Maybe another day, Cece. We don’t have time on the schedule for that.” She laughed, delighted with herself. “Ha! Now I have my own schedule.”
At the sound of her cousin’s jubilation, Greta relaxed. Cece was like a caged bird finally set loose. Only someone who was pretty coldhearted would deny her this taste of freedom.
At that moment, she decided to give up trying to protect her cousin’s carefully crafted image. Cece was an adult and knew what she wanted. If her parents and the Vanderhaven Corporation didn’t like her choices, that was their issue. Greta was ready to stop being her babysitter and start being her friend.
Dalton leaned in. “We’ll keep a close eye on her. It’ll be okay.” He spoke with quiet and sincere concern.
“I know.” She patted his hand. “Whatever happens, it’ll be fine.”
Ahead of them, a horse and carriage pulled away from the curb. The driver, wearing a top hat, sat tall in his seat. A young couple sat in the back, their heads close together. As the horses clopped off, Roger pulled into the newly available space.
Dalton said, “I don’t think you can park here,” but by the time he got to the end of his sentence, Cece had already opened the door and was out of the vehicle.
Good Man, Dalton Page 21