Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“Do you talk to your exes?” he said, pulling the door closed behind them.
“My exes are all super old news.” She turned to lock the door, but Kennedy, in his usual take-charge way, pulled the keys out of her hand and did it for her.
“What about Jack?” he asked, looking at her out of the corner of his eye as he put the key in the lock.
“Oh, well him, yeah. I guess he’s an ex. He’s great. But then, you already know that.”
Kennedy’s hand stilled. “You guys talk?”
“Sure. He called on Friday to offer his condolences, see how I was doing.”
Kennedy’s scowl deepened for a fraction of a second, but then it cleared. “He’s seeing someone, you know. A Broadway dancer.”
“I know. He told me. We talk, remember?” Kate said sweetly as they headed downstairs.
“You’re not upset that he’s got someone new?”
“I don’t really have a right to be, do I? I mean, I was making out with his brother just a few days after he and I broke up.”
They stepped out onto the sidewalk. “That’s not an answer to the question.”
“No, it wasn’t. Oh, it’s gorgeous out!” she said in surprise. “A perfect spring day.”
He looked like he wanted to push the Jack thing further, but he relented with a slight sigh. “Yes, the weather cooperated nicely with my plans.”
She gave him a dubious look. “You made outdoor plans?”
“I did,” he said, lifting his hand to hail a cab. “What, you thought I melted in the sun?”
“No, I thought you melted at the threat of dirt,” she countered, climbing into the taxi ahead of him.
“Seventy-Ninth and Fifth,” Kennedy told the driver.
Kate rolled through her mental Manhattan geography and frowned. “Not much there. It’s right by the park.”
“Indeed.”
“But what else—Wait. Are we going to the park?”
He glanced over. “You don’t like Central Park?”
“I love Central Park! I thought you didn’t.”
“What sort of jerk doesn’t like Central Park?”
“I told you, one who doesn’t like dirt.”
Kennedy patted the bag and then looked out the window. “Good thing I’ve got a blanket to sit on.”
Kate gaped at him. There was only one reason someone took a blanket to Central Park. In all of her imaginings, and there had been plenty the night before, the thought of Kennedy planning a picnic in the park had never occurred to her.
“Why are you staring at me?” he asked, not bothering to look her way.
“Why Seventy-Ninth? The park starts at Sixtieth.”
“All the tourists enter at Sixty. It’s less crowded up north.”
“It’s also closer to your apartment. Like, really close.”
“So?”
“So why the heck didn’t you just have me meet you? I could have grabbed the subway. You didn’t have to come all of the way south just to pick me up. What a waste of—”
“Kate?”
“What?”
“Be quiet.” He smiled a little as he said it, still not looking at her.
Her mind raced. Friends didn’t cab thirty blocks downtown, only to retrace their steps uptown. Friends didn’t. But dates sure as heck did.
She wasn’t sure whether the thought pleased her or terrified her. Maybe a little bit of both. But she’d meant it last night when she said she trusted him. She trusted him not to hurt her. So she stayed quiet.
Several minutes later, Kennedy paid the driver, and Kate couldn’t contain her broad smile as they walked toward the entrance of Central Park, a little girl on a scooter nearly clipping their toes with a happy “Sorry” shouted over her ponytail.
“Sorry about that,” a man echoed, speed-walking after the girl, a toddler on his hip. “Rosie, slow down!”
“Hurry up, Daddy!”
Kate’s smile slipped just a little bit, the scene reminding her of long-ago weekends with her own father. Not at Central Park but at the little rinky-dink park in their neighborhood where the grass was always a little brown, the swings a little rusty, but the memories were pure gold.
Kennedy set his hand on her back, just for a moment, a casual touch that might have said this way or watch out for the dog poop. But the slight brush of his thumb along her spine and the lingering warmth told her he understood what she was feeling. It said I’m here.
“Do you do this often?” she asked as they stepped into the park. It was bustling, being a sunny weekend day, but even still, she felt the difference from the city just steps behind her and the oasis ahead of her.
“Sure, great running paths,” he said as they weaved their way down the path, sharing it with strollers, walkers, and the aforementioned runners.
“No, I mean for picnics.” They veered to the right down one of the many forks in the road Central Park had to offer.
“Ah. No. Can’t say that I’ve done it . . . probably in a couple decades.”
“Decades? So you did this when you were a kid?”