Текст книги "New Amsterdam: Tess"

Автор книги: Ashley Pullo

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 9 страниц)

“I’ve dug my hands into the earth more times than I can count, and each time, I think I’m saving the world. But there will always be a hunger – humans crave more.”

Chapter Seven

Levi: You’re so sexy when you’re wet.

Smiling, Levi rereads his text and powers on the treadmill. Removing his T-shirt, he jogs on a slight incline while gazing out the window of his Brooklyn loft. At nearly twelve-hundred square feet, and with ceilings twenty-feet high, Levi’s loft is considered an industrial mansion in the middle of Vinegar Hill.

Early morning ships and the occasional yacht sail along the East River – it’s normally entertaining, but Levi can’t seem to focus on anything other than Thessaly standing in the rain. He quickly glances at his phone, waiting for her reply – because if he’s right about Thessaly Sinclair, she’ll have a snarky comeback . . .

Tess: I’m so embarrassed! I never get that wet on a first date.

Nailed it.

Slowing the treadmill as he pecks at the screen, Levi thinks of something clever.

Levi: Then I did something right.

Tess: Maybe it was my position? Over the shoulder, ass in the air.

Levi grins, remembering the shape of Thessaly’s cute butt bouncing in the rain.

Levi: We could do this all day.

Tess: We could, but I’m running late for a photo shoot @ The Hive.

Levi: Please tell me you’ll be naked.

Tess: Topless and covered in honey. The family will be so proud.

His erection growing, Levi misses a step on the treadmill.

Levi: Can I stop by?

Tess: NO! You’ll make me laugh.

Levi: I’ll bring cupcakes . . .

Nearly tripping over his shoelace as he types the ellipses, Levi stops the treadmill and sits on the couch. He waits patiently, imagining her smiling at his offer.

Tess: Deal. I like strawberry with cream cheese frosting.

Levi: Delicious.

Tess: And sprinkles. Or like those curls of white chocolate.

Levi: I’ll see you this afternoon.

Tess: I may regret this.

Tossing his phone on the couch, Levi drops to the floor and completes two sets of twenty pushups. Flipping to his back, he folds his arms over his chest and brings his knees to his waist for a set of fifty crunches. He never played organized sports, and he rarely goes to a gym, but the three years he spent in the Peace Corps afforded him with a physical appreciation of general health, and a body with lean muscles that makes all the girls swoon.

After graduating from Georgetown University with a Bachelor of Science in Business Development with an emphasis in agribusiness, Levi landed a prestigious job with an environmental law firm in Washington D.C. He worked fifteen-hour days as a consultant to lobbyists, pouring his agriculture knowledge into projects he didn’t believe in. So one night, after beers with a few of his buddies from college, they made a drunken pact to volunteer for the Peace Corps. Whether or not the other guys actually applied, Levi will never know, but he did – and within a year, he packed his bags and shipped off to Belize.

Broken Spanish, weekly immunizations, and a bout with dehydration were mild setbacks to the rewarding experience of watching a community harvest a small crop. Along with three other American Peace Corps volunteers, Levi led a team of ten farmers in the agribusiness community project. His main objectives were to teach families financial literacy, like bookkeeping and report analyses, and to facilitate product development through marketing.

In the midst of helping the world become a better place, Levi met a beautiful girl from California. Taylor Johnson was a former Miss California, a graduate from Berkeley in Women’s Studies, and the daughter of a Congressman. Levi and Taylor would have been the perfect couple – future leaders changing the global perspective of farming and business. But once they left the adventurous bubble of Belize and settled into the normalcy of Brooklyn, the relationship once fueled by wanderlust, soon became an awkward friendship.

Taylor eventually moved back to California to work as a liaison to the Mexican government, and Levi started Brooklyn Soil with a silent business partner. Within twenty months of opening the doors, Levi has elevated the rooftop project into an actual business with satellite farms all over New York City. But it’s his humanitarian projects that bring him the most joy – well, that and the six-figure income for doing something he loves.

Cooling down with three minutes of jogging, Levi powers off the treadmill and heads to the industrial bathroom. He removes his sneakers and his running shorts, and then steps into the lukewarm shower – another side effect of living modestly in Belize for twenty-seven months. Quickly washing his hair and scrubbing his body with an organic blue agave blend, he stands under the large ceiling-mounted shower head, closes his eyes, and strokes his hard shaft.

Sex in the rain, he thinks. With Tess. Dripping wet. The smell of summer. Warm. Hot. Hot sex. Breasts. Take her from behind. Take her. Mmm. Pummeling her sweet ass. Oh, Tess.

Levi stops and opens his eyes – another trick he learned in Belize from using an outdoor shower with horrible plumbing. No PCV wanted to be the one held responsible for clogging a drain. He quickly adjusts the water to a freezing temperature and rinses off his soapy body. Finishing his shower, he steps onto the slate floor and grabs a towel. Wrapping it loosely around his waist, Levi applies deodorant and a spritz of woodsy cologne. Moving through the loft, Levi grabs a coconut water from the refrigerator, and then shuffles to his closet.

Selecting a white dress shirt and a pair of steely-blue dress pants, Levi dresses the part of a young businessman. He forgoes a tie, opting to keep his appearance less intimidating than the group of lawyers from the Afghani Alliance.

He clasps his watch on his right wrist, weaves a brown belt through the loops of his slacks, and then sits on his bed to pull up his socks adorned with skateboarding chickens. Stepping into his brown leather wingtips, Levi guzzles the coconut water and recycles the cardboard container.

Back in the bathroom, he brushes his teeth, applies a small amount of product to his thick, candied-pecan hair, and pops open the top button of his dress shirt. Making his way toward the galvanized steel door, he grabs his phone from the couch, and an apple from a handmade, South American bowl in the kitchen.

The industrial loft sits on the fourth floor of a converted mechanical warehouse. When he bought the space last year, he wasn’t trying to be hip or in front of the trends, he simply wanted to be close to the farm. The building is geographically located in a neighborhood referred to as Vinegar Hill, a tiny section of DUMBO, situated under the Manhattan Bridge with views of Downtown and the Brooklyn Navy Yard. At one point, there were only two residents living in his entire building – now the complex is maxed at thirty occupied lofts, and a new building permit to install a rooftop pool.

Stopping by the only deli in the neighborhood, Levi buys a newspaper, two egg whites on a whole wheat bagel, and a small bottle of Tropicana orange juice. “Hey, Mr. Bertucci. Any plans this weekend?” He places ten dollars on the counter and smiles at the man behind the register.

“Nah, family is in Sicily,” Mr. Bertucci replies, returning his change.

“That must be nice – TV all to yourself I bet.”

Mr. Bertucci bags Levi’s breakfast, throwing in a pack of Trident, and says, “I’d be a bad guy if I said I didn’t miss them, but catching up on House of Cards while drinking regular beer is nice.”

“I hear ya. Enjoy your weekend!” Levi grabs the bag and newspaper and heads out the door.

Arriving at the main office with the only access to the rooftop, Levi shoves the last few bites of egg sandwich in his mouth. He pockets the gum, gulps the orange juice, wipes his mouth, and then tosses his trash.

“Good morning, Mr. Jones. You have a group of middle school campers arriving for a tour in thirty minutes.”

Patting the receptionist desk forged from an anchor, he says, “Thanks, Gayle. Page me when they get here?”

Gayle smiles and replies, “No problem. And your meeting with the Alliance has been rescheduled for eleven-thirty. I’ll have Robert set up the south boardroom.”

“Very good,” Levi replies, walking toward the elevator.

Stepping out onto the roof, he stops by his adjacent office and tosses the newspaper on his desk.

“Dude, you missed the best fucking lamb chops.” Travis, the chubby hipster from Williamsburg, pops his head in Levi’s office and chuckles.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sorting his mail, Levi adds, “You doing anything around nine?”

“Nothing on the schedule, although, Carlos is showing me how to ferment Chilean moonshine.”

“White bucket in the kitchen?”

“For sure, dude!”

“Label it.” Levi hands Travis a lanyard with a keycard and adds, “And do the nine o’clock tour.”

“But I hate kids,” Travis whines.

“Be nice. These kids belong to an inner-city science club – give them a little rooftop joy. Cool?”

“Fine, boss.”

“And close the door,” Levi adds.

Sitting at his desk, Levi pulls out his phone to send a text to Thessaly.

Levi: What are you wearing for the photo shoot?

Tess: A bee costume.

Tess: What are you wearing?

Levi: A smile.

#thehive #photoswarm

“Anything else you want, on Twitter?” asks Meg.

Thessaly follows the photographer’s assistant to the register and looks back over her shoulder to address Meg. “I like that. Simple. And upload that photo with Seth and the Jar Jenga to Instagram.”

The art director for NY Foodie, Kate Morris, approaches Thessaly with an iPad and confirms, “So Sinclair Honey is your family brand, correct?”

Trying to answer the question as the assistant applies red lipstick, Thessaly mumbles, “Honey’s from the family farm. Infused here with local fruits.”

“And what about this new brand you mentioned over the phone? Wild Honey?”

“It’s launching next week. I have a few samples ready if you want to take photos.”

“Maybe, let me brainstorm,” Kate mutters as she shuffles to the kitchen, shouting at Seth to bring out the new honey.

“Mia, hand me the Nikon DX – and you,” the photographer points to Meg, “lower the lights.” The photographer, a middle-aged man with white hair and chartreuse eyeglasses, stands on a small stool to the right of Thessaly. “Look out that large window – think about all the things that make you happy.”

Placating, Thessaly nods. She stares out the window, watching as a trendy mom pushes a toddler in a stroller, and wondering where they’re going. If she was a mother, she’d take her children for ice cream on the pier. And then maybe a stroll through the market, feeding them strawberries and blueberries while shopping for fresh ingredients for dinner with daddy.

Mason? she ponders.

Levi, she imagines.

And Levi appears.

Thessaly giggles under her breath as the photographer shouts, “Less happy and more determined.”

“Okay,” Thessaly apologizes.

Clicking a few more shots as she lifts jams and honey out of a wire shopping basket, the photographer finally announces, “Done. Let’s shoot your new brand at the island.” He passes his camera to his assistant and then joins the art director in the kitchen. Poor Seth, thinks Thessaly.

“Ice cream hottie is here,” Meg shouts under her breath.

“I know,” Thessaly replies, walking to the front to greet Levi.

Handing her a bouquet of wildflowers and a bakery box of cupcakes, Levi says, “You’re not naked. And you’re not wearing a bee costume.” He kisses Thessaly’s cheek and then whispers, “Why’s it so quiet in here?”

Laughing, she replies, “It’s a food magazine, not very exciting.”

“We should change that.”

Smelling the flowers, Thessaly leads Levi to the center island. “The flowers are beautiful – thank you.”

“Hey, there.” Meg looks up from her laptop with a mischievous grin.

“Meg, this is Levi – Levi, Meg.”

“Hi, Meg.” Sitting on a stool across from Meg, Levi places his hand on Thessaly’s hip and says, “Navy pants and a white shirt?”

Placing her hand on top of Levi’s, she replies, “This outfit photographs well. And you’re wearing the same thing!”

Interrupting the flirtatious banter, Meg asks, “Do you want me to stage a breakfast for Wild Honey?”

“Yes, let’s do it before they do. I want a certain image, ya know?”

Closing her laptop and standing from the stool, Meg asks, “Any preference?”

“How about a basket of biscuits and some strawberries?”

“How about a few hundred peaches?” Meg teases under her breath as she walks toward the kitchen.

Laughing, Levi says, “Meg is a cool chick. So what’s Wild Honey?”

“Oh, it’s just a branding move. The saturation in the artisan market forced me to expand my vocabulary.”

“I like the name – sexy.”

Arranging the flowers in a yellow vase, Thessaly places it in the center of the island and smiles. “Oh, I don’t know how sexy The Hive can make honey, but there’s definitely a market for sexualized foods.”

Propping his arm on the counter, Levi asks, “Will the article include some wild recipes?”

“How’d you guess?” she replies, stroking the sleeve of his shirt.

“Okay, Thessaly, let’s set up on the island – love the jars by the way. I’m thinking we’ll try breakfast in bed for this segment.” Kate squeezes between Levi and Thessaly and snatches the bouquet of flowers. “Over here, Seth,” she barks.

“Coming,” Seth replies in a high-pitched voice. Carrying a tray of assorted muffins, cornbread, jars of Wild Honey, and a magenta pitcher, Seth sneaks in a tiny wink as Meg joins him with a basket of biscuits covered with a paisley dish towel.

“Toss these cheap flowers. Where are the peonies I saw earlier?” Thrusting the vase at Meg, Kate summons the photographer. “Walter! We’re losing the natural lighting.”

Barreling through the kitchen door with a blueberry scone in hand, Walter blurts, “Then what are we waiting for?” He places the scone on a plate near the register and grabs a Canon with a short lens. “Everyone, move away from the food.”

Kate grabs Thessaly and Levi’s arms and pulls them to the side. “We’ll get some shots with you two before we end. You’ll be blurred, of course.” Tilting her head as she glances from Levi to Thessaly, she adds, “Seduce me.” And then she storms off to yell at Seth. “Bring in that plate of peppered bacon.”

With wide eyes and a huge grin, Levi declares, “I’m going to be famous!”

“Yeah, right,” Thessaly replies, turning around to watch the photo shoot.

Placing his hands on Thessaly’s shoulders, Levi pulls her back into his chest with a deep sigh. He rests his chin on the top of her head, closing his eyes briefly while he inhales her fragrant shampoo. It’s an innocent gesture, full of sweetness and compassion.

But just like the honey, sweet things trapped in a glass jar tend to crave a visceral escape.

Kate snaps her head, looking past Seth and Meg and chirps, “Tess and friend.”

“Levi!” Seth interjects.

“Right. Come stand over here and pretend like you’re messing around in the kitchen.” Kate cracks open a cold biscuit and opens a jar of honey.

Cupping a hand over his mouth, Seth nudges Meg and mutters, “This could get awkward.”

As Thessaly and Levi crowd the island and pretend to prepare breakfast with pre-cooked food, Kate curses under her breath.

“You’re practically wearing the same thing! I hate it!” Kate shrieks.

Approaching them with his camera and a calm face, Walter suggests, “Let me take a few shots first, Kate.” He peers through two different cameras with varying lenses and frowns. “Nope! Too much white. One of you needs to change your shirt.”

Turning to the assistant, Kate asks, “Do we have wardrobe?”

“No,” Mia mouths sarcastically.

“Not a problem.” Without hesitating, Levi unbuttons the sleeves of his dress shirt, yanks it from the waistband of his slacks, pops open the remaining buttons, and then drops it to the floor. Revealing sculpted biceps and a tan chest, Levi shrugs his shoulders and smirks. “Most mornings, this is how I make breakfast.”

“God damn,” Kate whispers.

“Lucky bitch.” And because it’s part of her job description, Meg begins snapping photos for Instagram. “For Lois,” she says to a discerning Seth.

“Good morning, Tess. How about some stale biscuits and waxy strawberries.” Levi grabs Thessaly’s waist and presses her against the cold marble counter of the island. He pins her between his legs, leaving just enough room for Thessaly’s eyes to follow the thin trail of auburn hair along his impeccable stomach.

Placing a hand behind Thessaly’s head, Levi angles her face to look into her eyes. “Relax,” he says before wetting his lips.

Thessaly braces herself against the island as Levi kisses the tender skin of her neck. Dragging his mouth along her jaw, he then lands powerfully on her lips. Thessaly flinches, knocking over a jar of Wild Honey and flipping the plate of bacon.

As they kiss, Walter moves in closer, mindful to capture the essence of the new brand – the messy counter, the spilled honey, and the sexual explosion of two people seamlessly acting on their impulses.

Slapping her hand on the counter, Thessaly accidentally claws her fingers against the pool of honey. Parting from their kiss, she slowly glides her finger over Levi’s lips, coating them with the golden nectar. He scrapes his lips with his teeth as Thessaly continues to trail her sticky finger down his chest.

Pressing against Thessaly and smearing honey all over her white shirt, Levi wildly nips at the stretch of skin beneath her ear. In an erratic hush, he pants, “I want to taste you.”

“Then taste me,” she breathes into his hair.

“And that’s a wrap!” Kate barks.

Meg tugs on the waist of Seth’s shirt to get his attention. Breathless, she begs, “My apartment. Now.”

Chapter Eight

“I used to think those phones called Russia,” Thessaly slurs.

“Because they’re red?” asks Levi.

Melting against Levi like a wet noodle, she grabs his shoulders and props herself against the wall of the elevator. “I feel sick.”

“You’ll be fine,” he assures. Wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer, Levi asks, “What floor, Tess?”

“Floorth four,” she mutters incoherently.

Pressing the button, he says, “When I was a kid, I thought department stores were labeling jeans just for me – until my sister bought a pair.”

Laughing hysterically as the doors to the elevator open, Thessaly sputters, “I live right there!”

Levi positions her under his arm, walks her down the hall, and then digs in her clutch for a key. He pulls out a single brass key with a blue ribbon and wiggles it in the knob. Praying that she’s sober enough to know where she lives, he finally unlocks the door.

Spilling into her apartment, Levi flips on the ceiling fan and a kitchen light, and then carefully moves her toward the couch.

Falling back on the yellow, velvet sofa and grabbing Levi’s belt, Thessaly quotes, “Take me to bed or lose me forever.”

Considering the idea, Levi waggles his eyebrows and smiles. But realizing that she’ll be asleep in less than ten minutes, he politely removes her hand from his waist and steps away. Studying her elevated bed and the steep incline of the stairs, Levi makes the decision to carry her to bed.

Placing one arm under her thighs, and the other behind her back, Levi scoops Thessaly like a baby and totters toward the stairs. She giggles and shakes her clutch in the air, as Levi climbs the steps. He lowers her to the bed and then sits next to her, carefully untucking her shirt as she falls asleep.

“Don’t be a creep,” he whispers to himself. Rationalizing several scenarios, he decides that her shirt is dirty, and her pants must be uncomfortable, so there’s really only one solution. Unzipping a side zipper and then lifting her back, he slides the frilly white shirt over her head and then tosses it on the floor. The pants are trickier. Unsnapping the waist of her pants, he writhes and twists the stiff fabric, careful not to wake her.

Dropping the pants to the floor, Levi glances at her bra, pleasantly surprised that her breasts are larger than he originally thought. Looking away, and then quickly looking back, he checks out her underwear and smiles – lace is his favorite.

Dresses are so much easier, he thinks.

Before he leaves, Levi removes Thessaly’s phone from her clutch and connects it to the charger on her side table – unable to ignore the text thread from Mason.

Waking up with a pounding headache and a churning stomach, Thessaly rolls toward the sound of her vibrating phone and opens her eyes.

Her mouth parched and her throat sore, she presses the symbol for the speakerphone and croaks, “Hello?”

“Hey, sis!”

Recognizing Shelby’s mellow drawl, she places the phone on the pillow next to her mouth. “What’s up, Shelby?”

“You sound sick – you okay?”

Thessaly rubs her eyes and pinches her temples. “I’m, you know, I’m sleeping under a fan.”

“Someone had too much to drink,” Shelby chants loudly.

Wincing at the volume of the phone, Thessaly moans. “What do you want – I need to get dressed for work.”

“Would you like a house guest? Or rather, a couch guest?”

“Who’s coming?”

“Your favorite brother.”

“Kip is welcome here anytime.”

“Lame joke, Tess. My flight arrives around six.”

“Tonight? Should I pick you up?” Thessaly rolls her shoulders back and yawns.

“You got a car?”

“No. It’s just what people say, I guess.”

“I’ll take a cab. Hey, I wanted you to get your new stuff before next week, so FedEx is scheduled for tomorrow.”

“How thoughtful. And since you’re the best bro ever, I know you’ll help me unpack the shipment.”

“Throw in beer and some of those edamame dumplings we had last time, and you got a deal.”

Writhing at the thought of beer and dumplings, Thessaly swallows back a shallow gasp. “Text me when you get here.”

“Will do. Take some aspirin, sis.”

Rolling on her back and peeling her eyelids apart, Thessaly counts the rotations of the ceiling fan to fifty before blinking. “Holy shit,” she croaks.

Sitting up slowly, Thessaly grabs her phone from the pillow and scrolls through her missed texts.

Seth: Please tell me you got laid.

Mason: Did you like the flowers?

Meg: Do we have a dating policy @ work?

Seth: Meg and I are secretly dating.

Shelby: I’m trying to call you. Wake up, TayTay.

Meg: Meeting with Pete moved to 3 p.m. Seth and I are NOT dating.

But it’s the incoming text that puts a smile on her face.

Levi: Good morning, wildflower.

Wildflower?

Lying back down and curling up in her duvet, Thessaly decides to call Levi.

“Hi,” he answers on the first ring.

“Hi. Thank you for bringing me home last night.” She smiles.

“Oh, so you do remember me carrying you home? This is becoming quite the routine, Tess.”

“Was I really that bad?” Thessaly cringes, praying she didn’t barf or say anything stupid.

“Your face was green, and you kept trying to rap a Coolio song, but you didn’t do anything embarrassing.” Levi huffs rhythmically as a beeping noise echoes through the speaker.

Twirling a greasy lock of hair, Thessaly grins. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Just finished my run and heading to the shower. I’m meeting with a new group of Afghani refugees starting the immigrant program today. And then I have a business seminar about composting. Oh, and tonight the farm is hosting a dinner party. You should come, Tess.”

Without pausing, she replies, “I’d love to come – and I promise not to rap.”

“That’s a shame. You can really throw down the gangsta beats.”

“My East coast rap is even better. I’ll see you later, Levi.”

“Eight o’clock, wildflower.”

Blissful, she ends the call and then immediately phones Meg.

But Seth answers the phone. “Good morning, Pony Boy.”

“Oh my God!” Thessaly slaps the bed and wheezes.

“Calm down. I thought you knew?” Seth claims.

Thessaly controls her laughter and says, “I had an idea, but seriously? Does Meg know?”

“Tess, it’s not a thing. It’s just a thing-thing.” Meg’s raspy voice erupts through the speaker while the sound of her smacking Seth echoes in the background.

“I think it’s a great thing-thing, Meg!”

“Don’t get your hopes up, it could end in murder by the weekend.”

“Ha! So, hey, I’m not feeling great and I’ll be working all day in the shop tomorrow,” Thessaly starts.

“Did Levi spend the night?” asks Meg, shushing Seth’s Arsenio Hall impression in the background.

“Not yet. But he has carried me home. Twice.”

“Wait, you two haven’t—”

Lifting the duvet and seeing her underwear, Thessaly replies, “Nope. But Meg, I feel incredible when I’m with him.”

“Yes, and think how incredible it will feel when he’s in you.”

“Meg!” Thessaly screeches. “But I know, right?” she adds.

“Sleep in, go to that meeting in TriBeCa, and then relax. I’ll put Seth to work – he responds very well to the favor system.”

“Thanks – I’ll check in with you two lovebirds later.”

“Gross.”

Ending the call, Thessaly turns back on her side and powers on her portable Bose speaker. Choosing a soothing playlist from Spotify, she scrolls through the photo album on her phone, hoping to find clues from her night with Levi.

A pitcher of sangria.

A littered sidewalk.

A black blob.

A blurry cab.

She deletes the four random pictures and then pauses on a great photo of them together. Opening the candid shot in Instagram, she’s unable to find a filter better than the natural tincture – the true mark of a great picture. Zooming in on the background, she suddenly remembers the conversation she started about never being on a yacht.

“Oh, crap,” she groans.

It’s all coming back to her now . . . She had bitched about Mason and his new girlfriends, and she had whined about wanting to be the exotic beauty on a boat. Thessaly had revealed too much, and she had unpacked her relationship baggage.

But instead of freaking out, Levi suggested, “Let’s find ourselves a yacht.”

They skipped to the pier with ice cream cones, and then Levi paid a security guard fifty bucks to board an expensive yacht and take their picture. But what she doesn’t remember, or rather, what Thessaly doesn’t realize, is that Levi posted the photo on Instagram seconds after it was taken.

Hot chicks of Instagram.

#wildflower #realmenharvestcrops

Feeling refreshed and rested after a long shower followed by a few hours of baking, Thessaly heads out of her apartment with a Thermos and a collapsible picnic basket of food. Waving to the lazy doorman, she spills out into the humid, urban bubble, and then makes a sharp left.

Approaching the man with the jar of peacock feathers, she announces, “Hello.”

Looking up from his journal, he smiles.

Placing the basket and the Thermos of iced tea on the ground next to him, Thessaly clears her throat and explains. “I made cranberry scones and blueberry muffins. There’s also some utensils and napkins, oh, and a sample jar of my artisan honey. Um, I like my tea super sweet with a hint of lemon, which most New Yorkers think is disgusting, so I threw in some bottles of water.” She pauses, watching as he bites the inside of his cheek. “Look, I won’t be offended if you toss it all in the trash after I leave.”

“I won’t toss it in the trash,” he promises.

Completely shocked, Thessaly exclaims, “You spoke to me!”

“Yeah, you had me at cranberry scones.”

Shielding her eyes from the sun, Thessaly moves closer and leans against the brick wall. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

“Am I crazy? No. Am I a veteran? No. Am I a rapist? No. Am I homeless? No.” He removes a bottle of water from the basket and smiles. “Anything else?”

Studying his expensive Nike’s and the tan line formed from a watch, Thessaly blurts, “What’s your name?”

“Lucas.”

“What’s with the journal? Are you stalking someone?”

“I write stories.”

Peering down at him, she asks, “Are you one of those Post reporters pretending to be homeless?”

“Do I look like an asshole?” chuckles Lucas.

“So you write fiction?”

“Everything is fiction once it’s written.”

“Deep.” Thessaly nods to the jar of peacock feathers. “What’s with the feathers?”

Shaking his head slowly, Lucas sighs. “Just feathers. What’s your name?”

“Tess.” Realizing she made the mistake of giving her real name, she quickly adds, “Er, Tesshalaperria Santiago.”

“Cuban?”

“Dominican.”

“I like Tess – can I call you Tess?”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

“Pee Wee Herman?” asks Lucas.

“A favorite.” She smiles.

“Agreed.” He smiles.

Studying his tan face and minimal lines, Thessaly asks, “So how old are you, Lucas?”

“Thirty-nine. What about you, Tess?”

“Twenty-seven.”

Placing her hands on her hips, Thessaly asks, “What’s with your cardboard sign?”

“Just a project.”

“About love?”

“Love is all you need.” Lucas smirks.

“So, where do you go when you’re not here?”

“Battery Park.”

“Like the actual park?”

“No. Like an actual apartment building.”

Thessaly asks, “And when will you leave?”

“As soon as the story is complete.”

Nodding in sarcasm, Thessaly says, “Gotcha.” She glances at her watch and then announces, “Lucas, it’s been real.”

“Thanks for the snacks, Tess Santiago.” Tilting his head in the direction of the cardboard sign, Lucas adds, “Thoughts?”

“Oh, no! I mean, I have to get to a meeting like five minutes ago. Have a nice day, Lucas.”

In a gravelly voice, Lucas demands, “Be sure and tell ‘em Large Marge sent ya.”

“Good one!” she yells back over her shoulder.

Walking north with a huge grin, she hails a cab to TriBeCa. It’s a rare occasion for her not to walk, but running late for a meeting with one of her favorite clients demands a taxi escort. Seated in the backset with no air, Thessaly fans herself with an Arby’s flyer left on the seat while answering a call from Mason.

“Hi, Mason,” she says.

“Tess! Come to the Hamptons with me this weekend. It’ll be like our first summer in New York.”

“I can’t, Shelby’s in town.”

“How’s that kid doing? Is he a doctor yet?”

“Nope, a few more years.” Moving the phone away from her mouth, Thessaly snaps at the cabbie, “Houston.”

“Then how about dinner? I need to ask you something very important.”

“I have dinner plans tonight – can we meet for drinks?”

“If that’s all I can get, I’ll gladly accept.”

Enjoying the humbler side of Mason, Thessaly smiles. “Okay, how about Divinity? Seven o’clock?”

“Perfect. And Tess?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t wait to see you.”

“You saw me two nights ago!”