Manhattan Cinderella Page 8

  “So.” He runs his fingers through his hair, and I notice a glow in his cheeks.

  Maybe he’s as uncomfortable as me?

  “So,” I repeat as I wish away the tension from my body.

  Cole shoots me a questioning look. “That was—”

  “Nothing,” I say with haste. “Absolutely nothing. Sorry I did that. I was happy you agreed to my request, and I kind of overreacted.”

  “No, really. It’s fine.”

  Fine?

  I clear my throat, tell myself, “I told you so.” It might be a big deal to me, but for a good-looking musician like Cole, it must be all in a day’s work.

  I refocus on the prize. “It would be really great if you could introduce me to Rex. Thank you so much.”

  “Sure.” He searches my face. Looking for what, I don’t quite know.

  I shift my weight and direct my attention to a couple out walking their pooch. “Look at that dog. It’s so sweet.” It’s more like an arthritic rat on a string with weird bulging eyes than sweet, but heck, it’s all I’ve got right now.

  Cole’s forehead creases as he looks from the poor excuse for a dog back to me. “Sorry, what?”

  “Nothing. We should go see something.” I clap my hands. “Let’s keep this Manhattan tour moving, shall we? So much to see.” I land on an idea. “I’ve got it. I want to show you something not far from here. It’s about a five-minute meander.”

  Meander? Who am I suddenly, Charles Dickens?

  “Well, I do like me a good meander.”

  As our gazes lock, I know he’s teasing me, but part of me likes it. I should look away. I know I should look away.

  Gabby, look away!

  I don’t.

  After a beat, he asks, “Shall we take that meander?”

  I give myself a mental shake-up. I’ve drawn a line with this guy, and I’ve done a lousy job of keeping on the right side of it so far. Lift your game, Gabby. “Of course. Yes. Let’s go.”

  We follow a path, winding our way further through the park.

  After a while, he breaks the awkward silence between us. “You know this place pretty well, huh?”

  “It’s been my backyard since I was a little kid.”

  “Big backyard.”

  “Did you know Central Park is the most visited urban park in the country?”

  He shakes his head.

  “There are some twenty-five million visitors that come here per year. Fact.”

  Why exactly am I telling him this?

  “Well, that is interesting. Tell me, are they mostly domestic visitors or are they more international?”

  “Oh, I—” My attention snaps to him. If I wonder if he’s teasing me again, the glint in his eyes gives me my answer. The tension diffused—well, some of it—I nudge his arm with my elbow. “Are you telling me you’re not interested in my statistics? I’m trying to be a good tour guide for you, offer you key facts and figures about this city you’re visiting.”

  “Oh, no. They’re fascinating. Truly. Your talents are wasted working for the Pop Princesses. You should definitely work for the government.”

  I shake my head, a laugh escaping me. “Oh, I do work for the government. I’m undercover. Working on a top-secret case. National security and all that.” I tap the side of my nose.

  “And here I was thinking you were just a damsel who’d lost her shoe in a cab.”

  “I am many things, Tennessee. Many things.”

  “Let’s see what we’ve got. I’m starting a dossier on you, you see. What we know so far is you work for the government, you’re a shoe-losing damsel,” he starts to count them off on his fingers, “you’re a talented singer, a band assistant, and a Manhattan tour guide who knows her stats about Central Park. Did I miss anything?”

  Like abandoned daughter and treated-as-a-slave-by-my-horrendous-stepmonster-and-her-spawn? “Nope. That about sums me up. I’m clearly not as interesting as I’d like to think I am.”

  “I’m not so sure,” he says.

  A sensation of warmth spreads through me.

  “I bet there’s a whole lot more to know about you.”

  Things I don’t want a guy like Cole to know.

  I toss my ponytail. “Not really. I’m a brash New Yorker, remember? What you see is what you get. Hey, look over here.” I quicken my pace when I spot what I’m looking for. “This is what I want to show you.”

  We stop by a sculpture, my favorite in all of Central Park. It’s a statue of a man sitting on a slab of stone, an open book on one knee. He’s leaning toward a little duck, who’s looking up at him from the ground.

  “Who is it supposed to be?” Cole asks.

  “It’s Hans Christian Andersen. You know, he wrote all those fairy tales?” He nods. “He’s reading a story to a duck.”

  “Well, I guess a duck is as good an audience as any.”

  “Don’t tell me you read to animals back on the farm in Tennessee?”

  He shakes his head as he lets out a laugh. “Despite what you’ve assumed about me, Gabriella, I grew up in a town.”

  “You know that name irks me.”

  “Why, yes I have noticed that, Gabriella.” There’s that flirtatious glint in his eye once more, which makes my insides turn to goo.

  “What’s Cole short for?”

  “Nothing. I’m just plain Cole.”

  There’s one thing I know for sure, there’s nothing “plain” about Cole Grant. “Not Colence? Colby? Coleen?”

  His laugh is low and delicious. “I’m pretty sure ‘Colence’ is not a word in the English language, and Coleen is definitely a woman’s name.”

  “So, I have to call you Cole, even when you call me Gabriella?”

  “How about I just call you Gabby?”

  “Deal.”

  “When I’m not calling you Kermit, of course.”

  I roll my eyes, a gorgeous warmth filling me up.

  “Now, about this idea you’ve got stuck in your head about me being a farmer. My grandpop has a horse. That’s it. No pigs, no cows, no nothing else. Well, unless you count the cat, but even a city girl like you would know you don’t farm cats. One horse. Got it?”

  “Got it.” I smile at him. “Is that the grandpop who likes to feed it kale?”

  “Yeah. He loves that horse of his. My granny did, too.” He looks down. The atmosphere shifts. “She, ah, passed away. Recently, actually.”

  My belly twists. Great job, Gabby. “I’m sorry. You were close.”

  I can see the pain in his eyes when he looks back at me. “She was loving and kind, and messed up, too.”

  “We’re all messed up.”

  “I guess. Her funeral was yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” My heart squeezes as my eyes widen. “Oh, that’s awful. Are you okay?”

  He nods. It’s not convincing in the least. “I am, or, I will be.”

  I place my hand on his arm. I know all too well what he’s going through and my heart aches for him. “I bet you’ve been told this already, but it’ll take time. It’s tough, much tougher than you ever imagined it would be.”

  “Did you lose one of your grandparents, too?”

  I shake my head. The pain of her loss is indescribable, even now, four years later. It fills me, floods me, makes me feel like I could drown in sorrow every single time I think of her. “It was my mom.”

  “Gabby.” His warm hand covers mine, still pressed to his arm. It’s reassuring and kind, and it makes me want to bury my head in his chest and let my deep, unrelenting desolation out.

  Instead, I swallow down the rising lump in my throat. I raise my chin and will myself not to allow the depth of my sorrow to show. I may have a sense of kinship with Cole right now, but opening myself up to him any further is not something I can do.

  “I’ve had time to get used to it,” I say. “You’re still going through it. It’s so awful you had to leave so soon after the funeral, too.”

  His jaw tightens and he grips my hand. “It cou
ldn’t be helped.”

  “Demanding Rex Randall, superstar, I bet.”

  “Yeah. Something like that.” He gives a curt nod and pulls his hand away. “I do have one question.”

  Awkward, I remove mine from his arm. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “Isn’t reading to a duck a bit on the crazy side of the equation?”

  Topic closed.

  I guess it’s too fresh, too raw.

  I feign indignation. “It most certainly is not. Well, not if you’re Hans Christian Andersen, anyway.” I squat down on the ground next to the duck and stroke its cold, hard head. “My favorite story when I was a girl was The Little Mermaid. My dad used to read it to me at night before I’d go to sleep. I’d imagine I was that mermaid who would give up her life in the sea to become human and win her prince.”

  “Ariel.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’d make a beautiful Ariel.”

  We share another one of those heated looks we’re quickly becoming good at, only this time, there’s a metallic duck positioned between us. Who knew such a little thing could help ward off sexy men from Hamilton, Tennessee?

  “You don’t look like a Little Mermaid fan to me,” I say.

  “I’ve got a sort-of niece who loves Ariel.”

  I straighten up, not moving from behind that metal bird. “What’s a sort-of niece?”

  “She’s my cousin’s daughter. I’m not exactly sure the official title, but her kids, Gracie and Liam, call me Uncle Cole. And man, does Gracie love Ariel. She’s blonde like her mom, Avery, but she wants long, red hair. Just like Ariel.”

  I take my ponytail in my hand. “I can relate.”

  “But your hair is gorgeous. I bet you look incredible with it loose.”

  I smooth my hair against my head and cast my eyes down. Why does he have to go saying something like that?

  “I made you uncomfortable.”

  “No, I liked it.” I’m embarrassed to hear my voice is almost breathless. I clear my throat. “I mean, what girl doesn’t like to get a compliment about her hair, right?”

  “Right.” His smile draws me in.

  I try to fight it, but when he smiles like that, it feels like, well, I guess it feels like home. There’s no other way to describe it. But it’s a home with no Sylvia, no hideous spawn, no need for me to stick around to protect Cece. Immediately, I think of my mom and my heart pangs.

  “You said this was your backyard when you were a kid. Are you from around here?”

  “I live thatta ways.” I point over across the pond toward bustling 5th Avenue. I glance at my watch. “Hey, I’ve got to go do that thing.”

  He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and checks the screen. “No text. Well, not from Rex’s people, anyway.”

  “Too-Smooth hasn’t sent you any selfies?”

  He cocks his head. “Too-Smooth?”

  “The guy dressed in black, who thinks he’s it? Came to get you after we, ah, met. The guy with the top-knot.”

  “Oh, you mean Man Bun.”

  I laugh. “That’s the one.”

  “No messages from him. Nashville’s his name, not where he’s from. Don’t get that wrong. He doesn’t like it.”

  “Good to know.” I bite back a smile, enjoying the ease of our interaction, and the fact we’ve moved on from the gut-wrenching loss of our loved ones.

  “Where are we off to now, tour guide?”

  “I’m not sure where you’re going, but I’m going to 74th and 3rd to collect my kid sister from school.”

  “Hold up. Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that showing me a statue of some dude reading a book to a bird is the sum total of your tour guiding for the day? I think I want my money back.” He sticks his hand out in my direction, palm up.

  “I did it pro bono. It’s all part of my ‘help-a-hick’ program.”

  “I’m a hick now, am I? You sure know how to make a guy feel good.”

  I laugh at the expression on his face. Talking with Cole is easy, fun. Despite the risk and that line I supposedly drew, I don’t want my time with him to end. I don’t want to have to go back to my reality. “Look, since you haven’t received that all-important text, I guess you could tag along.”

  “Very generous of you.”

  “I’m an extremely generous person. You’ll learn that about me,” I jest.

  As we walk around the lake, I spy at him out of the corner of my eye. He wants to spend time with me, and, if I were completely honest with myself, he’s not at all like the other self-satisfied, total-player musicians I’ve met before. He’s sweet and funny and vulnerable after the recent loss of his grandma. Maybe kissing him back there wouldn’t have been such a bad idea after all?

  What am I thinking? It would have been a terrible idea.

  “Okay, your turn,” I say.

  “My turn to what?”

  “I’ve told you about my favorite fairy tale and my mermaid fantasies. It’s your turn now.”

  “I wasn’t that big on mermaids when I was a kid, although I think they’re pretty sexy with their long hair and half nakedness now.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “I hope you’re not talking about Ariel here. And I sincerely hope you’re not one of those total weirdos who gets off on female cartoon characters.”

  “First you accuse me of being a crossdresser, and now you think I get off on watching cartoons?”

  I raise my hands. “As I said, Tennessee, no judgment here.”

  “Judge all you like. I was talking about Daryl Hannah. Anyway, I was more of a GI Joe kinda kid, the Power Rangers, that kind of thing. Oh, and those Beethoven movies, remember them?” I nod. “I always wanted one of those dogs.”

  “A St. Bernard? They’re freaking huge.”

  He shrugs. “I figured the bigger the dog, the more to love.”

  “The more poop to clean up, more like.” I picture Cole as a kid, and I smile to myself. “Tell me about you. What’s your story?”

  “There’s not much to tell. I’m a pretty regular guy. Grew up in a small town, went to school, had friends—”

  “Not Elijah Johnson, though.” I recall the name of the boy he hated to play baseball with.

  “Good to see you were paying attention, Gabby. You go straight to the top of the class.”

  “Where I’m destined to be.”

  He chuckles. “A bit of a type-A personality, are you? High achiever? Straight-A student?”

  “Me? No. I was a ‘Cs get degrees’ kind of girl.”

  “What did you graduate in?”

  “Oh, I didn’t.” We reach the edge of the park. “We need to cross. It’s about four blocks that way.” I point across 5th Avenue.

  “You didn’t go to college or you didn’t graduate?” he asks.

  “I didn’t graduate. I only had a few papers to finish, though, so I guess I could go back. Not that I want to. I’m done with it.”

  “What happened?”

  Waiting at the crosswalk, I note the concern in his eyes. It’s endearing, and I feel I owe him more. “I was really only going because my dad expected it of me. He runs a property development business here in the city, and he wants me to take it over someday.”

  “Which isn’t what you want to do.”

  I shake my head. “Music is going to be my career. Performing, following my passion.”

  “So, you want to be famous?”

  “Successful. Don’t you?” The light changes and we cross the road.

  “I’m happy as I am. I don’t go in for that fame thing. It’s all an illusion, you know.”

  “But—” I bite my lip. Why is he performing with the legendary Rex Randall next Saturday if he’s not interested in success and fame? I would kill for that opportunity. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because it’s the truth. Read any biography, watch any documentary of someone famous, and you’ll see the same thing: fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. More than that, it’ll probably ruin your l
ife. Look at Marilyn Monroe, Whitney Houston—”

  “Okay, so you’re anti-fame. I get it. But not everyone ends up like them. Look at Rex Randall.”

  “He’s staging a comeback after a series of personal disasters.”

  “Drug addiction and sex scandals aren’t your thing?” I shoot him a teasing smile.

  He shakes his head. “Not so much.”

  We dodge a group of teenagers in matching uniforms, and I know we’re almost at Cece’s school. “On a scale of one to Rex in the music world, how well known are you?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

  “Oh, come on. I bet you have loads of fans.”

  “I don’t have fans.”

  “You play for an audience, you look like—” I run my eyes over his athletic body, back up to his handsome face. “—like that. You’ll have fans. Believe me.”

  “Nope.”

  “Give me your phone.”

  “Again? I love it when you’re bossy.” He flashes the smile that makes my insides turn to mush as he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans. “What are you going to do with it this time? See if it’ll survive being thrown into New York traffic?”

  “Just look something up.” I take it from him and note that it’s locked. “Unlock, please.”

  He does as I ask. “You won’t find anything on me.”

  I pull up a browser, type in “Cole Grant,” and grin when I find what I’m looking for. It’s the YouTube video of him performing at a bar. There are a bunch of likes and comments. “See? That’s thousands of likes, right there.”

  “I have no idea who those people are. I’m not even on social media.”

  “Why not?” I don’t think I’ve met anyone who’s not on social media.

  “Everyone I want to know anything about lives within a five-mile radius of my house. If they have something to say to me, they can come find me.”

  “Let me guess, you mosey on over to them on your horse, right?”

  He nudges my arm with his hand. He comes to a stop on the sidewalk. His face is bright, his lips curved into a sexy smile. “I’m really glad I met you. Today’s been, well, an interesting day. Hanging out with you has made it bearable.”

  “Bearable, huh? High praise indeed.” My tone is flippant, but my heart is thudding hard as we share another one of those looks. His phone vibrates in my hand, making me jump back. The screen reads “Mom.” There’s a picture of an attractive woman with the same sandy blonde hair as Cole’s. I hand him his phone back. “Mommy’s calling,” I tease.