Page 52 of The Ruin
“Say it again,” she purrs, eyeing me over the rim of the glass.
“I love you.” There’s no need to withhold it from her.
She smiles. “I love you, too.”
And so, we’ve becomethatcouple. The kind that professes their undying love while feeding each other cake in bed.
But truthfully?
I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Brooklyn
Chapter 22
It’s a weekday afternoon, and I’m sitting across from Emzee at a tiny table outside a famous Hyde Park deli that’s overrun with locals and tourists alike. After standing in line for over twenty minutes, we’re finally reaping our reward: a massive Italian beef sandwich we’re sharing under the shade of a huge umbrella. The famous special is served on a soft house-made roll, with piles of thinly sliced meat smothered in giardiniera, roasted peppers, and au jus. Emzee insisted we get Cherry Cokes and a side of cucumber salad to go with it, and I’m glad I agreed.
“This is literal heaven,” I mumble around a mouthful of, well, heaven.
“Told you,” she says, her mouth equally stuffed and her words equally garbled. After washing down her bite with a slug of soda, she sighs happily and looks around. “I love this neighborhood. The barrel-fronted brownstones, the parks, the big old trees.”
“Sorry Tori has to miss it,” I say, snapping a few photos with my phone to send to her.
“The pregnancy is really taking its toll,” Emzee admits. “I don’t think she’s kept a full meal down in weeks. The doctor has her on some anti-nausea meds, but it’s still pretty tough.”
“Poor thing. Hopefully the morning sickness will be over soon, though.”
“Yeah.” Emzee clears her throat and avoids looking at me as she asks, “So, uh, do you want to take a picture of me with my sandwich?” She takes a big bite of cucumber salad and raises her eyebrows in a failed attempt to look innocent.
“Excuse me?” I tease. “The ever-camera-shy photographer herself is asking little oldmeto take her photo with a deli sandwich? Sounds suspicious.”
“You take great photos, Brooklyn,” she says defensively. “And your social media posts are always on point. I just want something fun to post on mine, that’s all.”
“Ohreally…” I take a long sip of Cherry Coke, narrowing my eyes at her.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” she asks after dabbing her mouth with a napkin.“Will you just do it already?”
I grin. “What’s his name?”
“What? It’s not like that!” Her cheeks grow pink and I know I’ve got her.
“Ha!” I boast with enthusiasm. “You’re totally crushing on someone! Is he an artist too?”
“You’re being stupid. And I don’t date other artists anymore. I’ve learned my lesson.”
She takes another big bite of the sandwich, but I know I’m right. This is totally about a guy. Maybe it’s a good thing we ended up here today, just the two of us. It means I’ll finally have a chance to really bond with Emzee, who’s usually pretty quiet about her own personal life and more than happy to let Tori and me dominate the conversation.
Maybe I should try to take advantage of this time with Em and use it to subtly interrogate her about this mysterious crush of hers.
Leaning back, I frame the photo so the deli sign is behind Emzee’s shoulder, then hastily clear away the mess of napkins and utensils and arrange the food more prettily on the table.
“Okay,” I tell her, “now pick up your soda like you were about to take a sip from the straw, but then you started laughing instead. No, wait!”
I tug my designer sunglasses off and place them gently on the top of her head.
“How do I look?” she asks.
“Panicked,” I answer. “You need to think happy thoughts. Like the first time Munchkin met Stefan and started humping his leg in front of his date.”
