Page 86 of What Happens at Nightfall

Adam looked at her hopefully. “Would you like it to be a date? And stuff?”

“I think that would depend on the stuff,” Jess said seriously.

Adam gave a shout of laughter. “All warranties and disclaimers taken as given. Scroll down for reviews.”

“That wasn’t what I meant!”

“What do you think I meant?” asked Adam innocently, but his eyes were dancing.

Jess bumped him with her shoulder. “Enough, you.”

Adam put his hand beneath her elbow. “Can I see you home? Never mind. Let me rephrase that. I’ll see you home.”

“I’m in better shape than you are,” Jess retorted, leaning into him. It seemed only natural for his arm to come around her as they swayed out into the urine-scented night, beneath the overhang that used to be part of a taxi drive, but was now just a place for people to smoke pot. “All right. You can see me home, but only so I can pour some water into you before I send you home.”

“Angel of mercy,” said Adam, smiling down at her.

Jess wasn’t sure exactly when the smile faded, became something focused, intent. The sounds of the city receded: The taxis and panhandlers, the tipsy twentysomethings stumbling down the steps of the Yale Club, all seemed very far away.

They stood in the middle of Vanderbilt Avenue Plaza, the facade of One Vanderbilt glittering in front of them, icy blue lights sparkling on the trees, like something out of a movie. Jess could feel the world revolving around them, as if they were in the center of a series of concentric circles. Or maybe that was just the effects of the punch.

Jess closed her eyes, giving herself up to the dizziness, knowing she wouldn’t fall because Adam’s arms were around her, holding her. She rose to her tiptoes, locking her arms around his neck, as the world spun faster and faster. There was music somewhere, beautiful music, violins even. And Adam. Kissing her like he never wanted to let her go. Like she was precious and special and anything but ordinary.

“Excuse me.” A pissed-off woman with a wheelie suitcase pushed past them and Jess came down hard on her heels with a thump.

The busker with the violin scooted sideways, pushing her violin case with her.

They stood where they were, Adam’s hands on her forearms, holding her steady. His hair wasn’t neatly brushed anymore. It flopped down over his brow. There was a flush around his lips—the remains, Jess realized, of her black honey lip gloss—and the collar of his shirt was decidedly askew.

“Hi,” said Adam.

“Hi,” said Jess.

He cocked a brow at her, looking at her questioningly. “I believe you promised me some water?”

“That’s not a euphemism,” said Jess unsteadily.

“Of course it’s not,” Adam said, and kissed her again.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The city had never been so beautiful.

Adam didn’t usually find pavement lovely. He craved green spaces. But tonight even the concrete seemed to shimmer. The sad trees in their iron cages stretched out their branches overhead, their leaves whispering like a benediction.

They held hands as they walked, bumping into each other as they wobbled. Jess’s hair brushed Adam’s chin as they half walked, half ran across Fifty-Seventh Street, dodging the turning cars.

“How high are those heels you’re wearing?” he asked, as they scurried breathlessly through the door the doorman was holding open for them.

Jess lifted a foot to display a stiletto heel attached to a black boot. Adam’s mouth went dry.

“Wow,” he said.

Jess jabbed the elevator button. “They’re not so bad once you get the hang of walking in them.”

“I wasn’t talking about the boot,” he said.

The elevator dinged at that inconvenient moment, other people pushing in with them, so Adam had to content himself with holding Jess’s hand until the doors opened on 38 and spilled them out into the beige blandness of the hallway, with its rows of identical black doors.