Page 107 of Things I Overshared

“Do you want to stay in Manhattan?” he asks, only after I’ve finished chewing.

“Like, forever?”

“I suppose what I mean is, do you want to settle down back in Oklahoma? Eventually?”

“Huh.” I sit back in the padded wood chair. “I haven’t actually thought about that. I love New York so much, I couldn’t imagine moving home anytime soon. But if Skye and Matt moved home, or to Texas, I don’t know.”

He takes a sip of his wine and then, to my shock, asks another question. “Have they said they will?”

“Oh no, and I don’t know if I can imagine Skye leaving New York, not for years and years. So, as long as they’re there, I’d want to stay too. I just wouldn’t want to be in New York all by myself.” I don’t ask him what I want to ask, which is, will I be by myself? What are we? Where is this going? What happens when we’re back in the city? Instead, I just ask about him. “What about you? Are you set in New York forever?”

“I think so, yes.” He looks down and moves his folded napkin from his knee to the table.

“The thing I just can’t see is raising kids in Manhattan. I mean, I know people do it, but I see the schools, even the crazy-expensive private ones, are fenced-in concrete slabs, no grass, no trees. And like, what about neighborhoods, with front yards, you know? And women with babies, strollers on the subway—it seems like a drag. There’s a family in our building that has to lug their stroller up three flights of stairsevery day!”

“All that’s different when you have money.” He waves the waiter over and adds, “Which you do.”

Something twinges in my chest as he says it. There was a finality to it, not just to our discussion, but it wasn’t the open-ended feel the rest of the conversation had, as if we could’ve been talking about the two of us, and suddenly the future he was talking about was me, separate from him. I could be making all of it up in my mind, of course, but when I sense a shift in a conversation, I’m usually right.

I notice Emerson takes out a card to pay before I can grab the one we’ve been using, and it’s not a company card.

“What are you doing, Em? This dinner was insane!”

“This was a date, Angel. I’m not about to let our employer pay for it.” He has a proud sparkle in his eye that I’ve never seen, and it’s downright adorable. He speaks to the server in French for a heart-melting minute. “I have an idea, but I need you to be honest with me.” The twinkle is still in his eye, even though he’s grown serious.

“Okay?”

“Can you stomach the idea of another boat?”

“A sailboat?”

“No.”

“Then sure.”

He smirks. “Good. Come.”

We wander a few blocks to the Seine and board a river cruise boat. I squeal, and Emerson asks me if I’d already planned this as part of my sightseeing day in a couple days, but I hadn’t. I figured one boating excursion was enough; plus, our weeks are so full, I wanted to leave our few free evenings open. We go up to the top deck, and it’s . . . just . . . magical. Everything is twinkly and serene, the weather is ideal, the man next to me is ideal.

“Come on, then, get out your playlist,” he tells me after a little while of just standing behind me at the railing. I turn and look around, assuming my music would disturb the others on the boat with us. But there isn’t anyone on the boat with us, at least not up top.

I gape at him. “You . . . did . . . did you rent out this whole boat?”

He shrugs. “I don’t like crowds.”

“You don’t say.” I laugh, and he kisses my laughter, along the edges of my mouth, chuckling himself. I start my Paris playlist, and we have the most romantic hour that has ever been. Not only is he behind me with my perfectly curated music playing, but we pass Notre Dame, Pont des Arts, L’Assemblée Nationale, and the Eiffel Tower, all lit and sparkling. After we pass the Eiffel Tower, he takes my hand and dances with me, just like he did at the gala. My eyes tear up multiple times at the wonder of it all, here, with him.

I think that surely this is the night we’ll finally make love, after multiple real conversations and the best date of my life, but still, he says, “Not yet.” And while I’m the one who first said it, and he was more than ready on our last night in London, now it feels as if Emerson is the one keeping the distance between us.

I just can’t figure out why.

Chapter 33

Me: It’s sightseeing day, prepare yourselves!

I send a warning to my sisters even though none of them are up yet. I’m buzzing with excitement for all the things today: guided tours of the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, Versailles palace and gardens, the Catacombs, and another trip through the arts quarter. I may or may not be buzzing from yet another dreamlike morning with Emerson.

He always wakes up at an unholy hour, long before any alarms, and kills himself at the gym. Only after he’s worked out, returned, and showered does he wake me up, usually with featherlight kisses somewhere on my body. Then we explore each other to the point of ecstasy, sometimes both of us, but always me.