Page 30 of Center Ice
Of course, we manage to find parking right in front of the store—benefits of going after the work crowd has left the city—and Graham practically shrieks, “Mom, Drew’s in there! Do you think he came to see me?”
“I bet he did,” I say, giving him a smile in the rearview mirror as I unbuckle.
“Can I go in?”
I glance across the wide expanse of sidewalk between the curb and the store, and there’s almost no one around. “Sure, go ahead,” I say as I open my door and step out. He zooms out, slamming the car door behind him, and makes a run for the door to the store, which he’s barely able to pull open by himself. Through the large windows, I see him bouncing up and down in front of Drew, who looks nervously beyond him at the door.
When I walk in, Drew looks relieved. “I was worried you weren’t coming,” he says to me as I approach the table.
“Yeah, I just let my five-year-old run wild in the city by himself.”
“You donot,” Graham insists. “You don’t even let me cross the street without holding your hand!”
“Good,” Drew says definitively, and that has Graham’s eyes snapping back to him. “I grew up in Boston too, and cities aren’t safe places for kids to run around by themselves. So make sure you’re always with your mom or a trusted adult, okay?”
Graham nods, then looks up at me. “Is Drew a trusted adult?”
“I don’t know,” I say, eyeing Drew. He bites his lower lip like he’s trying not to smile and shakes his head at me—he thinks I’m teasing him, and in a way, I am. But I’m also serious. “I think we should probably get to know him better before we decide.”
Next to me, Graham nods like I’ve said the wisest thing in the world. “Are those cookies?” he asks as he eyes the large box sitting on the table in front of Drew.
“Sure are. I thought maybe we could take them and eat outside since it’s such a nice night. Copley Square?” he asks me.
“For a few minutes. It’s getting close to bedtime.”
Drew glances at his watch. “Alright, we’ll take a quick walk down there, eat a cookie, and then get you home in time for bed.”
I know he doesn’t mean he’s coming home with us, but it half-way sounds like that’s his intention. And I don’t hate that idea.
Yes, you do. It’s a terrible idea.
My mind is at war with itself, reminding me why I can’t be interested in Drew, while simultaneously reminding me that there’s a distinct possibility he might be around more often if this all goes well. Which means I’m going to have to keep my fucking hormones at bay so I don’t screw this up for Graham.
“Uhh, you ready?” Drew’s looking at me like I’m a bit deranged, which is when I realize that he and Graham are readyto go, and I’m standing like a statue blocking their path to the door.
I turn to head out, ushering Graham in front of me, and there’s Drew’s hand again, on the small of my back, just like the other night. This time, he doesn’t drop it when we get outside. Instead, his palm lies flat against my spine and his fingertips press into my sweater like five points of contact anchoring him to me.
As we walk, he traces his thumb along a muscle in my lower back and a chill ricochets up my spine as my body reacts. It’s probably just because I’m getting my period soon, so my lower back is already stiff and sensitive. But a quick glance sideways tells me that he’s noticed, and I don’t want him to get the wrong idea, so I look down, holding out my hand to Graham, who takes it and falls into step with us.
We pass the Public Library and cross the street to where the grassy square, dotted with trees and benches, spreads out before us. At the far end of the grass, Trinity Church stands in all its Romanesque Revival glory. This US National Historic Landmark, with its heavy arches and huge towers built of granite and brownstone, spawned my love affair with architecture. I spent countless hours here as a teenager, in the shadow of the massive, mirrored Hancock Tower, sketching this building and drawing up my own designs.
“This is my mom’s favorite building,” Graham says as Drew sits on a park bench and opens the box of cookies in his lap.
“Is that so?” He hands Graham an M&M cookie, then glances up at me through his impossibly long lashes. The same ones that line Graham’s eyes.
I nod as I sit down next to him.
His voice softens as he asks, “What do you love about it?”
The light is fading as sunset approaches, so when Graham hops up on the ledge lining the fountain across from us, I call out, “Be careful, please!”
Graham doesn’t say anything, just keeps walking cautiously along the ledge as if his actions are his response.
“So? What is it that you love about Trinity?”
“How much time do you have?”
“For you, I’ve got all night.”
