Gideon, however, is disgustingly good.
As he does yetanotherspin, I glare at him.
“You’ve had lessons.” I say it like I’m accusing him of murder. But when I plant my hands on my hips, I stumble and have to shoot my arms out for balance.
He only shrugs and skates backward at my side, his hands clasped behind him. “My mom once dreamed of her son being an Olympic athlete. Alas, I was forced to disappoint her.”
“Just a lowly lawyer,” I joke. “How embarrassing.”
He smirks. “Precisely.”
But when I wobble again, he takes my hand and doesn’t let go until it’s time to leave.
I’d be fine taking the subway from the park to Gideon’s apartment, but after he notices me wincing when I put my boots on, he insists on hailing a taxi. While we’re in the car, he places an order at a French bistro so we won’t have to wait long for lunch to arrive.
Gideon lives in a high-rise in Chelsea overlooking the Hudson River. He nods to the uniformed doorman when we enter, and we ride the elevator to one of the topmost floors.
His apartment is lavish, with floor-to-ceiling windows, a fireplace in the living room, and expensive-looking leather and chrome furniture. The space was clearly decorated by a professional—or, perhaps, by his mother—but the colorful rugs covering the hardwood floors prevent it from feeling cold and impersonal.
While he’s in the bathroom, I peruse his bookshelf. There are big hardcovers about art and architecture, and a collection of titles about New York City history. I examine the street photography lining the walls, and I’m suddenly hit witha memory of a teenage Gideon Noble with a camera slung around his neck. His hair was blonder, his body leaner, and—I’d forgotten this—his ears were pierced, the small diamond studs softening the sharp beauty of his face.
“You were on the yearbook committee,” I say when he comes back into the living room.
“I was one of the photographers.”
“Are any of these yours?” I gesture to the walls.
He nods, coming over to join me. “These.” He points to a row of three smaller photos. They’re in black and white, and the quality is a little grainy, but each shows a crowd of people somewhere in New York. Most are blurred out, faces down, hurrying about their lives. But in the center of each photo, still and crisply in focus, is a single person looking up. Not at the camera. Not at their phones. It’s unclear what caught their attention, only that, in each of these instances, someone stopped long enough to be captured by the camera. Or, more accurately, by Gideon’s eye.
I feel strangely jealous of these three random people who stood out to him in a crowd.
Next to me, Gideon speaks, unprompted. “I like art that makes you feel something without telling you what to feel.”
I exhale, unsure how to reply. Because the truth is, I’m feeling something right now, and it’s not entirely welcome.
Swallowing it down, I cast about for something that doesn’t require any feeling at all. My eyes settle on his sleek leather couch, and I murmur, “Archie would absolutely demolish that sofa.”
Gideon winces. “I can only imagine.”
His phone buzzes, notifying us that our food is on the way up, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
We sit at his dining table, where I read aloud an article about nipple clamps for beginners. The tone of the piece is cheeky, and we joke and send flirtatious looks at each other while we eat.
I’m munching on deliciously salty pommes frites when a thought occurs to me.
“Communication,” I say.
His brows furrow in confusion as he chews, so I explain.
“Regardless of best practices, communication is going to be key with some of these prompts. Especially since I’m a Scorpio and you’re a Capricorn.”
He blinks. “Excuse me, who are you and what have you done with Valencia Torres?”
I throw a fry at him. “Shut up.”
“No, I’m serious. You’re the last person I’d expect to bring up zodiac signs. Didn’t you once say horoscopes are, and I quote, ‘New Age pseudointellectual bullshit’?”
“That was in seventh grade! And Eva Parker was being obnoxious. If I heard ‘That’s because you’re a Scorpio’ one more time, I was going to get expelled.”
