“There’s a cool place if you want to walk up near the South Street Seaport,” Maddie says.
Normally, one of the great things about being friends with Maddie is that she is always up for trying new experiences and can always suggest cool places to go.But right now, she’s avoiding the topic.
I turn and face her, reaching out to hold her other hand as well.“Really, though, Maddie.Are you taking his threats seriously?”
Her gaze meets mine.“I’m taking it seriously.I had extra jujitsu practice sessions before I agreed to meet him here, and I also talked to our paper’s security about the best protocol.And I brought you.This also isn’t my first time experiencing this.You have to trust me.”
“Okay,” I say.“I’m out of line.”
“No, I appreciate your concern.”She squeezes my hand.“I’m really touched that you came along and that you’re worried.”
I nod.“I’m relieved you’ve talked to your paper’s security.”She knows what she’s doing.“So, by ‘cool,’ you mean the opposite of the last bar, right?”
“By cool, I mean a family-run Neapolitan pizza place by Pier 17 that a fellow reporter recommended.”
“I’m in.”
As we enter, we’re welcomed warmly, and we are shown to a table in a brick-walled nook.The floor of dark-blue hexagon tiles adds to the feeling of comfort and cheer.It’s clean and crowded with waiters making their way between the tables carefully carrying large wooden paddles with wood-fired pizza.I’m starving.
“This is a much more public place.We should act like we’re dating,” I say.“Can I hold your hand across the table?”
“Thou’st may,” Maddie says.
“Thou’st are the one who did set these courtship rules,” I say.“Your wish is merely my command.”
As we study the menu, Maddie suggests we share the dishes so we look “lovey-dovey.”
I narrow my eyes at her.“Is it because you can’t decide and want to try mine too?”
She shakes her head.“Where is your sense of romance?”
I lean my head on my hand and stare into Maddie’s eyes.She blushes and averts her gaze.
“Okay, yes, I can’t decide,” Maddie says.
We narrow down our choices and place our order.The waitress fills our glasses with water.Another good thing about dating Maddie is that we’re both in the same budget range—the tap water range.
“That was helpful, though,” Maddie says.
“Do you think it’s Galliano?”I ask.“He definitely implied it was Galliano behind this.”
“He did.”Maddie leans closer to the table and flutters her lashes at me.“And so, I think it’s not.It’s too obvious.I shouldn’t have said that, though.”
“Your collar is slightly crooked,” I say.“May I?”
“Yes,” she says.
I reach out to straighten the collar on her jacket as we maintain eye contact.It’s like I’m not even breathing.She raises an eyebrow.As I pull my hand back, she runs her hand through my hair.I feel like a cat that wants to lean into her hand and butt against it, asking for more.She blushes again.
“This is going to get messy if we eat the pizza with our hands,” she says.
“Let’s ask for cutlery,” I say.
She laughs.
We are just friends.We should revert to safer terrain.
The waitress serves us the platter of bruschetta that we ordered, and we each take one.It’s very good.
