A Love Song for Ricki Wilde (48)

Her eyes twinkled, but all she offered was the slightest shrug.

“Let’s go,” she said, and before he could reply, she’d already swept past him to the street. He joined her, and the two headed down West 137th.

“So, what were you working on in there?” wondered Ezra. “It’s mesmerizing. Looks like a scene from a fairy tale.”

“I’m not really sure yet. But I’m calling it a flower shower,” she said, adjusting her bag. It was a mix of canvas and suede, accentuated with tough buckles and hardware. Ezra was certain she’d made it. Her creative detail was in every stitch.

“A flower shower!” repeated Ezra. “That’s so good.”

Ricki beamed. “Have you ever seen Disney’s Alice in Wonderland? It was my favorite movie as a kid. There’s a scene where animated Alice is dozing off in the grass on a bright summer day, singing about her imaginary world, and she’s surrounded by daisies. It’s right before she falls down the rabbit hole, and everything goes topsy-turvy. The only thing that’d make that scene more idyllic would be if she were drenched in a rain shower of flowers.” She pulled on her gloves. “It came to me in a dream.”

“You remember your dreams?”

“Oh, my dreams are vivid. And they linger.”

She looked at him. He looked back. An electric current buzzed between them, inescapable and palpable.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” he said, momentarily lost in her face. He couldn’t believe it had slipped out of his mouth. He cleared his throat, trying to gather himself. “Uh, will you sell it?”

“No, it’s just decoration for the shop. I don’t know, times are tough. People work hard. I want to create a place where folks can just escape. I’m selling a fantasy.”

Now, that sounded familiar. Where had Ezra heard that before? In a movie? Had he said it?

“I know it’s silly,” she went on. “It’s just flowers. But that’s what’s great about being a business owner: you can have silly ideas, and no one can tell you no.”

“Nothing silly about it,” he said. “‘It’s just flowers’ is the same as ‘it’s just music.’ Neither has to mean anything. But in the right hands? Skilled hands? It can mean everything.”

Ricki nodded. As they walked, he stole a glance at her. She chewed a bit on her bottom lip, lost in a private thought. The sun beamed onto her hair, reflecting glimmers of auburn. She was breathtaking. Suddenly, he forgot what he was so frightened of.

“Too bad it’s the last time we’re speaking,” she finally said. “You saw me work, but I’ll never get to watch you work. The little bit you played downstairs at Bar Exquise was a tease. I wanna hear the rest.”

“You want to see me play?”

“Of course I do. I’m curious.”

He shook his head, a playful gleam in his eye. “Nah.”

“Excuse me? Why?”

“Because I don’t do that. It’s cheap.” He gave her a slight grin. It was cocky as hell, and he knew it.

“Cheap ’cause you think it’ll make me easy.”

“Cheap ’cause I know it will.”

Ricki stopped walking and met the challenge in his eyes. Boldly, she took a step closer.

“I did like you watching me,” she said, her voice husky.

Ignoring every alarm going off in his brain, Ezra said, “What game are you playing?”

“The same one you are.”

“This isn’t a game. I’m not toying with you, Ricki. That’s why I’m here. I owe you the truth.”

“No, you are toying with me,” she said. “You have been since we met. And I just wanted you to feel what I feel.”

“How do you feel?”

She closed her eyes, her lashes fanning out over her flushed cheeks. When she finally gazed up at Ezra with a defenseless vulnerability, it sent him reeling.

“I feel besotted,” she whispered.

Ezra forced himself to stand in place. He knew that if he got closer, if he grazed her skin, touched her, kissed her, then he would never stop.

“Besotted,” he repeated, his voice twisted with inexpressible want. “Ricki. You didn’t know? I feel that, too.”

She stared at him, unblinking. And then a fiery rebellion flared in Ricki’s expression.

“Then, let’s make a gentleman’s agreement,” she said. “Whatever your big, nonnegotiable secret is, don’t tell me now. Tell me tonight. Let’s just have one day together to do whatever we want. And then you’ll tell me, and it’ll all be over.”

“But then at least we’ll have today…,” he said.

“Exactly,” she whispered. “Say yes.”

Hadn’t he said yes already?

He’d said yes every night as he gazed at her portrait before drifting into fitful sleep.

He’d said yes when he asked to see her today.

He’d said yes yesterday on the phone when he confessed that her red dress had scrambled his brain.

It was irresponsible and reckless. But Ezra had to say yes. And he continued to say yes all day long, until they were both drowning in unfathomable depths, in too deep.