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He laughed, and when I left, we were both smiling.
* * *
I was the first one at the bar, which gave me the chance to look around. The walls were papier-mâchéd with old pages, and the black tabletops had quotes in white scrawled across them. The lighting fixtures were old and brass, the music low and relaxing. I would have expected the patrons to be cooler-than-thou, but I would have been wrong; it was an easy mix of old and young, bright-eyed and exhausted souls. I grabbed a rum and Coke and sat in a corner booth where I could watch everyone.
I saw Abe as soon as he walked in. It was impossible not to, since he was taller and broader than most of the guys, and his hair refused to ever lie perfectly flat. Everyone made way for him, not just because of his size, but because of the confidence he walked with, like he would carve a straight path out of stone, let alone human bodies.
It helped, of course, that he was famous and good-looking.
I reached up my arm and waved. It could have been my imagination that his face brightened on seeing me, but I didn’t really think so.
No one bothered him as he came toward me, save one or two familiar pats on the back and handshakes, which Abe returned with broad, easy grins and laughing words. It was clear he was a regular here, and adored out of uniform as much as in.
He stopped at the table before me, instead of dropping into the chair I had quickly cleared of my jacket for him. I tilted my head. “What?”
He ran his gaze over my short black dress with pairs of military-style buttons going up the center. “I’m not sure my memory’s caught up to time yet. ”
“I think that’s the compliment. ”
His mouth lifted in a wry half smile. “Oh, it’s a compliment, all right. ”
Unexpected heat rushed my cheeks. I hoped he couldn’t see it in the dimness. “Um. Thanks, then. ”
A guy in black and an apron stopped at the table. I didn’t think that in places like this, waiters usually came to the tables, but it didn’t surprise me that Abe created an exception. The guy landed his hand on Abe’s shoulder. “Abester! What can I get you? On the house, for yesterday. ”
I raised my brows in what was meant to by mockingly reprimanding, but I couldn’t keep the smile from teasing at my lips. “I see. Is that why you brought me here?”
For the first time, the guy glanced at me. He returned my smile. “Oh, shit, man, didn’t mean to unimpress your date. We actually charge him twice as much for everything. Very fancy establishment we’re running here. ”
Abe laughed and sent the guy off with our drink orders and a pizza request. When he turned back to me, he smiled apologetically. “Sorry. Guys here are great, though. I take everyone here. ”
I leaned forward. “So I’m not special then?”
He matched my posture, eyes bright. “Digging for compliments?”
I’d half-forgotten he had a mind like a steel trap. “Always. ”
He smiled, but it wasn’t as funny as usual. It was—serene, if that made sense. His dark eyes crinkled down at the corners, like they always had when he was happy. “You’re special. ”
There was too much sincerity in his voice, and I didn’t understand it, and it made me uncomfortable. I strove for levity to mask my nerves. “So are you, Mr. Rookie of the Year. ”
He leaned back with a grin, looking like he’d accomplished whatever he’d meant to. Mercifully, he glanced around the room and changed the subject. “It really is a great place, though. The guys and women who work here all come from shelters; they learn to cook, to manage, to bartend. It really gets a lot of them back on their feet. ”
Aha. It all made sense now. “And let me guess. You’re involved. ”
He looked back at me with a flash of surprise.
But it was obvious, really. “You fund it, you sponsor it, you volunteer your time here to help. I’m right, aren’t I?”
He couldn’t deny it, but he didn’t look like he wanted to admit it either. “So?”
The server came back with our drinks, chatted with Abe a few more minutes about yesterday’s game as I pulled on my standard rum and Coke and then left. Abe looked back at me.
I picked up my thread. “I know you, Abraham Krasner. ”
He straightened slowly. “What does that mean?”
I shook my head. “You take care of people. It’s what you do. It’s why you asked me here tonight. It’s why you’re part of this. You’re a protector. ”
He scowled at me. “Why do you make that sound like a bad thing?”
I felt loose and rhyme-y from the effects of my first drink, and my shrug had a little more bounce than usual. “It’s not. It’s just very. . . reassuring to know some things don’t change. ”
He didn’t look away. “Some things do. ”
“Do you remember when we first met? Your bar mitzvah. You danced with me when I didn’t know anyone. Second time we met? You made sure I felt comfortable at your house when my parents brought me over for dinner. All of middle and high school? You never let anything bad happen to me. You’re a good person, Abraham Krasner. ” Suddenly it seemed imperative that he knew that. “A really good person. ”
His eyes were dark, his mouth a flat line. “I broke your heart when you were nineteen. ”
Now it was my time to straighten, shocked sober. “Well, that’s not a very nice thing to bring up. ”
“It wasn’t a very nice thing to do. ”
I placed my hands in my lap. “I don’t really want to talk about that right now. ”
“I feel like I handled it badly—”
“Abe! It’s fine. It’s all fine. I was a teenager. You were—you were you. It’s all fine. ” I finished off my drink for succor. “I moved on. You moved on. We both literally moved—ironically,” I muttered, “to the same city. ”
The server came with our pizza.
For a moment, we sat there in charged silence, both pulling slices onto our paper plates. Abe fiddled with his beer for a moment, and then shot me a fast smile. “Is that why you didn’t wear red?”
I stilled. My hands were slow to follow and my glass banged across the table with an uneven crash. The noise reverberated through my eardrums. “Why did you say that?”
The color in his cheeks heightened and he looked unsure of what to do with his gaze. “You always used to wear red—I think because I’d said that one time. . . ”
I picked up my water, taking a long swallow and feeling it travel through my body. I could lie or be honest. “Yes. That’s why I didn’t wear red. ”
A smile lingered on his lips. “I know you too, you know. ”
I frowned in disbelief. “Do you. ”
“You were always the watcher. You were always running around in this great gaggle of girls—which was pretty terrifying, by the way—but out of all of them, you always watched. And you listened. Which is why you’re a reporter now, I suppose. ”
I shrugged. “I guess you can only watch and listen for so long before you need to speak. ”
We ate in silence a minute, but now it was comfortable. Abe polished off his first slice, and then met my eyes. I’d forgotten how good he was at always looking me in the eyes when he spoke. “I’m glad you moved to New York. ”