14. Anna

CHAPTER 14

ANNA

F or a second as we walked out of the door, I thought we were about to hold hands. There was something in the way Joel looked at me, a certain glimmer that seemed to say that he really wanted to go out into the world, not just for the sake of it, but with me.

"Cold out," he says, breathing a cloud of steam into the air.

"I'm surprised you can feel it."

"My nose isn't covered. Or my fingers."

Is he teasing me on purpose? Testing the waters to see how I'll react? Or is this just baseline for him? He sees a girl, he flirts with her. Typical. I decide to play it cool. "Should have brought gloves then."

It's probably my imagination, but he wilts a little when I don't take the hand-holding bait. He shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. "Boom. What do you wanna do?"

I shrug in reply. "Usually, I like to go to that little café on Seventeenth Street — Broken Cauldrons. Do you know it?"

He shakes his head and I wince. He's clearly not a little café kind of guy. "It's pretty popular, anyway," I say, deflecting my own disappointment. "So we should probably avoid it."

"Another time," he says to be polite. "You're right, we should avoid the crowds."

"Yeah, the crowded Olympus City streets on a Thursday lunchtime."

I'm being facetious, of course. It may be less busy than on a Saturday afternoon, but there are still people everywhere. As soon as we stepped off the subway, we were faced with a swarming mass of people, all wrapped up like us in colorful coats and warm boots, rushing around as they heading to some destination unknown.

Joel was nervous on the subway to be in close proximity to people who might stare at him, but we got on the blue line which is never that full anyway and managed to get on an almost totally empty car. It did take us way north though, somewhere I hardly ever go. We jumped off on Albion Street Corner just because we could, and now we're roaming aimlessly.

"You never know where journalists are lurking," he whispers loudly, leaning in like he's sharing a conspiracy.

"I don't think they're lurking around here, somehow. And I don't think they'll find you looking like an escaped elf."

A grin splits across his face and that stupid urge to hold his hand bubbles up inside me again. I don't know what it is about the faded rainbow beanie and old blue coat that makes me want to be close to him. I don't know when I stopped seeing him as Joel Lockhart and instead started enjoying his company for real.

We turn a corner and gray buildings rise and loom over us. This city is so gross when it's cold and winter. I grew up here, so I don't think I could cope with a California-style winter, but clouds like this make me long for the sun.

"Wait," I say. We screech to a halt and he looks at me expectantly. "This is Twenty-Fourth Avenue, which means…"

I whip out my phone to double check something on the map. Joel keeps staring at me, waiting for the reveal. "Yeah, I'm right!"

"About…?"

"There's this great place about five minutes from here, they serve the best gelato you will ever have in your life."

"Ice cream?" He frowns, dubious about the idea. "It's like fifty out here right now and you want to get colder?"

"Not ice cream, gelato."

"Same thing."

I can't tell if he's winding me up. The smug smirk is inscrutable. "It's not, but whatever. They do awesome hot chocolates too. Plus, it's not exactly going to be busy. Most people don't want a cold dessert in the middle of winter."

Joel hums, considering. If he says no to this, then I'm all out of ideas. "Okay. But you'd better be right about this."

"Trust me," I say and head off down the street. If we were a couple, I'd take his hand and lead the way.

But we're not, so I don't even know why I'm thinking like this.

We don't say too much as we walk, quickly weaving through all the people who come at us like they're our video game enemies. We've kind of exhausted small talk. Being trapped in the same three rooms as someone for days will do that.

The quiet is kind of nice, though. Despite the cold and the gray, it's not a bad day out and it is really good to get some fresh air. It's just nice to be out of the house, moving my legs instead of atrophying gently away.

"What flavors are there?" Joel asks as we get close, like he's sensed it without knowing.

"All the usual ones: caramel crunch, peanut butter cup, mint, coffee, raspberry. I really like the black cherry one."

"Ew," he says, sticking his tongue out. "Fruit ice cream shouldn't be allowed."

"It's not ice cream!" I say, bumping my shoulder into him and rebounding off his arm.

"What's the difference, then?"

I open my mouth and shut it again, floundering because I actually don't have a clue. He raises his eyebrow, waiting.

"Well, we're here," I say, relieved to see the green-and-white bunting in the shop window save me from awkward questions. "You can see for yourself."

He follows me inside. The bell above the door chimes and we're hit with a hot blast from the heater. It must be about eighty degrees in here. Weird, for a gelato place, but not totally unwelcome. I unzip my jacket because more than two minutes in here with it zipped all the way up to my chin is going to boil me alive.

The guy behind the counter welcomes us in with a cheery wave. To my surprise, there are a couple of people ahead of us in line, wrapped up in hats and scarves just like us. The couple ahead of us are holding hands, shoulder to shoulder as they gaze up at the handwritten specials chalkboard. They're in an intense debate about pumpkin spice and caramel syrup, bickering with smiles on their faces.

My fingers tingle with a desire I don't quite understand.

"That's an impressive drinks menu," says Joel, folding his arms. "That's almost the most syrup flavors I've ever seen."

"The cinnamon one's really good in the white hot chocolate."

"Indulgent," he says, nodding.

"Don't tell me, you don't eat sugar because it interferes with what your dietitian recommended."

He opens his mouth in mock horror, his eyes widening and letting me look deep into the glittering blue. "You honestly think I have a dietitian?"

My own mouth wavers in uncertainty. "Well, I just assumed because, like… I mean, you're not exactly unfit, are you?"

"Are you complimenting me?" His wide eyes pair with an incredulous grin and I don't think I can back out of this one. I can't exactly pretend I didn't notice the perfect toning of his arms and legs or the well-proportioned body underneath tight-fitting T-shirts. And, even though it was against my will, I have seen a couple of photos of his ass.

"No," I snap, drawing my eyebrows into the sternest look I can manage. "I just thought that was the kind of thing rich people did. Get their whole lives managed for them."

His shoulders shake in a silent laugh. "Whoa, dude. Way to be biased. My dad would love for someone else to manage me, maybe then I wouldn't make myself look so dumb all the time."

"I don't think you're dumb," I say without thinking. He blinks in surprise, as taken aback by my words as I am at speaking them. I return to staring at the blackboard so I don't have to look at him, but from the corner of my eye it looks like he's looking at me as intensely as I'm pretending not to look at him.

"I don't think anyone's ever said that before," he says quietly, and it kind of breaks my heart.

The couple in front of us make their order and both whip out their wallets, a standoff over who's going to treat the other. The cashier stares blankly into the middle distance as they bicker, clearly having seen this debate a hundred times.

"What are you getting?" Joel asks me as the couple finalize their payment.

"Hmm. I'm torn between peach and coconut. How about you?"

"Chocolate hazelnut, no contest. And an extra scoop of walnut, just to really ruin my diet."

"Cone or tub?" I ask. This is the real personality test.

He shrugs. "I like either but I'm getting a tub today. Cones are a summer thing."

"Correct answer," I grin. "Except cones are a never. They get so sticky!"

"What can I get for you folks?" The cashier shuffles across to the freezer, gesturing at the display. The couple pass behind us, giggling. They both got cones. My respect for them hits rock bottom.

"I'll get a scoop of peach and another of lemon, please. In a tub."

"Great choice." Expertly, the cashier creates two balls of gelato in two swift moves and slides my tub over the counter, putting a small plastic spoon in with a flourish. "And for your gentleman?"

The cashier turns his gaze to Joel and I feel my cheeks heat up. I was already warm, but a flush settles inside my chest at the idea that we look like a couple. If Joel is at all flustered like I am, he doesn't show it, his usual cool demeanor front and center.

"I'll take two scoops, hazelnut and walnut, in a tub to go. And we'll have two white hot chocolates with a splash of cinnamon syrup."

"Coming right up." The cashier sets to work again, and when he turns his back to pour our drinks, I finally get the nerve to turn back to Joel.

"He thinks we're a couple," I hiss.

At this point, I'm considering hitting him with a lamp again because that's the only thing I've ever seen Joel lose his cool over. He shrugs again like it's no big deal. As if my heart isn't racing in my chest. "So what? Just roll with it."

I can't formulate an argument quickly enough, so I drop it because the cashier turns back to us and reads our total. "Do you want to split it?"

"Yes," I say.

At the exact same time, Joel says "No," and taps his card so fast on the machine that I barely have time to protest it.

"Joel! No!" is all I manage to say, which I admit is not very eloquent.

I don't take well to surprises. He should know that by now.

"Anna, yes. Come on, let's go." He grins at the cashier who gives him the same look he gave the other couple, a kind of fond, knowing shake of the head.

Joel hands me my drink and ushers me out of the store. I can't even decide what emotion I'm feeling, so I let myself get herded back onto the street. I want to be angry. Just because he's a billionaire, doesn't mean he has to pay! But part of me almost feels giddy, like I'm a newborn foal running for the first time. Like this is the first time anyone's ever been kind to me in my life. Which is obviously not true, but thinking about it, I can't remember the last time anyone got me a gift.

I decide to go with anger instead. It's easier. "What the hell was that for?"

"What?" Joel is preoccupied with trying to sip his drink without burning his mouth. He keeps going for it and wincing in surprise as if he doesn't quite realize boiling water takes more than three seconds to cool. I let rage flood through me so it can stamp all over the affection.

"Why would you pay for both of us?"

"It wasn't expensive," he mumbles into the plastic lid of his cup. "It's not a big deal."

"I'm fully capable of paying for myself, you know. I'm not some peasant following you around in awe because you're rich and I think you'll do stuff for me. I didn't ask you to pay. Why would you assume that you should?"

My tirade brings him to a halt on the street. Frowning, he lowers the cup from his lips which have turned red from the cold and the heat. "You think I paid because I think you're average?"

It's not what I'm expecting him to say. It's gentle. Until three days ago, I would never have imagined that Joel Lockhart could be gentle. My mouth opens and closes like a goldfish.

"I paid because I wanted to treat my friend. That's all. Guess I shouldn't have assumed we're friends."

Never before have I seen a man so capable of looking utterly tragic. Joel's shoulders droop and his face falls, a cloud of disappointment settling over him as he tries again to sip his drink, and again gets surprised by the temperature. I've been so busy trying to prove myself to him that I didn't see how much he was trying to prove himself to me. He's right. I am biased. And I don't think I'm wrong to assume the worst of rich people as a general populous, but I can see now that I was so wrong to assume it of him.

I don't think I can deny my crush on him anymore.

"We are friends," I say. He lights back up again, a golden retriever wagging his tail because someone called him a good boy. When was the last time anyone told this man that he was worth more than his money? "Just… ask next time. Okay?"

"Okay."

A car rushes past, screeching down the empty road only to be stopped by traffic lights at the end of the road. They were going way too fast for city driving, easily forty in a twenty zone. I wouldn't be surprised if they got into an accident. Rushing around like that is just asking for trouble. This city is too fast all the time. I think it's time for a change of pace.

"Come on," I say, shaking my body a little to try and brush away the blizzard of thoughts settling on me. "The park's not far from here. Let's sit and eat there."