“Then I will try to think of this day as a dress rehearsal.” She sounded so damn serious.
That, combined with some of the things she’d shared with him the night before, reinforced his notion of her as highly driven. He admired her work ethic and her dedication to her career. He’d always been the type to pour himself into a work project, too. Duty and perseverance were the cornerstones of his approach to the world.
“In that case, we can’t go wrong.” Readjusting her bag on his shoulder, he pressed a light hand to the small of her back to guide her through a left on Central Park West and the quick right to get on the path that would take them toward his apartment. “From what I gleaned about you last night as I read up on your career, it sounds like you’ve succeeded at everything you’ve set out to accomplish.”
Even with the hood pulled up, he could see the way she smiled.
“Either that or I have an excellent publicist.”
That surprised a laugh out of him as they strode deeper into the park, which seemed a bit busier than usual, the fresh snow bringing out kids and kids-at-heart. They passed people walking dogs and packs of middle-school-aged children in uniforms, still wearing backpacks.
“Jasmine does seem determined to package your career—and you—in the best possible way.”
“She’s a good friend and an equally awesome public relations manager.”
“And this reception she wants us to attend. That’s for the choreographer you mentioned who’s putting together the new ballet.” He’d read about the guy a good bit last night. “The media can’t use enough superlatives about him gracing New York with his presence.” It had been a bit much in Quinn’s mind, but then, he was far from an expert.
“You have been doing your research.” She rewarded him with an approving smile that renewed the urge to kiss her.
But he also liked finding out more about her that would help him get closer to her. He would wait.
“This is a dress rehearsal for me, too, Sofia.” He watched a few kids try to shake a radio-controlled helicopter down from some tree limbs; they were attracting an audience. “I’m trying to get my part down.”
“You’re doing well. If you were one of my students, you’d be promoted to the next level.”
“You teach?” He paused on the outskirts of the crowd.
“A lot of the dancers do.” Sofia’s gaze went up to the helicopter and the kids shaking any branches of the old oak they could reach. “It’s a way to pick up some extra income and give back to the company. The School of American Ballet is like our farm system...it feeds the City Ballet.”
“Give me one second.” He hated to interrupt her, but he also couldn’t let the kids kill a tree that—for all he knew—could predate the damn park itself. He set down Sofia’s bag and grabbed a football at one of the boys’ feet as he strode into the group. “Guys, back up a minute.”
The group did as he asked, a few calling out taunts that he’d never be able to reach the branch where the helicopter teetered. Which he welcomed, of course, since the ribbing only ensured that he’d throw twice as hard. He’d grown up with brothers, after all. He spoke the language.
“I get three shots,” he insisted. “Only because I haven’t warmed up my arm.”
“I’ll give you six, old man,” shouted a wiry redhead who seemed to be the ringleader. “That thing is straight-up stuck.”
Old?
Quinn told himself that he was only interested in saving the tree, but with a beautiful woman he wanted to impress watching from the sidelines, there was a chance he was fueled by another motivation altogether. Far from old...he was acting like a damn kid.
Backing up a step to adjust his aim, he cocked his arm and let the football fly.
Like in an ESPN highlight reel, the thing connected with the toy helicopter on the first try, earning cheers of admiration. And, because it had been so high up, the kids had time to run underneath the tree where the mouthy redhead caught it, scoring some of the victory for himself.
“Sorry about that.” Quinn jogged back to Sofia, who stood on the path under a halo of light from a cast-iron street lamp. He grabbed her bag and hitched it higher on his shoulder.
With her hooded cape and the snow falling all around her, she looked like some exotic character from one of her ballets. A Russian princess, maybe.
“You appeared to have performed that trick a few times before,” she observed.
“With two brothers? Of course. We got plenty of things caught in trees as kids. Kites were the worst to get down. By comparison, the helicopter was a piece of cake.” His warm breath lingered in the cool air, making it seem as though his words hung in the space between them. A gust of wind sent a slight chill through him. Glancing at Sofia, he noticed her hair was still wet.
“I can’t imagine what it would be like to have siblings.” The loneliness in her words was evident.
“Your bio doesn’t say much about your family.” He knew because he’d scoured it for details about her.
“In the past, I tried to keep my personal life and work life separate. Not that I have a lot of personal life to speak about.” She stared up at Tavern on the Green as they passed. The restaurant looked sort of otherworldly in the snowfall with the trees and white lights all around. “But my mother died when I was thirteen and I am not close with my father.”
“I’m sorry about your mother.” He took her hand for the dash across West Drive before they reached quieter roads through the middle of the park. “That must have been a really difficult age to lose a parent.”
He didn’t let go of her hand since her fingers were chilled. And because he wanted to touch her. Besides, they would be in the public eye again soon enough, where they would have to sell themselves as a loving couple.
As if she understood his motivations, she leaned into him and the spicy smell of her currant perfume wafted up to him. Hooking her arm through his, she drew closer.
“I was devastated. All the more so because my mother hated my father, which meant I hated him, too. Then, suddenly, after her death I was left with him.” Sofia pushed off her hood as they reached denser growth that limited how much snow fell on them. Maybe she’d just been looking for a reason to untwine their fingers. “To this day, I don’t know what drew the two of them together since he represented everything she despised. She called the privileged wealthy a ‘soulless culture.’”
“What about you?” Quinn wondered where that left him in her world view. “Do you agree with your mother?”
“Wait.” She turned around to look at the path they’d just traveled, tugging on his arm so they stood off the walkway to one side. “Let’s stop for a second and take it in.”
She didn’t have to explain what she meant. This part of the park was beautiful on any given day. But in a fresh snowfall, with the Tavern on the Green glowing from within and the tree trunks and branches draped in white lights, the view was like no other in the city. The snow dulled the sounds from the streets nearby, quieting rush hour to white noise.
Standing with Sofia at his side made it all the more appealing. The glow of the white lights reflected on her face.
“Beautiful.” His assessment, while simple, was heartfelt.
“But you know what my mother taught me about beauty?” Sofia asked, a mischievous light in her liquid silver eyes. “It is not a matter of just looking beautiful. It should surround us.” She held her hand out, palm up to catch snowflakes. “Feel special.” Inhaling deeply, she smiled with her eyes closed. “Have a unique scent when you breathe it in. And if you can catch it on your tongue, the taste will be beautiful, too.”
He watched,