He leaned toward her and spoke quietly, pointing at himself. “Spy novels.”
She gasped in mock horror. “No. You? Who quotes Shakespeare?”
He gave another of his half smiles. Left dimple again. “What else?”
“I play chess. I played every weekend with my grandfather, and then every day when he lived with us while I was in high school.”
“You guys still play?”
“No, he’s passed now,” she said a little wistfully. She hadn’t thought about those quiet nights with a chessboard and an old soul in ages.
Kennedy was silent, then turned his head over his shoulder for a moment, scanning the slowly dwindling crowd. “You have to do anything else for the party?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, confused and a little disappointed by the change in subject. It was one of the more civil, enjoyable conversations they’d ever had.
“Paying vendors, whatever.”
“Oh. No, Claudia’s supposed to take care of that part, and it’ll be a while yet. There’re still fifty or so people. But I should probably—”
“Get your coat.”
Kate blinked. “What?”
He straightened. “Your jacket.”
“I don’t have one.”
He frowned. “It’s March, not August.”
“No, really? I had no idea. Is there a way to know such things?”
“Shut up. Come on.”
“Come on where?”
He turned away without answering.
“Come on where?” she said louder.
Finally, she huffed, realizing he wasn’t going to turn around or answer.
She followed him through the still-crowded room, just as the elevator doors opened. He held them with his arm and gestured her in.
“You’re being weird,” she muttered, but did as instructed, curious and feeling oddly exhilarated.
On the ground floor, he led her across the hotel lobby, but she balked a little when he headed to the exit. “We can’t leave.”
“Sure we can. It’s my birthday.”
“But your party’s up there. Claudia—”
“Claudia didn’t ask what I wanted to do to celebrate my birthday. If she had, you know what I would’ve said?” he asked, taking a step closer to her.
Kate shook her head, wide-eyed.
“I’d have said that I wanted a quiet night with someone I didn’t have to talk to. Or that I could, but not party talk. Real talk.”
She tried to follow. “Okay. I can see that. But you have friends upstairs, and—”
Kennedy grabbed her hand and pulled her through the revolving doors into the spring evening. The wall of midtown noise immediately enveloped them, but in a comfortable, anonymous sort of way.
“There is exactly one good thing about this part of town. You know what it is?”
“The library?” she asked.
“Okay, two things.”
“Grand Central?”
“Fine. There are a few things,” he said as they crossed Sixth Avenue.
“Bryant Park?” she asked as he led her onto the large square lawn that sat in the shadow of the famous New York Public Library. The park was nice and all, but she was failing to see why he’d be excited about it outside of Christmastime, when the whole thing turned into a sort of winter wonderland.
He didn’t reply, instead leading her toward the southwest side to a covered area with . . .
Kate gasped at the beautiful sight of chessboards set up in the middle of the city. “How did I not know this was here?”
Kennedy led her to a small table. “Want to play?”
“Hell yes!” she said, grinning as he went to rent pieces and a board.
A few moments later, they were sitting across the table from each other, and Kate realized there was something better than a chess oasis in the middle of Manhattan.
Kennedy Dawson’s full smile. Both dimples.
8
Saturday, March 30
Kennedy felt a little absurd, enjoying himself as much as he was in this moment.
Not because he didn’t love chess. But if anyone had asked before today, he’d have said that his love of chess was more about the circumstances under which he typically played. Usually he was in the comfort of his living room, in his custom-made Italian leather chair. He played with hand-carved wooden chess pieces passed down to the eldest Dawson son for four generations. His partner was typically his eccentric, elderly neighbor, Edmund, who brought excellent scotch and even better chess skills.
This evening, however, was proving him wrong. As it would turn out, Kennedy apparently preferred playing chess outside on a slightly too-cold evening, on a wobbly table in a public park, with slightly sticky pieces, including a knight whose head had been lopped off, sitting across the board from . . .
Kate Henley.
Kennedy sat back in his chair and rubbed a hand idly over his jaw as he watched his playing partner. Kate took her time deliberating each move, but he didn’t mind. He kept himself occupied by studying her as she studied the board.
She wasn’t used to her new haircut. He could tell by the way she kept trying to tuck a shorter piece behind her ear, then frowning when it fell into her face, as though she wasn’t accustomed to it not doing as it was told. He suspected Kate didn’t like it when things didn’t behave the way she wanted or expected them to.
She chewed her bottom lip as her eyes darted between her rook and her queen, and he knew she was debating whether or not to take a risk or play it safe. It was the thrill of chess with a new partner, where you didn’t know the other person’s skill or style, didn’t know whether a bold move was going to bite you in the ass.
After another minute of deliberation, she went with neither piece, instead nudging her pawn forward in a surprisingly tepid move. He didn’t mind. He’d take a chess match at a wobbly table with Kate over one with Bobby Fischer any day.
Kennedy already knew his next move but took his time studying the board anyway, partially out of habit, partially to prolong the game.
“You don’t feel a little guilty?” Kate asked.
He looked up. “About?”
“Ditching your own party.”
“A little,” he admitted. “But I figure if I can ever get away with a social gaffe, it’s on my birthday.”
“Oh, that reminds me, I forgot your present. And do not do that annoying thing where you say I didn’t have to get you anything,” she said, before he could do exactly that.
“All right,” he said, moving his bishop, and then sitting back in his chair. “What did you get me?”
“It was between a plastic bobblehead and a fake plant for your office.”
“Both things I love,” he said dryly.
Kate nodded. “I thought it would be nice with all of those weird wood chunks you keep around.”
“They’re collectibles.”
“Yeah, okay, Ross.”
Kennedy frowned. “Ross?”
“Yeah,” she said, starting to move her rook and then changing her mind. “You know, like from Friends?”
He shook his head.
“Oh, come on,” she said. “You have a television. What do you watch, documentaries?”