Page 38 of Fifth Avenue Flirt

“Huh.”

I like the way that she’s interested. She’s not faking it. She’s not teasing me. She’s just genuinely interested. Warmth floods my veins. I can’t believe I brought her here. It’s my favorite place in New York, but I don’t think anyone in the world knows that.

I’d come in here when I first moved back after university because it felt like the beating heart of New York, and I wanted to feel all that energy. I wanted all the good of New York to replace the bad memories from being here with my dad. I was going to do New York differently. It wasn’t going to beat me.

We head to the lower concourse, and I can’t help but smile as soon as I see the Guastavino tile on the domed, vaulted ceilings. It makes this whole underground area feel cozy and grand at the exact same time.

“We’re going to eat oysters?” Avril asks, as we arrive in front of the Oyster Bar, the restaurant under the main concourse.

“Afterwards,” I say.

“After what?”

I hold her by the shoulders and place her in one corner of the arched ceiling, right in front of the restaurant, then I spin her around so she’s facing the wall.

“What’s happening? Do I have to count to ten while you hide? Because FYI, I might not come and find you.” She peers into the Oyster Bar. “They serve champagne in there. I might get distracted for a couple of hours.”

“You’re a New Yorker, right? You’ve heard of the whispering gallery?”

She scrunches up her forehead. “The what?”

“Let me show you. Just stand there.”

I leave her perfectly in place and then race to take my spot in the opposite corner facing away from her, toward the wall.

“Hey,” I whisper.

She gasps, and I grin.

“Hey?” she says in response. Her voice comes through loud and clear as it travels up the wall, across the domed ceiling and back down to me.

“Can you hear that?” she asks so quietly that if it wasn’t for the design of the ceilings, I wouldn’t be able to hear her over the background din of the station—the yelling from staff, the Tannoy announcements about safety, the rumble of footsteps.

“Yes,” I say softly. “Cool, huh?”

“Very cool.”

I grin at her appreciation for this quirk of New York architecture.

“So, I’m going to ask you a question and you have to answer honestly and completely. And you don’t have to be embarrassed because I’m not looking at you.”

Silence follows. And then, “Ben, have you heard of the telephone?”

I chuckle. “This is much more fun.”

“Can I go first?”

I’m glad she’s not trying to resist this. She’s going with it. Despite Avril being combative and feisty, there’s a real warmth, curiosity, and sense of fun in her that I haven’t had to delve too far beneath her surface to find.

“Sure.”

I glance over my shoulder, my eyes falling on her perfect arse, before taking in how she’s sorting through her questions.

I turn back to face the wall just before her first question is asked.

“Is being charming a way of manipulating people so that they like you?”

I laugh, shocked at how she’s come out of the gate with such a brutal first question.