She opened her mouth but quickly closed it. He hustled her out the door before she could change her mind. It was still snowing, and the street was lit up for the holidays. Individual shopkeepers had decorated, and there were also arches across the street itself, incorporating Christmas trees, menorahs, and crescent moons and stars. It was pretty damn charming, even for a jaded rake like him. “Shall I call the car?”

“What is the deal with this car? It just hangs around wherever you are until you summon it?”

“That is exactly what it does.”

“What kind of setup is that?” she asked with exaggerated skepticism.

“I believe you call it a car service. I engage a driver to be available to me while I’m in New York.”

“What kind of car is it?”

“A Mercedes, I think.”

She scoffed.

He ignored her disapproval. “You want me to call it?”

“No. I want to walk.”

Good. He did, too. He didn’t want to go back to his dark, empty hotel room yet. He had the photographer’s number from yesterday and an invitation to call her anytime, but he was still, uncharacteristically, not in the mood.

Dani stumbled. The sidewalks were slick with new snow, and she wasn’t very steady on her feet to begin with. He grabbed her before she could fall, and once she was righted, he let go and offered her his arm. He was surprised when she took it.

“This is an Italian section of the city, I gather?” he asked, noting the shops with cured sausages drying in the windows as they strolled.

“Historically, but it’s probably more Mexican and Albanian today than it is Italian. It’s a hodgepodge.”

“I’ve never been to the Bronx,” he said.

She snorted. “Yeah, we’re a long way from Manhattan concierges who can get you impossible reservations.”

He shrugged. He wasn’t going to pretend to be a man of the people. He liked his comforts. But he also liked this. “I’m a fan of New York—all of it. All of it that I’ve seen, anyway.”

“You are?”

“Yes. It’s the perfect mixture of tradition and renewal. It retains its identity even as it’s constantly changing. It’s resilient. Scrappy.” Like he was. That sounded like self-flattery, but it was merely a fact. He’d had to be scrappy—doubly so since his brother wasn’t. Perhaps he appreciated New York in a “like recognizes like” way.

“I never thought of New York like that, but you’re right. Eldovia isn’t scrappy?”

“Eldovia isn’t scrappy,” he confirmed with a chuckle. He certainly had been laughing a lot this evening. It was disconcerting to find himself, suddenly, so easily amused. “Eldovia, or at least my experience of it, which I grant is not typical, is protocol and decorum.” And, in some corners, rage and chaos. “But it does have some things to recommend it.”