Zelda has theater tickets, so leaves lunch in a haze of lavender and pearls, leaving me to nurse another whiskey, and deliberate calling Callie.

I want to see her again. I want to just hear her voice. All week, I keep thinking of things I want to share with her:a stupid conversation I overhead at the bar, a new company I might partner with, a pizza place opening down my block. It wasn’t just the wild sex that made me keep coming back for more. It was just… Her.

Fuck it.

I pull out my phone. Maybe she’s going to blow me off, but I can’t just sit around here moping for the rest of my life. I need to talk to her, maybe convince her there was something real between us, despite all the games.

I dial her number, but there’s no answer except her machine.

‘You’ve reached Callie Delgado, I can’t talk right now—’

I hang up. There’s no message I could leave that would say everything I’ve been thinking, so I slide off my stool, figuring I can go over to her place and stake out the lobby until she shows her face. Sure, it might not win me a fan in her doorman, but—

My cellphone buzzes with a call, and I scoop it up.

Piper.

Fuck.

I answer, reluctant. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing much,” she replies, “Although, one of your birding buddies texted. He’s been trying to reach you, something about a blue warble...?”

I stop dead. “A cerulean warbler?” I ask.

“That’s it. They’ve spotted one in Central Park, was all in a tizzy.”

“Because it’s incredibly rare!” I exclaim. “Did he say where?”

“Umm… By the bridge, at the lake,” she replies. “Good luck!”

I hang up. For a moment, I wish I could bring Callie along, she got such a kick out of our expedition in the Everglades.

Another time. Maybe.

I jump in a cab, and head up to the park, practically sprinting to reach the lookout point Piper mentioned. It’s a picturesque bridge, stretching over the lake, but when I reach the site, I’m surprised not to see other birders jostling for position. A rare sighting like this is a big deal.

Then I see who’s waiting in the middle.

It’s Callie.

22

Callie

I pace back and forth on the bridge, my nerves tied up in knots waiting for Dash to show. Will he think it’s weird that I roped Piper into this whole birding story? I wasn’t sure he would come if it was just me, and I need to be looking him in the eye when I tell him everything about how I feel.

“Callie.”

I let out a yelp, spinning around. And there he is, right in front of me. Too handsome for words in jeans and a soft cotton T-shirt that kind of stretches across his chest.

I flush, just being near him again. “I didn’t hear you,” I blurt.

“I walked quietly,” he replies. “You know, not to scare the bird.”