Eric stopped in midreach for a pile of chairs. His shirt was soaked through in spots.

“I’m not smooth,” he said plainly. “I don’t have that natural…whatever it is that your brother has. I’m a hick, Scarlett. A hick in the big city who doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time.”

Was this how he saw himself? This gorgeous person with so much talent?

“But you’re…amazing,” Scarlett said. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

He looked up at her and visibly worked through some kind of mental calculation. Then he stepped over to her, coming so close so quick that for some reason Scarlett assumed it was because something was wrong with her—like a spider on her arm.

“I really hope I don’t mess this up,” he said.

“Mess what…”

He kissed her. First on the nose, as if testing for approval, working down to her lips. He kept his mouth firmly closed, but that didn’t take away from the intensity of the moment at all.

He broke contact when her phone began to ring.

“I’m getting really sick of your phone,” he mumbled good-naturedly, gesturing for her to answer it. “I’ll bet I can guess who it is.”

Mrs. Amberson was maddeningly chipper on the other end.

“How’re things?” she asked.

“Fine…” Scarlett said, her teeth sightly clenched.

“I’m on my way back in a cab, with yet another cab behind me full of outfits. You should see this haul! Well, you will, in about fifteen minutes. Just giving you a little heads up to…set up a clothes rack or two.”

This remark was punctuated by a tiny snicker. Scarlett could hear her sucking on a cigarette in satisfaction.

“You know what I think, O’Hara?” she said. “I think I do know your type after all.”

She hung up.

“I’ve wanted to do that pretty much since I first saw you in the park,” he said. He almost sounded nervous. “I hope that was okay.”

Scarlett clutched the pile of chairs behind her in what she hoped looked like post-kiss casualness as opposed to just, well, collapsing in shock.

“I’m okay,” she said.

“I don’t want to be weird, but…we should maybe not tell your brother about this. Just because we work together, you know? Is that all right?”

“Sure,” she said, not even processing the question. Her brain had gone all soft and floppy. Something about not telling Spencer. Whatever. It was probably a good idea.

“So,” he said, “is she on her way?”

Scarlett nodded.

“Well, we probably have time…”

And then he did it again.

CRACKS

The train home that night was packed.

A crowded New York subway car in the summer is a wonderful place to meet new people. There is no decorum, no breathing room, and often, no deodorant. You survive by keeping yourself small and taking short maintenance breaths and making them last, like divers do.

Scarlett was well versed in the art of subway riding and could handle even the worst of conditions—but today, she was simply overloaded. Her brain was scrambled as they sped along, the train shaking back and forth. All she could see, all she could think about was the kissing. It had become overwhelming—it was taking over everything. It had passed over feeling good to that superintense feeling that is just too much for the brain or body to hold. She pushed her face, lips and all, against the subway pole to keep herself upright, even if that was almost a guarantee of catching something truly horrible.