Ryan bolted like his life depended on how fast he was.
There was no plan in his head, neither did he have the ti to think of one. He just went along with Zara – her hand still on his arm as they moved, feet hitting pavent.
In the mont, Ryan couldn’t help but think getting Mike to carry the bags was the single best decision he’s made all afternoon.
The more they ran, Ryan noticed how fast Zara was.
She was in boots that did nothing to slow her down and was swift in a way that told she had done this before – sothing Ryan found as impressive as he did concerning.
She moved through the evening crowd without breaking stride. Deftly evading a slow-walking couple before swiftly ducking right past a doorman who stepped out for air.
She utilized rush hour New York’s density as cover the way soone in a forest would use trees.
Ryan didn’t lag behind.
He was only afforded one look back.
And when he did, he saw a sight more terrifying than it should have been – the photographer still keeping chase, cara bouncing as he tried to catch up with them.
"Left," Zara said.
Ryan moved.
They cut into a street as their pace increased. The crowd had thinned, which ant they had less cover – but a chance to move faster.
Ryan found a space.
"Here," he said as he pulled Zara sharply into an alley between two buildings.
It was narrow - a common kind you’d often find between structures in New York, wide enough only for a person and slling exactly like what you’d expect an alley to sll like.
They pressed against the wall as their chests heaved.
His chest, however, working significantly harder, enough he thought it embarrassing as his hand found his knees a mont before he swiftly straightened up.
He looked at Zara – pressed against the brick beside him, the run causing her hair to be slightly disrupted as she heaved as well. Yet, she still looked no less composed and graceful even while slightly disheveled in that alley with him.
Ryan broke the mont of panting with a hand gesture – pointing at himself, then toward the alley entrance before he mid "looking around" with two fingers.
The intended signal: I’ll check if we’re clear.
Zara’s response was imdiate – rapid head shaking, eyes slightly wide, the expression of soone communicating that this idea was far too dangerous and he should abandon it imdiately.
Ryan’s response was a nod before going anyway.
He crept toward the alley entrance with the deanor of Jas Bond in the midst of a life or death situation, as he did – he hoped it was remotely as cool in practice as it internally felt.
He pressed himself against the wall reaching the edge of it, and then far more slowly than the situation could possibly necessitate, he peered his head to look back onto the street.
What he found was a wave of New Yorkers moving past in both directions, each far too committed to their own destination to care about what happened around them – an indifference the city specialized in.
However, he saw no photographer or cara or anyone looking for anything beyond their commute’s end.
He scanned again, making certain, and still found nothing. He then turned back to Zara and gave a thumbs up before returning to the wall beside her.
They stood a mont as they both still caught their breath with their backs against the brick. Occasionally glancing at each other as though acknowledging they had done sothing slightly absurd together.
Zara’s laugh ca first – a short exhale that beca a real one, her hand coming up to her face. Then Ryan went, and they both began cackling in the empty alley.
"What the hell was that?" he managed eventually, through it.
Zara had her face partially covered, shoulders shaking. "We had to escape."
"Escape." Ryan straightened up, still laughing. "He had a cara, Zara. Not a gun."
"In my world," she said, composure returning in pieces, "that’s basically the sa thing." She shook her head. "Getting photographed at the wrong ti can be murder. Reputation murder, but still murder."
Ryan looked at her.
The laughter had settled into sothing easier, both of them still close from where they’d pressed against the wall. He glanced up – the sky looked like it was threatening sothing.
"Is the wrong ti," he said, "when you’re with ?"
Zara t his eyes. "When I’m with anyone that isn’t a planned publicity thing, really." She paused. "My team would have scheduled sothing like this, managed the angle, approved the photos." She exhaled. "I can already see the blog caption."
She raised both hands, framing an invisible headline. "Zara involved in scandal with random New Yorker with egregious fashion sense."
"First of all," Ryan said, "scandal is a strong word."
"Strong words get clicks."
"Second of all — you said what I wore today was good."
She stepped slightly closer, reached up and straightened his coat lapel with two fingers — the sa gesture she’d used in the store, automatic, like she couldn’t help it when sothing was slightly off.
"It is good," she said, not stepping back after. "But they’d research you. They’d find the before. The terrible shirts like the one from the gallery event. And then my reputation takes a hit by association."
Her hands dropped from his lapel.
They stood looking at each other in the alley, still close – the step she hadn’t taken back remained as its own kind of fact between them.
"So coming out with today," Ryan said, "might have been less than ideal decision making."
Zara’s gaze didn’t move from his. "No. Because just like holessness — scandals aren’t as bad as people make them out to be."
She held his eyes.
"I’m thoroughly enjoying this one, actually." She added.
The mont stretched.
It was then it happened. Clouds that had been quite intentful for most of the hour seed to have lost patience.
Rain ca. It was light – like an opening statent of it. Drops finding his coat and then her hair as well as the alley around them and even the city beyond as it continued on without particular care.
Neither of them moved.
Ryan stared at her — the rain beginning to catch in her hair, her face tilted slightly up toward him in the narrow alley light, the composed version of her she wore in public sowhere further away than it had been all afternoon.
"I don’t want to call you beautiful," he said.
Zara looked at him. "Why?"
"Because you’ve heard it so many tis it’s probably stopped aning anything." He held her gaze. "Now it probably just sounds like information you already have."
She was quiet for a mont as the rain ca down a little more.
"What if I want to hear you say it," she said. "What if it matters coming from you."
Ryan’s gaze didn’t leave her. It carried more intent now, and so did hers. She looked at him the way he watched her look at paintings and at the coat, at things she liked whether she admitted it or not.
"You’re beautiful," he said. "In ways I can’t find the right words for. And today has been the most fun I’ve had in as long as I can rember."
The space between them had been closing without either of them apparently deciding to close it, the way those things went.
Zara said, quietly, "Sa."
The rain was properly falling now – neither could be certain as the world had vanished in the mont, both of them getting wet in a way that had crossed from atmospheric into actual. Her hair was damp and his coat was doing its best.
Yet neither moved.
And then her phone rang.
The sound was violent in the quiet of the alley, both of them shifting simultaneously, the mont snapping back like elastic. An inch of distance reappeared from sowhere.
Zara pulled the phone from her coat pocket. Looked at the screen. Sothing in her expression shifted to the professional setting.
"Sorry," she said. "That’s ."
She answered.
"Hello." A pause. "Yes." Another. "I’ll be there right away."
She ended the call and looked at Ryan, her expression that of a person who would be in two places at once if they could.
"Work," she said. "I have to go."
"Of course." Ryan was already moving toward the alley entrance. "I’ll get you a cab."
They ca back out onto the side street, the rain falling properly now, the evening commute ongoing around them with complete indifference to weather as New York always was.
Ryan stepped to the curb, arm up, and caught a cab with trained efficiency.
He pulled the door open.
Zara stopped at the entrance, one hand on the door fra, rain in her hair, the coat she’d been wearing catching the wet light. She looked at Ryan holding the cab door in the rain and sothing moved across her face that she let stay there rather than managing it away.
"I had fun," she said. "Maybe next ti we could go see a Pistons ga."
Then she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.
It landed just at the corner — she held it a half second longer than necessary.
Then she got in.
Ryan closed the door.
He stood on the pavent in the rain and watched the cab pull into traffic and disappear into the moving mass of yellow and headlights that Madison Avenue beca at this hour.
The rain ca down on his coat, his hair.
He stood there anyway.
Smiling with the evening moving around him, looking at the space where the taxi had been.
Then he started walking.
He didn’t bother with a hood or even hail another cab. Just hands in his pockets, rain coming down, the city doing its indifferent thing all around him.
He was soaked by the ti he got to the subway.
He didn’t particularly mind.
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