“Smile,” I breathe, and as I do, I take the picture. The flash dazzles us for a few moments, but when my eyes return to normal, I glance down to admire the image.
Tyler’s smile matches mine. It’s just as wide, if not wider, and there’s something so attractive about it that I could turn around and kiss him right now if I was brave enough to even attempt something like that. I think being here in New York with him has made me go insane already, and it’s only been three hours. Three hours and already everything is coming back, ten times worse. If I thought I was attracted to him before, then I’m completely addicted to him now.
“I like that picture,” Tyler says quietly, and I feel my eyes being drawn to his. He’s been staring at the photo from over my shoulder, at the way we both look happy. His eyes are still sparkling.
“I like it too,” I say, swallowing the lump that’s growing in my throat. I wish he didn’t have this effect on me. I wish it had worn off over the past year, but it hasn’t. I glance back down to look at my phone, which is about to die any second, and quickly I set the image as my wallpaper. It replaces a photo of Dean. I almost feel guilty, like I’ve betrayed him, but before I can actually think through what I’m doing, Tyler is talking again.
“I’m taking you to Pietrasanta. It’s an Italian restaurant over on Ninth Avenue.”
“Italian?” Of all the restaurants Tyler could have chosen, he chooses the one that’s most likely to remind me of Dean. I bite the inside of my mouth.
“You love Italian food, don’t you?” He suddenly looks worried, but the truth is, suddenly I am too. And it’s not because of his restaurant choice. “You told me a few months ago, right?”
“Yeah, I do.” Every Wednesday I have dinner over at Dean’s place, and his mom makes the best Italian dishes. Dean thinks his mom’s tradition is just embarrassing, but I think it’s cute. Her food tastes amazing. I told Tyler this a while ago, and the fact that he took note of it is the reason my frown is turning back into a smile. “Italian food sounds great right now.”
“I’ve, uh, actually had a table booked for a couple weeks now.” He rubs nervously at the back of his neck and I don’t think I remember him ever being this shy before. It almost feels like he’s taking me on a date, which I kind of wish he was. “It’s for 8PM, so we gotta get moving. You don’t care about seeing the stores tonight, right?”
“Tyler, c’mon.” I shake my head. He knows I’m not the biggest fan of shopping, and some bright lights and flashing signs aren’t enough to make me enthusiastic about it. “You know me better than that.”
He’s not joking back with me, though; he’s only shrugging and staring anxiously at the ground. “Sorry, I’m just . . . I just want you to enjoy New York. I want to make sure you have a good time.”
“You’re doing good so far,” I tell him gently, but I’m confused. He seemed completely confident and comfortable around me right until we got back to the apartment. Since then, everything has felt different, and it’s because Tyler’s acting weird around me. “You’re, like, my tour guide for the summer.”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” He rubs his temple. And then his eyebrow. And then he sighs. “The restaurant is five blocks north.”
And so we head northbound on Broadway, with Tyler stepping proudly into his role of being my personal tour guide, pointing out each detail and briefing me on some common knowledge about Times Square. For starters, I shouldn’t stop dead in my tracks to gawk and take pictures, which is exactly what I just did, because the locals apparently get frustrated with us tourists blocking the way. Also, on the off chance that I end up in Times Square without Tyler, looking at a map is the worst thing I can possibly do. But I doubt I’ll be going anywhere without him, so I don’t have to worry about making the pickpockets aware that I’m a clueless tourist.
We make a left off Broadway and onto Fifty-seventh Street after passing the famous red bleachers atop the TKTS booth, which I do stop to take a picture of, but Tyler doesn’t let me block the way for long before moving me on.
It takes us fifteen minutes to get to Pietrasanta. It’s right on the corner of Fifty-seventh and Ninth, with wooden doors that have been opened up to allow for an open-air setting. It looks adorable, and by the time Tyler leads me over to the door he’s got a sheepish smile on his lips.
“I, uh, asked around my building for recommendations,” he admits, “and a lot of people said this place is the best Italian restaurant around. I hope it lives up to the hype for you.”