“For Pete’s sake, Mabesie! Embrace a little mystery, will you? I’ll wait here. Just don’t take all day! And put on some lipstick!” Evie called as she shoved Mabel toward the elevator.
“I will return a new woman!” Mabel declared, pointing her finger skyward as the elevator operator slid the gate into place.
“Tick-tock. Party? Cake?” Evie reminded her and dropped into a chair in the lobby to wait. She pushed the heavy velvet drape aside and peered out the front windows. Still no sign of T. S. Woodhouse, the good-for-nothing. Before they’d left Gimbels, Evie had slipped into a phone booth and tipped him off that “Miss Evie O’Neill had been seen escorting her best friend to the Bennington Apartments for the first time since she’d left in November, in case interested parties wanted a story for the papers.” It might’ve been a paltry sum Evie paid Woody to keep her name in the news, but it was still hard-earned money, and he’d better not be spending it in a speakeasy instead of making both of them more famous.
Someone was pushing through the revolving door. Finally, Evie thought. She jumped up and posed herself beneath a gilded sconce, turning her best side toward the entrance in case Woodhouse had been clever enough to bring along a photographer. The door swung all the way around. It wasn’t Woodhouse who swept into the lobby, but Jericho. He stood for a moment, unwinding his scarf, not seeing her. Evie’s stomach gave a carnival-ride flip as the feelings she’d worked to forget came bubbling up. She remembered that morning in the hotel room up in Brethren after Jericho had been shot, the way they’d been with each other, so open, so honest. Evie had never felt so naked with anyone, not even Mabel, as if she could say anything and be understood. It was heady. And dangerous. A girl needed armor to get by in the world, and Jericho had a way of dismantling hers so easily.
Jericho’s eyes widened, then his mouth settled into the loveliest smile. “Evie!” he called, walking straight toward her, and her resolve to leave him alone began to erode.
“Hello, Jericho,” Evie said softly, and they stood uncertainly in the foyer. People passed by, but Evie was barely aware of them. She’d forgotten the specific handsomeness of Jericho—the severe cheekbones, the sharp blue of his eyes. A long strand of blond hair had been shaken loose, falling across one cheek. He tried to tuck it back, but it fell again, and all Evie wanted to do was cup her hands at the base of his neck. It would be so easy to touch him.
“How are you—” Evie said at the same moment Jericho started to speak. They laughed nervously.
“You first,” Evie said.
“I’ve been listening to your radio show. It’s very good. You’re a natural.”
“Gee. Thanks,” Evie said, blushing at the compliment.
An awkward silence descended. Jericho cleared his throat and gestured in the direction of the dining room. “Have you eaten? We could have tea in the dining room. For old times’ sake.”
Evie glanced toward the elevator. “Oh. I’m actually on my way out. I’m just waiting for Mabel.”
Jericho stepped a little closer. He smelled clean and woodsy, as he had that morning on the roof when they’d kissed. “I’ve missed you,” he said in his deep, quiet way.
Evie’s breath caught in her chest, a painful ballooning. Her feelings for Jericho had been manageable when he was only a memory. In the whirl of parties and the radio show and, yes, the arms of other, fun-loving boys, thoughts of him could be pushed aside, she’d found. But here in person, it was an entirely different matter. Evie looked up into his eyes. “I…”
“Is that the Sweetheart Seer?”
“Why, it is! It’s her!”
Excited burbling filled the front of the lobby as a few of the Bennington residents recognized Evie. She took in a sharp breath and stepped back.
“I… I have to go. I’m late for a cake—I-I mean a party! A party with a cake,” Evie said, sounding as dizzy as she felt. “Tell Mabel I said good-bye.”