“I’d say you’re full of yourself.”
“You wouldn’t be the first. Hang on.” He pointed again, this time skyward. Lifting his chin into the crisp, twisty breeze, he pulled in a deep breath through his nose. “Did you catch that?” He continued with barely a pause. “That familiar smell, right on time. You recognize it, don’t you? Death and new beginnings in one fragrant breath. Worn-away leaves and pristine notebooks. Every autumn it comes, right on schedule. Sometimes it lasts for days; sometimes it’s gone before you exhale.”
“Very poetic, but that doesn’t answer—”
He walked his fingers along the edge of her book. “You’ve been sitting here for an hour with Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland on your lap, but you haven’t turned a single page.”
Her voice rose. “You’ve been watching me?”
He scratched his neck. “ ‘Watching’ makes me sound like a stalker. Can’t have that. Let’s just say you pique my interest.”
“If that’s supposed to be a pickup line—”
“It’s not. Call me curious. Call me intrigued.”
“Call you a weirdo,” she said.
He laughed. “Touché. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t.”
“Oh, right. You’re being careful.” He smirked as he stretched the word out. “You’re afraid Mark-in-the-park might tempt you out of your comfort zone. Don’t worry,” he said with a dismissive wave, “I like knowing people’s names, is all. A quirk of mine. I thought you’d be someone who appreciated a little witty repartee.” He pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “You don’t look uptight or fainthearted. Apparently, I made the clichéd mistake of …” He touched her book again. “Judging by a cover.”
She closed it with a thump. “I’m leaving now.”
“No, you’re not,” he said. “You’re waiting for something. Or someone. Am I close?”
“My reason for being here is none of your business.”
“How about this, then?” He patted the messenger bag. “You won’t leave because you want to know what I have in here.”
“Why would I care?”
“Let’s see.” He opened the bag slowly, grinning as he unbuckled the leather strap and peeled it back. Using his thumb and index finger, he reached inside, latched onto something solid, and gently eased it out.
“What are the chances?” he asked as he dropped a copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland into her lap. Blue hardcover. Gold lettering. Identical to hers.
She jerked in surprise. “What’s going on? What are you trying to pull?”
“Whoa, sorry,” he said. “Just thought it was a fun coincidence. Nothing more. The only thing I’m trying to pull is a little conversation. Geez.”
“No way. What did you do? Run to the nearest bookstore and buy this? You really are a stalker.”
“Oh, come on.” When she didn’t respond, he said, “Okay, even if I had gone to such drastic lengths, tell me: to what end? You’re streetsmart, you’re savvy. A little paranoid, perhaps, but this is New York, so that can be forgiven. What nefarious plan could possibly be served by my producing this book at this moment?”
She traced her fingers along its gold embossed title but didn’t answer.
“Now that you understand my reasons for chatting you up are completely benign, we can begin anew, can’t we? Hi, I’m Mark.”
She handed back the book. “I’m … Jane.”
He grinned. “Nice to meet you, Jane.” Opening the cover, he flipped pages until he reached an illustration of the Cheshire Cat. “He’s my favorite character.”
“He would be.”
Mark chuckled. “You see there? We’ve known each other for ten minutes and already we can share a joke. I’m not so terrible, am I?”
Jane didn’t answer. The father and two toddlers were gone, as were the photo-happy tourists. They’d been replaced by a dozen kids, all about five years old, who climbed and shouted and raced while two women in matching day-care-emblazoned sweatshirts supervised. On the bench directly opposite, three twenty-something professionals chatted, then raised paper coffee cups in an animated toast that was lost to the wind.
“May I?” Mark asked.
It took Jane a second to realize he was reaching for her book. She slammed both hands down. “Don’t touch it.”
“Sorry.” He shrugged as though it made no difference. “I thought I’d compare copyright dates. See which one is older. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“They’re exactly the same. Anyone can see that.”
At that moment an old, bearded man shuffled past. Wearing an overcoat with a frayed collar, he carried a grubby cup and a fragment of creased cardboard. He approached the day-care workers first, earning twin evil-eyed glares before getting shooed away. Unfazed, he turned and made his unsteady way toward Jane and Mark.