Moonlight Over Manhattan: A charming, heart-warming and lovely read that won’t disappoint!. Sarah Morgan
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can’t. It’s buried under four layers of wool because it’s cold out there.”
“But he was attractive?”
Harriet sighed. “Yes, he was attractive and yes part of me wonders why I can’t meet someone like him in real life.”
“The ER is about as real as it gets.”
“You know what I mean. In a situation that could actually end in a date. Not that it would work out because if it ever happened I’d be too shy to open my mouth. I can’t get past that first awkward meeting stage.”
“You say plenty to me.”
“But I’ve known you for years. I feel relaxed with you. Most men aren’t willing to stick around for that long while I get comfortable enough to actually engage in conversation.” She put her fork down. “I need to find a way to skip the ‘getting to know you’ part.”
“That’s why so many of the best marriages happen between friends. People who have known each other forever. Friends to lovers. It’s my favorite theme in books and movies.”
“It sounds like a great theory, but unfortunately I don’t have any male friends I’ve known for thirty years who might be willing to marry me.”
“Didn’t your brother have any friends?”
“They always hit on my sister. I was the quiet one.”
“Oh, honey, quiet can be good. Quiet doesn’t mean you don’t have important things to say. Just that you might take your time saying them.”
“Maybe. But most people don’t wait around long enough to hear it.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’ve never had boyfriends?”
“I’ve had a few. Couple of boys in college. Uneventful and definitely not exciting. Then I dated the accountant who moved into the apartment above ours.”
“And how was that?”
“He seemed interested in every figure but mine,” Harriet said gloomily. “And since then—do you count the guy at Molly’s Salsa dancing class she tried to set me up with?”
“I don’t know. Do you think he counts?”
“We danced twice. I enjoyed it because dancing meant I didn’t have to talk to him. I did warn you that my dating history isn’t impressive.” She watched as Glenys ate the omelet, each mouthful slower than the last. She knew that since Charlie died Glenys had to force herself to eat. Force herself to get up in the morning. Force herself to get dressed. “Do you have a warm coat and gloves? I’m going to take Harvey out for a short walk, and you’re coming with me. No arguments.”
“You’re supposed to walk my dog, not care for me.”
“You’d be doing me a favor. It’s easy to talk to you, and I could use the company.”
“Harriet Knight, you’re such a sweet girl.”
Harriet winced. “I don’t want to be a sweet girl. I want to be a badass.”
Glenys laughed. “That word sounds plain wrong coming from your lips.”
“What do you mean? I said the F word last Saturday. When I landed in a heap and bust my ankle—I said it. Out loud, in public. They probably heard me in Washington Square.”
“Shocking, but it’s not enough.” Glenys gave a placid smile and put her fork down. “Now, if you’d grabbed that sexy doctor and planted one on him, that might have improved your badass credentials.”
“Fliss said the same thing. Are you two colluding? I’ll say what I said to her—he would have had me arrested for assault.” As it was, he’d seemed surprised at some of the things she’d said. As if he’d been expecting something different.
She couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like to work in a department like that. In the short time she’d spent in the waiting room, she’d heard people yelling abuse and several of them had been drunk. It had made her feel more than a little uncomfortable. How must it feel to handle that day after day? That was one of the things she loved most about working with dogs. They were always so thrilled to see you. There was nothing better than a wagging tail to lift the spirits, nothing more motivational than an excited bark. Dr. E. Black didn’t have that when he went to work. She suspected there was a distinct shortage of wagging tails in his life.
She watched as Glenys finished the omelet, policing every mouthful. Then she got Harvey ready for his walk. She maneuvered him into his little red coat, attached his leash and helped Glenys find her coat and her gloves.
It was true that if she’d taken the dog on her own the walk would have been finished in half the time, but that wasn’t what life was about for Harriet.
Glenys needed to maintain her independence and no one else was going to help her.
They walked slowly down the street, admiring the decorations in the store windows.
“I love this time of year.” Harriet slid her arm through Glenys’s. “It’s so buzzy and exciting.”
Glenys was concentrating on where she put her feet. “At my age, it’s just another day.”
“What? No, you can’t think that way. I won’t let you. I hope you’ve written to Santa.”
“Does he deliver new hips or new husbands?”
“Maybe. If you don’t write, you’ll never know.”
“Maybe I should try online dating.”
“It didn’t work for me, but no reason why it shouldn’t work for you. Go for it, but don’t ask me for help with your profile. I’m too honest. You need to present yourself as a twenty-year-old pole dancer.”
Glenys tightened her grip on Harriet’s arm. “Next time, I’m writing your profile. No more nice girl Harriet. How are your adventures going? What was today’s challenge?”
She’d told Glenys about her determination to stretch herself.
“I called someone who is always rude to me.” She was careful not to mention any names. “Normally Fliss does it.”
“If she’s rude, why do you keep her as a client?”
“I never said she was a client.”
“Honey, life is too short to hang on to friends who are rude to you so it has to be a client.”
“She has two dogs and a huge network of wealthy friends. Fliss says we can’t afford to lose her.” Although if it had been left to Harriet she would have done exactly that months ago. Life was too short to have rude clients too.
“So you let her say bad things to you?”
“It’s not that she says bad things, exactly. It’s more that she’s one of those people who thinks no one can possibly understand how busy and appalling her life is. So she is infuriated when I talk slowly. But I’m afraid of speeding up in case I stammer.” Harriet paused as they passed a side street. “She makes me feel small. Not small as in slim and attractive. Small as in less. She makes me feel incompetent, even though I know I’m not. She reminds me of Mrs. Dancer, my fourth grade teacher.”
“I’m assuming that’s not a good thing.”
“I wasn’t the type to talk much in class, so she used to single me out. Harriet Knight—” she imitated Mrs. Dancer’s sarcasm “—I presume you do have a voice? We’d all love to hear it.”
“I don’t see why not talking all the time should be a disadvantage in life.”
But Harriet wasn’t listening. She was looking at the man huddled against the wall next to a Dumpster. She looked at his shoulders, hunched against the wind, and at the defeated look on his face.