By the time we emerged from the store, the afternoon sun had ascended high in the sky. Following Nicholas’s request, we grabbed hotdogs from a nearby stand and ate them in quietude on a bench in Central Park, observing passersby and tossing breadcrumbs to pigeons.
Since the necklace incident, neither of us had spoken much. My tendency to overanalyze in silence was usual, but for Nicholas, who lacked an 'off' switch, this was uncharacteristic. The only times I recalled him being quiet were when he slept.
He glanced at me several times, then at the Dior bag beside us on the ground, before finally speaking.
“So,” he began softly, “do you have a list of names for me?”
Rarely had I been at a loss for words in my professional life.
“I’m sorry,” I replied, sitting up straighter, trying to ca
