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That night Eleanor and Wyatt had a quick dinner of cheap and unhealthy Chinese food in Chinatown and then went for a walk through SoHo Eleanor had a feeling Wyatt suggested the walk because a new February snow had begun to fall and the city looked unbearably romantic She hated--and there was no better word for it than hated--how hed so hard her sto about her She’d worn knee-high boots over her jeans and he told her she looked ferocious in them He loved the way she wore her hair in a messy bun at the nape of her neck He said she looked like a sexy Virginia Woolf minus the suicidal ideations Conversation proved difficult only when Wyatt asked her about her past and her stealth-bomber boyfriend She’d rather not talk about her dead father and her brush with the law And she couldn’t talk about the priest she’d been in love with since age fifteen

"Nothing? I get nothing about Stealth Bo and killing hi that How old is he? If he’s getting his PhD he has to be at least, what? Twenty-six? Twenty-seven?"

"He’s thirtyso"

"I knew I hated that TV show for a reason Call the hotline right now" Wyatt collapsed draht pole and stared up at the la"

"You’re so full of shit" She grabbed him by the front of his coat, put his arm in her arm and forceelse"

"Can we talk about your lips?"

"They’re lips"

"I bet they taste like strawberries and poetry"

"What does poetry taste like?"

"I don’t know But I’d love to find out"

Wyatt stopped walking and stood in the light under a streetlamp The snohirled like a dervish around hiht into that line," she said "I’m smarter than that I don’t fall for lines"

"You want to fall for it Fall for it, Elle"