Error. [H.S.]

21.

Scotty.

"Where you headin', miss?" A thick Italian accent greeted me as I slid into the back seat of the yellow taxi. A balding man in his early fifties sat behind the wheel, bundled up in a few warming layers. His kind eyes met mine through his rear view mirror, easing up the hesitation I always felt getting into a cab.

"The Mercury Lounge, please." My seat belt fastens snug across my body, snapping into place.

"Catchin' a gig?" He aims to make conversation as he pulls back out onto the street. We are separated by the built-in barrier, but his words still travel through the open sliver in the plexiglass.

"That's the plan." Remnants of snowflakes had freckled my coat with water droplets, so out of consideration for the artificial leather seats, I brushes my hands over the fabric a few times to wipe away the water onto my hands. "I let time get away from me though, so I'm late. We'll see how much of the set I actually catch."

"Leavin' a hospital gives you a free pass." He validates my tardiness with a kind chuckle. "What brings you to to the hospital, if you don't mind me askin'?"

I toyed with the idea of telling him the truth, but something deep down told me it was better to keep it vague for confidentiality reasons. Since there was an active investigation going on regarding Niall's multiple attacks, I figured it was best for me to fabricate a story.

"Just visiting a friend. He had to get surgery, so I came to check in on him. Moral support, you know?" I ad-libbed a version of the truth, but it wasn't that far fetched seeing as Niall did have surgery yesterday.

"Must be a pretty special fella if you finessed yourself in there past visitin' hours, eh?" The driver nodded, eyes centered on the tail lights of the car in front of us. "Those nurses don't make exceptions for just anyone. Feisty women, they are."

More than special, but who was I to pour my heart out in the back of a cab to a stranger I'll likely never see again? Or maybe it's the little things like this that make a little more fun.

"Very special." I confirm after a minute, a smile rippling up my cheeks as I try to remember how it felt to have Niall's arms wrapped lovingly around me. "He's my almost-boyfriend." I'd never referred to him as that before, at least not out loud, even though that's exactly what he was to me.

My almost-boyfriend who does everything a boyfriend would do - like sends me flowers every Monday since we've met without fail, or kisses my forehead anytime he knows I need to clear my head - but my fear of jeopardizing his professional career has us limited.

"Almost your boyfriend?" The driver repeats like it was some new aged slang he wasn't familiar with. "You datin' or not?" He shook his head, wanting a direct answer. "Love didn't have so many layers when I was your age."

"Basically, just without the title." I press the side of my head against the foggy glass window, watching the city lights as we drive through. "We made this pact not to officially date until he hit a certain mile marker in his profession. That's coming up in a few weeks." My heart skipped a beat as I saw the end to the time frame on our agreement, eliminating the large distance between us and a commitment.

"Then you'll date?" Still confused, he laughed at my articulation of the scenario.

"Then we'll be official, yeah." I confirm, rolling my lower lip between my teeth to suppress the blossoming smile.

"A man that can make you smile like that when he's not around better realize what he's got." The driver seemed invested in my love life, but I couldn't tell if it was genuine, or if he was just lonely. I could see how someone could go home feeling deprived of human connection after a job like this. Most New Yorkers are too busy focusing on their careers or reputations that they take advantage of their rides and use them as opportunities to focus in on their phones. I've been there before, so seeing how engaged he is in our conversation is a refreshing reminder to disconnect every now and then.