Thank you all for your lovely reviews! And thank you to those who don't review, but continue to read! I apologize for the delay; I've been geeking it out at Book Expo America for the last three days. Three days, hundreds of publishers, and thousands of giveaways can make a book lovers' heart weak!

Happy reading!

We step off the subway at 59th Street and cross Columbus Circle to the southwestern entrance to Central Park. Meredith eyes my backpack suspiciously, again, but says nothing. I smile, despite myself. I like surprising people. I especially like surprising Meredith, because it's making her mad. And when she's mad, she gets the cutest little wrinkle in her forehead just above her eyebrows. Plus, I think the fact that I'm smiling through her anger is making her even more irritable. It takes all my strength to not laugh in her face. Instead, I walk quietly, guiding her through the leafy shadows of Central Park.

I can't help but think about Meredith's last time in the park—the night before she before she showed up on my doorstep; the night she was chased through the park by three men. It makes my stomach turn thinking of it, but I'm reassured to see her happy (well, not at the moment) and healthy next to me. Plus, I brought her to the park for a reason.

When I glance at Meredith again, she seems agitated, but her gaze shows worry. The park is not a happy place for her. "Hey," I nudge her with my shoulder. Meredith looks up at me. Her gaze softens, but her body remains ridged. I throw my arm around her shoulders and squeeze her reassuringly. "It's okay. It's daytime; there are a million people around; and I'm here. Nothing's going to happen."

She sighs and nods, but I can still feel the tension in her shoulders. I decide to walk with my arm around her, continually reassuring her that she's safe, and lead her past the baseball fields and to a little hill opposite the carousel.

I can feel Meredith's eyes on me as I set my backpack down beneath the shade of an oak tree. She waits patiently, very near where I'm crouching and digging through my backpack. I pull out the checkered blanket first and lay it down on a particularly soft looking patch of grass. I smile up at Meredith as she takes in the blanket, the carousel, and the park. I motion for her to sit down. "We can't have a picnic if you stand like that the whole time."

"We're having a picnic?" she asks softly while taking her spot on the edge of the blanket, overlooking the carousel.

I kneel beside her and dig through my backpack. Mark did me a favor and called in a picnic lunch from Bouchon Bakery in Rockefeller Center. He picked it up and dropped it off an hour before our departure time. I pull out the brown bag with the food and the smaller one with the drinks. I keep dessert tucked away, having other plans for that. "I know the park isn't your favorite place, which is understandable, but I don't want you to look back on New York with bad memories." I meet Meredith's gaze. "You've seen the worst New York has to offer, but there are a lot of really great places here and one of my favorites is this spot, overlooking the carousel.

"When I was five, my dad brought me here for the day. We went to the zoo, we ate lunch by the lake, and we came here. That was the day he told me I was going to be a big brother." I smile, remembering the way my dad held my hand the entire day and how he listened to every single one of my questions. I thought my dad was the smartest man in the world. "I don't want you to tell your friends years from now about how scary New York is. I want you to tell them about the great places you've been and the cool things you got to experience."

When Meredith says nothing in return, I shrug and begin to uncover the piles of food I bought. There are three different sandwiches, a tin of caramel popcorn, a fruit salad, and a garden salad. But before I can unpack everything, Meredith's hand folds over mine, causing me to look up. She smiles at me and it's an honest-to-god heartbreakingly beautiful smile. Her entire face lights up in a way I've never seen before and her eyes sparkle at me. Her fingers squeeze my hand and I feel my voice hitch in my throat. "Thank you, Derek, for this. For everything. I don't know…" she removes her hand and shakes her head.

I don't know how to thank you.
I don't know how to leave you.
I don't know…

I smile and nod, "You're welcome. I'm happy to give you a few good memories of New York."

"You've given me more than a few, Derek." The shine in her eyes turns to something else…something I can't pinpoint, but I may be too afraid to try.

I shake the feeling of confusion away and nod to the food. "Sit. Let's eat!"

Meredith folds her legs underneath herself and eyes the provisions on display. "Have whatever you want. I chose tuna, ham and swiss, and a pecan chicken salad. I didn't know what you'd like, and I like them all."

She reaches for the ham and swiss with a smile and pulls her food onto her lap. I've noticed, during my brief week-and-a-half with her, that Meredith hoards her food. It makes sense, of course, but her ability to slyly tuck food away is kind of astonishing.

I first noticed her hoarding food when she wouldn't finish all her dinner, but when I cleaned off her plate to do the dishes, it was empty. And one day last week, after I came home from work, Meredith was tucking something beneath her when I walked through the door. Her cheeks were bright red then, but I didn't bring it up. And then, the clincher, was when I found extra food she had bought at CVS and tucked away among her things. I wasn't snooping, per se, but I just wanted to make sure she had a fresh toothbrush and toothpaste, so I bought them to stow with her things. I don't call her out on her behavior, mainly because I have to try and understand how hard it is for her to survive without the comfort of knowing food is attainable at any moment.

This is one of the reasons why I wish she'd stay, but I don't know how to ask her to.

Near our little picnic spot is a blond family—two little boys and an older girl—running around in circles around their parents. I watch as one boy trips, only to be helped by the other, and both are kept safe by the older sister. I'm reminded of my sisters, always my protectors, and what they'd think of Meredith. I think they'd like her. Amelia would love her, but Amy's always been my own personal cheerleader.

I don't think Meredith has siblings. She doesn't seem like the sibling type. I don't know how to explain it, but sometimes I just have a feeling about Meredith's life and then certain things make more sense. For instance, I think her father has a powerful career. She's quiet about her dad—she's quiet about everything, obviously, but she's never mentioned him outright. She's spoken of her mom, but never once her dad. There's something going on with her father she's keeping as secret as possible.

"You're quiet," Meredith interrupts my musing.

She's already eaten half her sandwich and I have yet to choose one. I pick the chicken salad.

"I'm just thinking."

Meredith plucks a green grape from the fruit salad and places it between her lips. "What about?" she asks after she bites through.

"You, actually."

"Yeah," she smiles, clearly amused. "What about me?"

"We're friends, right?"

Meredith nods, wiping her hands on a paper napkin. "Yeah, of course, why?"

"And you trust me?"

Her brows knit together, but she nods anyway, "Yes, I trust you."

"Would you tell me something, anything, about yourself?" Meredith's gaze hardens with fear; I've seen the same look in her eyes more than a dozen times. "You're leaving in two days and I'm not going to call the cops on you. I don't need to know everything. Just give me something. The suspense…" I shake my head. "I just feel like after these last two weeks, you'd give me something."

Meredith says nothing. She gazes across the park with her food resting carefully in her lap.

I bite my tongue, feeling incredibly stupid. She's told me, time and time again, that she can't give me anything beyond what I already know. But it's painful not knowing. I compromise and ask her a question instead, "Are you an only child?"

"Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't matter," I sigh. "None of it matters, but you're a stranger to me and I'd like to know more about you."

"Derek…"

"What are you so afraid of?" I interrupt. "What do you really think will happen if you tell me you have a little brother? Do you think I'll call the police because I find out your mom's a librarian? Nothing I want to know is important." I swat a fly away from my sandwich angrily, trying not to yell at her and ruin our perfectly good day. "Don't you think I could have figured out who you are by now? I could look you up online easily and find your face staring back at me with disappearance stats. But I value your privacy enough not to do that. I just want to know you. When I tell my kids one day about the mysterious runaway I boarded for two weeks when I was in college, I want to give them more facts than she was beautiful."

Meredith eyes gaze up at me as I lose my cool. I feel my face grow red and I look away from her. I've allowed myself to go too far, like always. She's going to think I'm insane for my attack. Plus, why did I have to call her beautiful? Now, on top of everything else, she'll think I'm coming onto her. "Look, I'm sorry. Don't mind me. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"I'm an only child," she confirms. "I think my dad wanted to have more children, but my mom's career got in the way. I didn't really mind it. My dad and I spent a lot of time together when I was little and everything I learned came from him." She smiles sadly. "When I was really little, he used to take me to our timeshare in the mountains. We'd lie out for hours and stare up at the stars. I'd pick constellations like 'The Giant Pineapple' and 'The Lonely Frisbee' and my dad would point out Orion's Belt and Cassiopeia. He would explain animal track marks in the mud and pull leaves from trees that I could press into novels to preserve forever."

I watch her mouth move as she unravels bits of herself. A ghost of a smile plays across her lips the entire time. As she breathes, her lips part and her eyes close briefly, as if she's trying—but not trying too hard—to keep the memories at bay. I'm too curious to stop her and wonder if the past is too painful to talk about, so I allow her to continue on. She meets my eyes.

"I ran away in March. I headed right for New York, but was deterred along the way. I've met some really nice people. Other runaways like me and some strays, but I've tried to stay away from settled people." She smiles at me. "They can be dangerous."

"And runaways aren't," I challenge.

Meredith shakes her head, "Not as far as I've seen. I'm sure there are dangerous people, but everyone I met was incredibly helpful and willing to give whatever they can. I think it's because we're all in the same boat. We're all just trying to get by."

"Did they all have valid reasons for running?"

"Any reason is valid as long as it's yours. I might not have run for the reasons they did, but the same could be said for them running for my reasons."

"Why did you run?"

Meredith closes off again; I can see it in her eyes. "I'm not ready to talk about that."

I can't stop myself. "Did someone hurt you?"

Meredith licks her lips and turns to gaze at the warm sun through the trees. "Aren't we all hurt at some point?"

"You know what I mean."

"No, actually, I don't." She refocuses on me. "There are a lot of different kinds of hurt, Derek. Do you mean sexual abuse?" I cringe at the sound of her voice—the anger, the pain. I'm ruining our day without even trying. "Do you mean physical? Mental? Maybe all three?"

"Meredith, I—"

"I'm not telling you my reasons for running. I'll talk about my pet dog and my favorite color and all that bullshit, but I'm not telling you that. It's personal, as personal as asking someone's weight or the status of someone's virginity. My reasons for running are all my own, okay?"

I nod, "Okay. I won't ask." Meredith seems to relax and picks at the fruit cup. "You have a dog?"

Meredith's face breaks into a smile and shakes her head, "No, it was just an example."

"I had a dog when I was little. He died when I was six."

"That is the worst story I've ever heard."

I laugh and stretch my legs out in front of me. "His name was Pepper. He was a pug."

She wrinkles her nose, "Don't they have smooshed faces?"

"Hence their appeal."

"I want a Burmese or maybe a Husky, but I know they're dangerous sometimes."

"You can't have a dog on the run."

"I know," she says simply. "After I'm eighteen, I'll settle down somewhere. I'll finish my degree and get a job to put me through college. And I'll have a Burmese named Pickles or a Husky named Grapefruit."

I can't hide my smile, nor do I try to. I reach between us and grab a piece of watermelon. "Pickles and Grapefruit?" I pop the watermelon into my mouth. "Those are terrible names."

When Meredith laughs in return, I watch the laughter bubble up through her throat. "And Pepper was such a good name?" She kicks me playfully with her toes just above the knee.

"Pepper the Pug? That's the best name ever."

Meredith chuckles and leans back on her elbows. The rest of her sandwich lays forgotten next to her hip. "My friend Izzie had a dog. Sparkles. Princess Sparkles, actually." I raise my eyebrows. "She was a teacup poodle. One of those frilly little dogs." Meredith shakes her head. "She had the most annoying bark I've ever heard; it was high-pitched and made my eardrums explode every time. I hated that stupid dog."

"What happened to her?"

"Nothing. I mean, Izzie still has her as far as I know."

"So why do you talk about her in the past tense?"

Meredith sighs and shrugs her left shoulder. "I don't know. Maybe, to me, she's dead. It's like, when you leave your life with no promise to return, everything dies with that decision."

"Doesn't that depress you?"

She shakes her head, "No. It liberates me. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Son of a millionaire, on his way to becoming a doctor, all the while living up to his parents' high expectations of him and his sisters. Don't you ever find yourself shackled to your life? Don't you ever just want to hide away from it all?"

I've always found my life constraining, ever since I was thirteen at least, but it comes with the lifestyle. Money can buy you a new house, new cars, and the best educations in the world, but it really, really can't buy you freedom.

"I wouldn't run though. I might have a lot to live up to, but the perks are kind of amazing."

Meredith laughs humorlessly, "The perks aren't always worth it."

"I don't know, sometimes they might be. Having money has helped me a lot."

"You don't know that. You could have been on the same path without money. Or, you could have fallen into a better path. You'll never know what your life would have been if your father hadn't received all that money after selling his designs. And you have no idea what might push you to run. You'd be surprised."

I stare into Meredith's grey eyes and I wonder how someone so young could be so wise. Could it be the bravery that sent her to run or maybe she was always so smart. Maybe Meredith is a child genius and her capacity to understand difficult life problems is only overshadowed by her thirst for knowledge. Either way, I'm blindsided by her intelligence.

"I probably sound crazy," she sweeps her hand through the air, as if she's trying to scatter her words.

"No, no. Actually, it makes a lot of sense."

Meredith smiles and her cheeks flush. "I'm sorry if I'm ruining our picnic with my ramblings."

"Not at all. I ruined our day trying to force information from you. I'm sorry about that."

"It's only fair though. You're giving me so much. I can't give you anything but information."

"Well, for fairness sake, what's your favorite color then?"

Meredith's face breaks into a slow grin, "Lavender."

"Lavender," I repeat. "I bet you look great in lavender."

We sit on the steps of the main branch of the New York Public Library—our legs outstretched in front of us—and two desserts half-eaten on paper between us. Meredith has taken more than half of the chocolate tart, while I've devoured most of the three French macaroons I chose—cappuccino, raspberry, and peanut butter and jelly. I sneak a bit of Meredith's tart while she looks away, but she catches me at the last moment, stabbing me with her fork. It's simple being around her. Enjoyable, even.

"Tell me about your best friend," Meredith suggests.

"Mark," I sigh, rolling my eyes at just the name alone. "We've known each other since high school."

"You act like that's a bad thing," she grins between bites.

I laugh and wipe my hands on my jeans. "It's not. Mark's just… a lot to handle."

"What's he like?"

"He's… Mark. I don't know how to explain him." Meredith waits patiently, so I try. "He's a loyal friend. When I first started school, my classmates didn't like me because I was 'new money.' It's like they could tell I was different somehow. But Mark didn't care. He's a good guy, but he's not always that nice, especially when it comes to women."

Meredith lifts her eyebrow and smirks.

I shake my head, "He's a womanizer."

"And are you a womanizer, too?"

I was. I was, but I'm not anymore. Does that count? Does that matter? "Mark and I aren't similar in that many ways," I say in order to avoid the whole business.

Meredith laughs, "That would be a yes."

"I'm not, though. I mean, I've done stuff I shouldn't have, but I'm not like that anymore."

"What changed?"

I stare at Meredith for longer than I should. I take her in. I observe her. I watch as she blinks. I watch the way her hands fold behind her, holding up her weight as she relaxes in the sun. I notice her freckled ankles and the fall of her eyelashes upon her cheeks. I can't tell her I changed when she fell into my life because I don't know why I changed. I don't know what stopped me that night after Owen's birthday party. I don't know what makes me want to beg her to stay.

So I smile and shrug. "I'm growing up."

"What does Mark have to say about this?"

"He doesn't know, really. We haven't really talked about it."

"But you're not hanging out with him a lot anymore. Is he pissed about that?"

I shrug again, "Maybe. We're guys; we don't really talk about our feelings."

"Since I'm sucking up all your time, you should hang out with him tonight."

"But we're cooking dinner tonight," I reminder her. Meredith made the mistake of telling me she can't cook, so I'm taking the task into my hands to teach her how.

"Invite Mark."

"No," I say a little too quickly.

Meredith laughs, "Why not?"

"Mark doesn't mix well with company. He's like that pit bull or Rottweiler you own that you cage when guests are over."

"Are you afraid of Mark being around me or me being around Mark?"

"Isn't it the same thing?"

Meredith looks away, "Nothing would happen. You'll be there."

"Why do you want him to come?"

"Because you don't want him to."

"I'm protecting you from him."

"I get that, only, I don't need protection, Derek. And I'd like to meet him."

I sigh and regard my phone. Maybe Mark won't come. Maybe he'll still be bitter about Meredith's presence in my life and refuse. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I activate my screen and make the call. I stand up and walk away.

"Hey, what's up?"

"I know you probably don't want to," I lead in, hoping for him to get the hint, "but Meredith thinks you should come over to dinner tonight." Silence. I continue, "We're cooking, since she's only here for two more nights, and she'd like to meet you."

"Why?"

"I can't really tell. But she thinks we're not spending enough time together. Shit, I don't know."

Mark laughs, "You don't want me coming though, right? You think I'll be inappropriate or say something embarrassing?"

He knows me too well. "I don't care what you say, but if you come, you have to stay away from her."

"I wouldn't do anything, man. She's untouchable."

"I hear you say that now, but I think we both remember the incident last summer, with Lexie."

"Fuck you. She told me she was eighteen."

"Yeah, well her lack of a driver's license and braces should have told you she was sixteen."

"Whatever. It was only four years difference. That doesn't even count."

I ignore the fact that Meredith is only four years my junior. "Are you coming?"

"Yes, but only because you don't want me to."

"See you at seven. And remember, if you do anything to her—"

"You'll cut my balls off, I know. Later."

Meredith's eyes are closed as I return and she looks perfectly comfortable. Her legs are crossed at the ankle as she leans back against the steps behind her. Her head rests on her bent arms and the sun soaks through her skin. Our desserts lie at her hip, melted and forgotten. I can't tell if she's sleeping, but either way, she's more comfortable than I've seen her. The drum of the city—the voices, the honking horns, passing cars, and breaks screeching—barely affect her. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was a New Yorker.

She opens her eyes and smiles up at me. "Just taking a siesta."

"You're tired?" I ask and sit beside her.

"I don't think I've eaten that much since March." She sits up and tucks her legs up under her. "So what did Mark say?"

I shake my head at the glimmer of conspiracy in her eyes, "He said yes."

"Good."

Before I can worry more about Mark and Meredith meet, I collect our forgotten food and stand. "Are you ready for phase three?"

"There's more?" Meredith stands, wiping off the back of her shorts.

"If I'm going to impress you with New York City, I'm going to do it right." I hold out my hand. "Come on," I encourage. Meredith takes my hand and we walk down Fifth Avenue.

"I don't like elevators," Meredith whispers beside me and closes her eyes.

I wrap my arm around her shoulders and draw her close. She warm against my side, and surprisingly soft for someone so thin. Meredith fists my shirt in her hand. "It's fine. It'll just be a minute," I whisper back. A woman in front of us notices and smiles at me.

I focus on the floor levels changing before we finally reach the 102nd floor. Meredith's grip on me remains unchanged until we reach our final destination. "Welcome to the top of New York City."

Meredith releases me and steps ahead and onto the highest observation deck in the city, on the top of the Empire State Building. I hear her gasp, once, as her eyes draw her towards the glass walls of the deck. She stares down at midtown as I stand beside her. It's been years since I've been to the top of the Empire State Building; the city has changed so much since then. Everything looks so small and insignificant from this vantage point. New Jersey looks miles away and Central Park looks miniscule in comparison.

I walk along the deck, leaving Meredith in peace, and I stare downtown towards Battery Park. World Trade Center One rises up beside the former Twin Towers and I can't help but feel a squeeze in my heart. I'll never forget the day, ten years ago, when my dad picked me up from school just after first period and drove me home in silence. He sat us all down, alongside my mom, and told us what was happening. Nancy and Kathleen knew, but for Sophie, Amelia, and I, it was shocking. To this day, Amelia doesn't remember much, but I distinctly remember turning the news on and watching the first tower crumble live. My mom cried a lot. My dad turned red with anger. And I wondered how anyone could kill so many innocent people.

Our street in Yonkers was lined with American flags the next day. My mom held my hand as she lit a candle for those who perished. That candle stayed lit for one whole year—only to be replaced as it grew small. Now, as a New York City resident, I still hear people speak of the Towers as if they still stand at the furthest corner of the island. But we all know all that's left are two holes, now memorialize by the people who died and those who tried to save them, but also lost their lives.

I turn away from World Trade Center One and force myself to smile as Meredith approached.

"Are you okay?" she stares up at me.

And I smile, a genuine, happy smile. "Yes, I'm fine. Do you like leg three of our New York extravaganza?"

"It's amazing! The city looks so small." She turns back to the glass walls and overlooks the East River. A helicopter flies past and distracts us both; it's so strange seeing it in flight so close. "I really like New York," she says quietly.

I'm not sure if she wants me to hear or not, but I step closer, my arm pressed to hers. Meredith looks up at me. I smile at her. "I'm glad you like it here. You'll have to come back and visit me someday—when you're not on the lam."

Meredith smiles and nods. "I will. You haven't seen the last of me, Derek Shepherd."

She turns back to the view in front of us and I force myself to look away from her.

Please stay, I think, but I keep my mouth shut.

Today has been too perfect for that.

Maybe tomorrow.