“So you live here in the city?” I ask.
“Brooklyn.” She watches as a girl who can’t be older than eighteen or nineteen makes her a dry turkey replacement sandwich. No cheese. No condiments. As soon as she wraps it in brown paper, Serena peels her stare from that direction and steals a glance at my hands.
I imagine she’s looking for my ring—for proof that the engagement is officially over.
“Here you go.” The young girl hands Serena her sandwich, and just like that, she’s on her way. Not so much as a see you around or nice running into you.
Weird …
I refuse to take it personally, given the fact that she knows nothing about me other than the fact that I was once engaged to a man she knows.
Ten minutes later, I dive into my soup and salad combo at a table-for-two.
Wonder what Cainan is up to today…
ME: I FINISHED DORIAN GRAY OVER THE WEEKEND. ALSO JUST RAN INTO SERENA AT THE HIGH MARKET DELI. SHE COULDN’T GET AWAY FROM ME FAST ENOUGH. I GET THE SENSE THAT SHE AND GRANT HAVE A HISTORY?;-)
CAINAN: YOU HANG AROUND THIS CITY LONG ENOUGH AND YOU’LL REALIZE THAT EVERYONE “HAS A HISTORY” WITH GRANT FORSYTHE.
ME: DAMN. AND HERE I THOUGHT I’D JOINED SOME EXCLUSIVE CLUB.
ME: WHEN CAN I RETURN YOUR BOOK? DO YOU HAVE AN AFTER-HOURS DROP BOX?
CAINAN: I’LL BE AROUND SATURDAY MORNING IF YOU WANT TO SWING BY.
ME: WILL DO …
I check the time and finish my lunch so I can get back to the office for my one o’clock Skype meeting. It isn’t until I’m boarding the elevator and riding it to the tenth floor that the ache in my cheeks pulls my fingers upward.
Holy crap. I’m grinning like an idiot.
I wipe the ridiculous expression off my face, compose myself, and duck into my office to check a few emails before the meeting starts. While I’m at it, I make a note on my calendar to return the book to Cainan on Saturday morning.
Not that I’ll forget …
Something tells me it’s all I’m going to think about for the next four days.
Even if I shouldn’t.
30
Cainan
Brie shows up shortly before eleven Saturday morning. “Feel like a walk? It’s gorgeous outside.”
It’s gorgeous inside too—the credit all hers.
Satin waves the color of dark chocolate frame her face, and her emerald irises light from within as she bites a smile and hands me the book she borrowed.
She isn’t wrong. It’s a fine October day. Crisp weather. Not too breezy. Trees turning the color of olives and rust and burnished gold, painting picturesque autumn portraits along every avenue.
“Fine.” I tease her with a wink as I grab a jacket and slip into a pair of sneakers—not unlike Mr. Rogers, though I’m a tad sexier if I do say so myself.
I place the book aside and lock up on the way out.
The instant we hit the sidewalk, the breeze brings me her perfume—a simultaneously sweet and dark number.
“What do you think of city life so far?” I ask as we head north, hands in our pockets, ambling ahead with destination-less strides.
“Definitely different than popping in once a month,” she says. “But, it’s also everything I expected and more. Sometimes I feel like I’m just some character living out a fantasy.”
“You’re giving this place way more credit than it deserves. It’s not that dreamy.”
“Tell that to my inner teenager who can’t stop walking around Maya’s apartment like I’m Carrie Bradshaw.” She chuckles under her breath and tucks a loose lock behind one ear, revealing a single dimple.
“Who’s that?”
She shoots me a look. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
I shake my head.
“Carrie Bradshaw,” she says the name harder. “Sex and the City …”
Shrugging, I shake my head once more. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”
“It was this show from, like, twenty years ago. My sisters used to let me watch it when I was probably way too young,” I say. “It was about these four best friends who lived in Manhattan and they had these crazy love lives.”
“Ah.” I recall a handful of billboards around the city and the occasional tour bus showing four middle-aged women dressed in outdated clothing. “I think I know what you’re talking about now.”
“I’d tell you to binge it, but something tells me it’s not your kind of show.”
“I don’t really watch TV.”
“Oh.” She rolls her eyes, though I get the sense she’s kidding. “You’re one of those.”
“My parents didn’t believe in TV growing up, so we never had one. When I got to college, I was too busy to even care about what was on TV, and it wasn’t something that interested me. I moved to the city right after finishing law school, and I’ve been building my career ever since. I can’t imagine sitting down and doing nothing but staring at a screen like a zombie. I’d much rather be staring at a book.”