It took ten minutes to make it to my subway station. It had been an eventful morning, and I could feel the chilly air on my cheeks as I got onto the train. I found a vacant seat and drew a deep breath. I had twenty minutes of calm before my meeting.
I double-checked my messages to see if I’d heard from Desmond again, but I hadn’t. Feeling a bit deflated, I looked out the window at the shops and residential buildings that we passed in quick succession.
I had been surprised at how much he remembered of me. And disappointed that it didn’t translate into wanting any more contact. What kind of man was he now? Not the kind of man who would finish three entire tubs of awful Cherry Garcia ice cream to win a dare, I’d bet.
I closed my eyes and forced Desmond out of my mind. Itwasn’t too hard since I had a looming big question ready to take its place. One that troubled me a lot.
What changes would our new investor make once he took over Mom’s restaurant?
It had been almost ten months since Mom had passed away, but I still couldn’t get used to calling it mine anymore. Just like I couldn’t get used to the idea that my mom had hidden things from me. The shock of discovering that she’d had health issues that she never discussed with me still hurt me, even ten months on. It simply added to the grief of having lost her so suddenly. To the feeling of disorientation and loss that accompanied my days, no matter how hard I tried to find a purpose to my life.
Twenty minutes later, I got out at the 34th Street subway station. I walked past the covered waiting area to the street across. I walked five blocks down to reach the tallest multistory building in the vicinity, made of steel and glass. Thomas Stein, a director at Luxe Hotels, had informed us that they were buying Mom’s restaurant and invited Gabriela, the manager, and me, the owner, to meet with them. Our previous and very hands-off investor, Ray Murphy had been very approving of Luxe Hotels.
I stared at the towering skyscraper in wonder for a long time before I approached it. I pulled open the large glass door and walked into the lobby. It was spacious, the ceiling at easily twenty feet high, and had bright overhead lighting with a reception area and a large fireplace and comfortable chairs around a rectangular table off to the side. The shiny floor was a beautiful white marble with gray and black veins. To my left was a small but interesting café, which, at the moment, seemed to be running at capacity with all of its two customers.
My footsteps echoed off the walls as I walked in.
I saw Gabriela standing by the fireplace with a smile on her face and, to my utter relief, two cups of coffee in her hands.
She caught sight of me and walked up with a smile, holding a cup out to me.
“How did you know?” I asked, taking the cup and bringing it to my lips.
I closed my eyes as I drew in a sip of the nutty, smoky Columbian brew. Gabriela had gotten it just the way I liked it—hot, mildly creamy with just a tad bit of sugar. I owed her big time.
When I opened my eyes, she was grinning at me. “Your building loses power like clockwork every other morning,” she said. “You need to move out of there.”
I took another sip, spotting a large elevator off to the side and stairs with polished golden banisters going up to the floors above. “I told myself I’ll move out when the restaurant makes a profit.”
“Meanwhile, you know there’s a spare room in my home that you’re welcome to,” Gabriela added, leading the way to the elevator. “Troy is looking forward to taco nights with you since he says you make the best tacos.”
Gabriela’s five-year-old son, Troy, could eat tacos every night of the week.
As much as I was tempted to share a home with Gabriela and her kid, I still wanted a place that was just mine. Something that belonged to meandhad reliable electricity.
“Thanks,” I said after a moment while we waited for the elevator. “You know I appreciate that even if I don’t take you up on it.”
I paused and grinned, remembering something. Elbowing her gently in the ribs, I asked, “On another note, how much did you make by betting on my abysmal date?”
Gabriela threw her head back and laughed. “I lost twenty dollars,” she said, punching me playfully on the arm. “Sorry about that.”
“Uh-huh,” I said in a noncommittal voice. “You know it’ll be payback time when you go on a date next.”
“That’s only fair.” She grinned as we got onto the elevator, and she pressed a button for the fifth floor, explaining, “Otto, at reception, told us to go to the meeting room on floor five.” She gave me a sideways glance. “By the way, he’s cute. And his favorite author is Gillian Flynn.” This time, she winked at me not so subtly.
I owned every book ever written by Gillian Flynn, but I wasn’t taking Gabriela’s bait.
“I did go on a date yesterday, and I’m not going down that road again,” I murmured as a few more people in suits and business attire bustled into the elevator before the doors closed. “Besides, if you knew the guy’s favorite author in the time that you were waiting for me, perhaps you are the one who ought to be going on this date.”
She groaned. “Don’t start on me.”
I elbowed her back gently. “You did it first,” I said, and we both grinned.
Gabriela hadn’t dated since her divorce five months ago, and because she still held on to her engagement ring, none of us had the heart to push her into the dating world yet.
The elevator climbed up the floors, and each time it stopped, I could see the cubicles spread out on each floor before the doors closed again. Everything looked cookie-cutter and sterile.
“This is a bad idea, Gabi,” I muttered as she followed my gaze. “The restaurant won’t work with management like this.”
