“I don’t even know where you live,” he said.
“Chelsea. Ninth and 19th.”
“Nice area. Good restaurants.”
“I like it, but I don’t go out that much.”
I called for a car, having little desire to take the crowded train downtown on a Saturday. Within minutes a sedan pulled up to the curb, and we climbed in.
“It’s a great area except for good pizza and movie theaters. For that I go to Tribeca, or if I feel like a change of scenery, I’ll go to Brooklyn.”
“Brooklyn?” Nate wrinkled his nose.
“Yeah, you know, that borough over the bridge?” I stared at him. “You have to be kidding me. You’ve never been?”
He shrugged. “Why bother? I get everything I need in the city.”
I laughed. “Reactionary. Learn to live on the wild side.”
It took about half an hour through traffic to get to my apartment. The first thing I did after we entered was go to the bedroom and slip the picture of Jared and me inside the nightstand drawer. I took off my suit, showered quickly, changed into jeans and a sweat shirt, splashed on a little cologne, and returned to Nate, who’d taken a seat on my sofa. He was leafing through the Picasso picture book I had on my coffee table.
“That wasn’t too long, right?” I stood by my kitchen counter. I’d lucked out on this apartment and paid a nice, stabilized rent, but it wasn’t mine. I’d had to sell the apartment I grew up in to pay my bills and expenses when my parents died, as I couldn’t afford the upkeep on my own.
I liked my apartment well enough: it had wide windows that let in floods of afternoon sun, and I’d decorated it with pieces I’d picked up in my personal antiquing forays. It was a blend of eras and styles, but it all worked well.
I’d only made two changes in the twelve years I’d lived there, and that was to donate both my sofa and my bed after Jared died.
I couldn’t live with them, without him.
“Not at all.” He set the book down. “Nice place. Do you own it?”
“No. I’m looking to move, hopefully to a pre-war building on the Upper West Side.”
“I’m sure you love the old details in those apartments.”
I sat in the tufted club chair I’d found in the small upstate town of Phoenicia. “I do. Your house is like a smorgasbord to me. I could spend days there.”
“Be my guest. You have an open invitation. Day…and night.” He flashed a wicked grin, sending my heart jumping.
“Uh, so what movie do you want to see?”
“You pick.” He waved his hand in the air. “I haven’t been in forever. I wouldn’t even know what’s out.”
If I dragged him to Brooklyn, we could go to the Alamo Drafthouse and see the latest superhero picture and have dinner at our seats. But I was lazy at this point in the day, and the Village looked good to me.
“You have a choice between romantic comedy, action, murder mystery, or superhero.”
“Are we really doing pizza and a movie?” He wrinkled his nose again, and I couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked.
“Come on, don’t be a spoilsport. Not every evening has to be tablecloths and fine wine. Sometimes you have to step down from the top of the mountain.”
His brows scrunched together. “Is that how you see me? Above everyone?”
“Not really, but I think you’re reserved. Maybe it’s a result of having a lot of money?”
“You could say that, yes.”
“I just did.” I grinned.
