Paulson nodded slowly. As if shooing something away, he waved a hand between them.
“Sorry, I’m babbling. I should discuss this with my therapist or my best friend since middle school,” he said. “No matter how much time passes, he understands me in that inexplicable way only people from your past do. Do you have friends like that? I like to think we all do.”
Avery nodded. Years had passed, and Miles still sensed she kept a list of aspirations in her head because writing them down meant makingthem real. He understood her fear of failure, but didn’t judge her for it. Lily was like that too.
Paulson’s brow furrowed, and he pierced her with a deep stare.
“I know I said I’d tear it down,” he said, “but I like it here. It’s peaceful. Truth is, my father wants me to find—”
The front circle door swung open, and Miles walked in, his head buried in the clipboard holding the mattress invoice. “Success. We can put this mattress mayhem to bed.”
He stopped laughing at his pun when he saw Paulson.
“Hey, Miles.” Paulson smiled and waved.
Again, like an inflatable holiday lawn decoration, Miles magically grew in size. He stood taller, squared his jaw, and broadened his shoulders until he was all muscle, height, and chisel. She couldn’t decide if this defense mechanism was protective or competitive, but this strong, confident Miles hadn’t existed ten years ago. Avery fiddled with her necklace, running the pendant back and forth along the chain.
“The Coopers aren’t here,” Miles growled.
“Oh, I returned a runaway Casper and took the opportunity to say hello to Avery.” Paulson smiled and faced Avery, his back to Miles. “So, does this place have a bar?”
She caught Miles rolling his eyes, but Avery refused to assume there was an ulterior motive behind every question Paulson asked.
“For cocktails?” she asked as she took the clipboard from Miles. “We mix drinks in a room off the kitchen. People take them out on the porch or by the lake.”
“The hotel bar is my favorite place in a resort,” he said. “It’s where parents grab a child-free moment, couples reconnect, siblings reunite. It’s jovial because everyone is on vacation. And each hotel bar has its own personality. You can tell a lot about someone based on their favorite one. Miles, what’s your favorite hotel bar in the City?”
“The Marlton,” Miles grumbled as he leaned against the tea counter.A snarl brewed beneath his scowl.
“I knew he’d pick something in the Village.” Paulson snapped his fingers. “The Marlton is intellectual and broody. Ideas percolate in front of cozy fires. You want the next great American novel? Someone at the Marlton’s bar is writing it. Or reading it.”
Well, Paulson had kind of nailed Miles. She wondered what bar Paulson liked.
“What’s yours, Paulson?” she asked, taking a sip of tea.
“We refashioned a former Post Office building into a hotel. The rooftop bar is called Postcards. The team transformed the ceiling into a giant postcard. Every table has postcards and pens. I enjoy sitting at the bar, sipping a top-shelf Manhattan, and watching people come in the door. The first time they always gasp. I love a good gasp.”
Avery could almost see a coupe glass in his muscular hand, peeking out from a French cuff. If Paulson was right and a person’s favorite bar painted a picture of their personality, his was a modern take on a classic.
“What’s your favorite drink?” he asked.
“Depends. Either champagne or a Lemon Drop.” She smiled and rested her elbows on the front desk.
“Sweet but also tart, and elegant.” Paulson raised a finger to his mouth in thought and then pointed at her. “I’d say Bemelmans at the Carlyle. There’s always a pianist or a jazz trio. On any given night, you can find a movie star, a mogul, and a socialite. Bemelmans has murals by the guy who wroteMadeline.”
“Oh.” Avery grabbed her heart. “I loved those books. The little girls all in a row.”
“Let’s go.” He slapped the counter. “Our jet can fly us to New York on Friday.”
Across the lobby, Miles’s head popped up from his phone.
Paulson raised his eyebrows expectantly, those piercing blue eyes hopeful. Avery had to admit she’d walked herself right into his offer.
“We can shop and maybe see a show,” he said. “You can stay at The Carter on Park, in your own suite.”
He turned to Miles. “Miles, come with us. And bring Victoria Evans. We’ll do a hotel bar crawl.”
The irony of the suggestion made Avery half laugh, half cringe. Sitting at a bar with Victoria was her worst nightmare. And Miles’s was sitting at a bar with Paulson. If she and Miles could get to the right place, they’d find humor in this, but they weren’t there yet.
