Lighter.
Cream-toned walls. Plush textures. Furniture that looks chosen, not issued. The sharp edges are replaced by warmth and intention.
And then there are the flowers.
Not the kind hotels use to manufacture an Instagram moment. No towering vases of imported French roses screaming look at me, I’m expensive.
This isn’t a wow factor.
It’s intimate.
Wildflowers, loosely arranged, are scattered throughout the space like someone couldn’t decide where they belonged and decided the answer was everywhere.
Delicate stems. Soft colors. And threaded through them, bright and unmistakable…
Marigolds.
My favorites.
I stop short.
They look almost hand-picked. Like someone wandered through a field and gathered what caught their eye. Except it’s the dead of winter, and Central Park is definitely not offering up wildflowers right now.
My chest squeezes. This has Harrison’s fingerprints all over it.
But that’s impossible. He’s been with me all morning.
When did he say he set this up?
Travis reappears and gestures toward the open space. “Fully stocked fridge. Pantry too.” He points down the hall. “Small gym up here. Bigger one downstairs has a pool. And if you need anything at all, dial zero. The concierge can take care of whatever you need.”
What if I need a big, strapping lumberjack?
I brush the ruffles of a marigold. “Is Harrison coming back?”
He’s already heading for the door, replying like it’s a question he’s answered a thousand times before.
“Anything’s possible.”
He winks, closes the door, and leaves me alone with the flowers.
I tuck the biggest marigold behind my ear and start counting bedrooms.
CHAPTER 32
Ava
The barista blinks at me, waiting.
I study the board, overwhelmed, and settle on my usual.
“Yes,” I say, my phone pressed to my ear. “Can I please have a triple-shot oat milk cappuccino with one pump of vanilla, one pump brown sugar, extra dry, and dusted with cinnamon?”
He punches it all in quickly, and unlike some people, he doesn’t even need a notebook.
“Anything for breakfast?” he asks. “A sandwich?”
I stare at the case. “The bacon one. That one.”
