At exactly seven, the elevator dings. I turn toward the door, adjusting my sleeves as I cross the living room. My heartbeat quickens. I’m nervous. I try to convince myself that I feel this way because I’m having a woman here, in my space, again. That’s all.
When I pull the door open, April stands there in an off-white blouse tucked into a short, flared brown skirt. A thick black belt with little ties cinches her waist, and the transparent tights she’s wearing make my mind stop functioning for a second.
Fuck.
Her hair’s pinned half up, hanging in soft curls around her cheeks and over her shoulders. There is just a hint of red tinting her lips, and her glasses sit lower on her nose than usual. She looks half like a librarian and half like the woman who was moaning my name in a hotel room yesterday afternoon. God, I’m going to ruin that shirt.
“Hi,” she says, her cheeks flushing just a tad, the way they do every goddamn time.
“Hi,” I answer, leaning on the door frame. “You were almost late.”
Her eyes narrow. “It’s not my fault; we live in Manhattan.”
My lips twitch at the corner. “Fair.” I push off the door and gesture for her to come in, listening to each click of her heels as I turn and lead her toward the kitchen.
“Your place is…nice,” she says. The tone of her voice is mostly easy, but I can sense a faint nervousness in it. “A small upgrade from the Four Seasons.”
I stop, turning back to look at her. “Karen doesn’t have surveillance of my building. At least, not the inside of it. Who fucking knows if she’s camped out across the street.”
April shivers dramatically, glancing toward the massive window across the space. “She freaks me out.”
“Welcome to the club.”
She steps around me, taking in more of the space, and I let myself watch her. Her eyes rake over the floor-to-ceiling windows, the clean lines, the crisp leather, and the dark wood. Soft lighting and the skyline outside light up the room.Everything is precise, nothing too soft, nothing that looks toolived-in.
She doesn’t say it, but I can see her questioning my living here. I can see her processing that this doesn’t feel like a home, and that’s by design.
“So…where’s the bedroom?” She asks, leaning to get a look down a hallway.
“We’re eating first.” I tilt my head toward the kitchen on the other side of the wall. “Need my strength.” She raises her eyebrows and snaps back at me. “Yourstrength?”
“I’m not getting any younger,” I say, keeping my expression painfully neutral despite the fact that I want to laugh. “Sex takes energy,April, and I’ve been working all day.”
She laughs; a real, full laugh. She throws her head back, and the sound vibrating from her lights something in my chest like a struck match. “Youhaveto stop trying to be funny. It’s starting to worry me.”
“It wasn’t a joke.”
“Uh-huh.” She follows me toward the dining nook, still grinning. “Next thing I know you’ll be asking me to get you one of those little blue pills.”
I shoot her a look. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Sure, Grandpa.”
I suppress the urge to throw her over my shoulder and take her down the hallway right now. Her bratty streak is growing bolder by the day, and I don’t hate it.
Dinner’s simple: grilled salmon, wild rice, and sautéed greens. I plate it myself, get her a glass of water and myself a glass of wine, and sit across from her like this is something I do regularly. Like I’veeverdone it with anyone since Natalie died.
“What? I’m not allowed to have any of your fancy wine?” she pouts, looking up at me with those goddamn puppy eyes that make me reconsider every choice in my life.
“Don’t want to risk it in case you’re already pregnant,” I answer as I hand her the glass of water. She has the audacity to poke out her lower lip at me. I hook a finger under her jaw and smooth my thumb over her lip. “Hey. Don’t pout at me.”
“I want wine.”
“I know you do.” I canfeelmy eyes rolling. “Doesn’t mean you’re getting it.”
“Fine,” she huffs.
She doesn’t comment on the food while we eat. I’m not entirely sure if that’s mercy or a compliment, but I’m absolutely positive I overcooked the salmon. For a few minutes, we eat in silence, and the clink of forks on plates is the only sound between us. But then she breaks it, like she always does.
