WHO MADE THE FIRST MOVE ANYWAY?
WILL
Iwas always the quiet, serious, all-American good boy. People say you’re a product of your upbringing, and my family certainly set the standard. Our house looked like something out ofFather of the Bride; big white house with black shutters, classic colonial style, but my dad was nothing like Steve Martin. He was intense, driven, the type who expected excellence without excuses.
I’m the typical first born, holding myself to high standards, always setting ambitious goals and pushing myself to meet them. My younger sister, Sarah, was a straight-A student, sweet and genuine, with curly hair and a kind soul. In high school, everyone loved her and it was real.
Like Sarah, I was also seen as the “perfect” kid. Good grades, star athlete, playing varsity quarterback in high school which translated to a spot as tight end in college at Stanford for a while, but I quickly realized that my future lay in business. Mygrandfather used to tell me “Use your brain for work, not your hands. Your body won’t last forever.” That stuck with me.
I knew I needed a career that challenged me mentally, and real estate was the family legacy. I hit it at the right time, exactly when the market took off.
I met Kelly in high school, she was beautiful — quiet, and serious, much like me. We started dating Junior year but broke up before college, figuring that if it was meant to be we’d find our way back to each other, and we did. I went off to Harvard and then Harvard Law, thinking a law degree would help cut legal costs in the real estate business. Kelly moved to New York for fashion design, even launching a line with a partner, but long distance was hard. She came back to California before her business took off; and not long after, we got married. Having her by my side made me feel more important.
Kelly was the only serious relationship I’d ever had. Sure, I dated here and there, but I didn’t waste time on flings. I wasn’t interested in sleeping around and I never connected with anyone like I did with her. But even back then, there was something missing between us that we never acknowledged. We respected each other, but there was no spark, no real laughter.
People called us “Barbie and Ken.” No one more so than my best friend, Evan. In a way we looked the part, but it felt empty beneath the surface. Being around us didn’t feel light. Evan used to say Kelly bossed me around and took the fun out of things. He thought she was jealous and always had to be in control. Even when everything looked perfect from the outside, there was just something a little too tense for easy comfort.
Things between Kelly and I really started to shift after the birth of our fourth, Ivy. By the summer Ivy turned four, our marriage was unraveling. We were fighting more, getting on each other’s nerves. I found reasons to stay late at work, and when I was home, it felt like a burden.
I loved my kids but four was more than I’d planned for. I was overwhelmed. I’ll admit it; I wanted out, and I’m pretty sure Kelly did, too. I had a nagging feeling she’d met someone else, though I didn’t think she’d crossed any lines. I couldn’t blame her if she had. I wasn’t around much, and she was craving something more. So was I. I didn’t go looking for anything, but sometimes, something finds you anyway.
The first time I saw Natalie, it was just another afternoon at the school gate. I looked up, and there she was. She stood a little off to the side, the sun catching in her hair, long and thick, light sandy brown with loose pieces falling around her face. She was average height, thin, delicate, but not fragile. Like she didn’t take up much space but still managed to draw your eye.
Amid the sea of oversized sunglasses and manicured perfection, she looked like she belonged somewhere else. Somewhere quieter.
There was calmness to her, something unpolished and real. It was hard to ignore. I didn’t know who she was, but I found myself hoping she would look over.
And then Ivy came out, hands clasped with a girl I assumed was Bebe, the new friend she was talking about nonstop.
The girls made a beeline for the woman I’d just been watching.
Bebe hugged her waist, and Natalie smiled and leaned down to say something I couldn’t hear. That’s when it hit me.
Well shit, fate had a sense of humor.
I started to walk toward them. Our eyes met, and for a moment, everything else faded.
When Natalie introduced herself, I remember thinking how genuine she seemed, how there was nothing forced about her.
We spoke for only a few minutes. I don’t even remember the specifics. At some point, she mentioned she was from Indiana but moved to Orange County from Illinois, and something aboutthe way she said it stuck with me. It was the way her voice softened, as if she missed it but had come to accept this new chapter in California.
Her nose had a light dusting of freckles, one standing out just above the bridge. I couldn’t stop noticing how it moved slightly when she smiled or laughed. She tucked a strand of her sandy hair behind her ear, but it was that freckle that lingered in my mind long after the conversation ended.
In the weeks that followed, we spoke a little more each time we crossed paths. Small talk mostly—how Ivy and Bebe were getting along, whether the pick-up line seemed longer than usual.
In these quick moments of passing, I started to notice little details about her. The way she laughed with her whole face, and how easily she carried herself.
I didn’t know what I was feeling, but I knew I wanted to be around her.
CHAPTER 7
WHISKEY BUSINESS
JASON
It was late fall in Chicago, and I was sitting in a board meeting with Danny and his dad. This was the official handoff. His dad was stepping back, giving us the reins, trusting us to take the company forward. It was a huge promotion and a clear sign of confidence in all the work we had put in. The sky was the limit.
Danny insisted we go out to celebrate. I was flying out the next day, so why not? We were both staying downtown at the Four Seasons. Danny called an Uber, and we headed to a new spot called Cindy’s Rooftop.
