Syd’s words echo in my head as I tilt my head back, watching Josh for any sign this is more than friendly.
We start walking, our destination unclear.
“I completely forgot about those home movies,” he says, his voice light. “I wonder if we still have them around somewhere.”
“We should dig them out. Bess and Pete are in a few of those. We could do a montage for their wedding.”
“Good idea. They’re probably all at the summer house.”
“I could spare a weekend away.” I grin. “This lizard wouldn’t mind warming up on a beach.”
“I’m sure I could find you a bedroom.”
We both laugh. Perched on the beach at Capricorn Cove, the Greenfeld’s “modest” eight-bedroom home is anything but. The yard is perfectly manicured, complete with a swimming pool, tennis court, and a private stretch of warm sand. I’ve spent countless days there, roped into starring in whatever adventure movie Josh and Sam dreamed up.
From the time I’d turned fourteen through to when Josh and Sam finally took the plunge and moved to Hollywood, nearly every break and weekend had been filled with films.
“When do you want to go?” he asks, steering us around a pile of trash on the sidewalk.
“I’ll check my calendar. Can I call you tomorrow?”
He nods, guiding me down a narrow alleyway.
I glance around, frowning. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned? This is how scary movies start.”
Josh chuckles. “With speed dating followed by a quick escape?”
“With a hot guy leading a young innocent to her death.”
“I’m a hot guy, huh?”
I jab my elbow into his stomach, laughing as he overreacts. “Hot guys can be serial killers.”
“You watch too much true crime.”
“True. But at least I know how to stay sexy and not get murdered.”
The alley opens onto another street, and we walk a few blocks until we reach the end of a row of brownstones near Grosvenor Park.
“Where are we?” I ask, laughing.
Josh drops his arm and shoots me a grin as he opens a small metal gate, gesturing for me to follow him up a curved set of stairs to the stoop. He unlocks the double doors and holds them open. I step inside, blinking at the beauty before me.
The entrance boasts thirteen-foot ceilings and ornate plaster mouldings. A parlour sits to one side, and a small coat room nestles under a staircase that takes up half the hall. Josh leads me through the rooms, pointing out the cherrywood floors, tile inlays, wainscoting, and original stained-glass windows.
“Do you like it?” he asks softly.
Warmth spreads through my chest as I take it all in. “It’s beautiful. How many floors?”
“Five, but it has a subfloor with a screening room, so technically six.” He flashes me a grin over his shoulder. “I was on the fence, but that really weighs in the plus column.”
“Are you renting this?” I trail my fingers along the wood railing as we climb the stairs.
“For now. I wanted to try before I buy.”
