The sound of a drum set drifts in through the open window. My neighbor’s Juilliard-hopeful kid is already on his fifth instrument in as many years. It annoyed me at first, but now I leave the windows open when he practices. Those relentless, repetitive bars are proof he’s trying to become someone he knows or hopes he’s capable of being. A kindred spirit.
This is insane. I need to chill. Jackie never once said a word about the dingy walk-up I barely managed to rent when I first moved here. The one with a literal hole in the bedroom floor.
This place? A brownstone on the Upper West Side with a view of the park? It’s worlds apart.
My parents haven’t visited since I moved in last year. Their stubbornness is only slightly more aggravating than their excuses about “not wanting to intrude.”
This year, I got smart and convinced them to come for my birthday. Bought them plane tickets and told them they’re not refundable. Not that I cared, but it’s a sure way to get them here.
They’re worried about me. The way I live my life, what I prioritize. It’s obvious in the roundabout way they ask about my weekend plans, what I had for dinner, and the carefully disguised invitations for two during the holidays.
I wanted to show them I’m more than just fine.
That’s where Jackie comes in.
That stupid joke she made still stings. I know she was teasing, but with all our history and whatever it is that’s goingon between us now…I needed space. A few days to get my head straight before I could speak to her again.
But that’s the thing about Jackie. I told her about the dinner, and she immediately offered to cook.“Please don’t poison your parents on their first trip to New York in five years.”
Unfortunately, she had a point. I can’t cook for shit.
She was the one to point out that Mom would skin me alive if I catered the meal. And they’re not the types to enjoy an over-the-top dinner at one of the restaurants I usually take my clients to.
So, here I am, pacing the rooms like an idiot. Moving furniture around, making sure everything is perfect when—
Buzz. Buzz.
God help me, she’s here.
On my doorstep, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen smiles shyly at me, holding a ribboned box in her arms. The pristine bow of her pink shirt makesherlook like a present. The sight makes my heart stutter, and I gawk at her for far too long before I remember my manners.
“Happy birthday, Adam.” She pushes the box into my hands and presses a soft kiss on my cheek.
“You didn’t have to… I mean, you’re already saving my skin.”
“I wanted to get you a real present,” she grins, pink dusting her cheekbones. “Open it.”
I set the box on the hallway table and carefully untie the strings. When I remove the lid, my jaw nearly hits the floor.
Inside the black box is a 3D-printed silicone heart.
“You can take it apart,” she explains, animated, her expression bright. “And you can attach it to that contraption at the bottom. It pumps liquid through it, and it beats.”
I swallow hard. This woman saw my unhinged childhood bedroom and ran with it.
“I know you’re not planning on changing your career,” she adds quickly. “But I stared at the stuff in your room every night at your parents’ house. And I don’t know. My heart hurt for the little boy who had to let go of his passion.”
“Where did you even find this?” It comes out scratchy.
“I asked the guys at the lab to do it. Drew them a sketch.” Her wide smile falters when she probably mistakes my awestruck expression for disappointment or concern. “They had a blast, don’t worry. It’s not like I threatened to fire them if they didn’t do it.”
“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” I chuckle, still dazed. “But thank you. It’s beautiful.”
Before I get misty-eyed, I pull her into a hug and kiss her on the corner of her mouth. It’s short and chaste. A thank you.
“You’re something else,” I murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “So damn thoughtful.”
Her fingers find the edge of my collar and straighten it. For a moment, I hold my breath.
