“Ah, speaking of which.” It’s not a dismissal, yet I get the sense he wants to change the subject. He reaches for the brochures on the coffee table and hands one to me, along with a red pen. They remind me of the booklets I used to get from Scholastic in elementary school; my mom always joked we should own shares in the publishing company because she and my dad bought so many books from them between the catalogues and the yearly book fair at my school.
“These are all new and upcoming releases,” he says. “There’s a short synopsis for each book under the cover, plus a bit about the author. I always aim for books with wide appeal that won’t offend or alienate people, which means nothing that focuses on parents or nuclear families, religion, et cetera. We want books about friendship, life lessons, animals, that sort of thing.”
We start going through the brochures. For several minutes, the only sounds are the flipping of pages and the scratching of pens. After awhile, I say, “Maybe I should make it a New Year’s resolution to give this place a more personal feel.”
Hugh taps his pen against his bottom lip. The motion hypnotizes me for a moment—or more accurately, his full, biteable lip hypnotizes me. “You could, if that’s something you really want.”
“I do. You know those well-meaning acquaintances who tell you things about your life and how you should live it based on howtheywould live their life?”
Hugh arches a brow. “Like someone telling you your place lacks personal touches?”
“Yes. No! I wasn’t talking about you,” I say quickly.
Hugh bows his head. He presses his lips together, which does nothing to hide the telltale crinkles around his eyes. “I was kidding, Ivy. Go on.”
“Okay, well, those type of people have been telling me for a few years that I’m wasting money on my apartment and I should buy a place. I’m almost thirty, it’s time to be an adult, it would be a good investment, yada yada. But the thing is, Ilikethis apartment. I like the neighborhood, I like the fact things are taken care of for me, the super is nice, the rent is reasonable. I like that it’s mine, but I never thought too much about making itfeellike mine. I always spent a lot of time at Bridget’s apartment, and then when she moved in with her mom after her dad died, I was there so much I practically lived with them.”
His smile is soft and almost wistful. “You two are like sisters.” It’s a statement rather than a question, and it makes my heart squeeze. Hugh spent less than an hour with us yesterday and already understands that. Then there’s Celia, who can’t seem to grasp my bond with Bridget, and is often petty and hurtful about how close we are.
“We are. I’d do anything for her and she feels the same.” I clear my throat, feeling suddenly emotional and missing Bridget even though I just spent the day with her yesterday. “Anyway, I’m used to this place being how it is and never thought much about doing anything else with it. And now with Celia living here indefinitely…”
“It’s still your place, though,” Hugh says. “She’ll eventually move on, and you’ll likely stay, at least for a time. You should be able to do whatever you please, whether that’s painting the walls bright blue, hanging art, bringing in new furniture, or getting a pet. Whatever makes it feel like home.”
I chuckle at his suggestions. “I don’t know about the bright blue or the pet. I’ve actually never had a pet. I’ve always thought I’d be a dog person, and I don’t think it’s fair for a dog to be cooped up in here. I’ll give serious thought to the art and maybe even the new furniture, though. Or at least a few throw pillows or something for the couch.”
We return to our task. It’s not long before Hugh glances at his watch and says, “Would you like to go out for dinner?”
“Oh. Umm.” Surprise leaves me speechless. My mind scrambles for a response—or more accurately, an excuse, although I’m not completely sure why I’d turn him down.
Hugh angles his body toward me, putting himself a few inches closer to me. “Ivy, I’ll be honest. I know we just met, but I like you. You’re smart and funny and interesting. I don’t know if you’re looking for something casual, serious, or even if you’re looking at all. Things are a bit up in the air for me right now. If the city doesn’t come through and renew their contract for next year, I might be returning to Scotland until next winter. I’m not normally the sort for casual, but maybe, if you’re agreeable, we could hang out, see how it goes. Nothing official, no labels, no strings. Would you be open to seeing where things might lead between us, even if that just means friendship?”
Oh, he’s good. He’s covered all his bases without seeming pushy or demanding. If any other guy had said something like that to me, I’d probably think he was trying to get into my good graces—or into my pants. But from what I’ve seen, Hugh doesn’t seem to have an insincere bone in his body. And I do hate dating; there’s so much pressure and uncertainty. I’ve always secretly hoped I’d just fall into a relationship and skip the whole awkward dating phase. It might seem ridiculous and unrealistic, but that’s basically what happened with Bridget and David, so I know it does happen.
And the truth is, I like Hugh. Bridget says I’m a romantic and there’s nothing wrong with holding out for Mr. Right instead of settling for Mr. Right Now. But who’s to say if Hugh starts out as the latter, he can’t turn into the former? Maybe it’s time to start making some changes in my life—get my apartment whipped into shape, usher Celia along with her own life plans, and perhaps work on my lackluster love life. It’s been way too long since I’ve taken a chance and gone outside my comfort zone.
“Dinner sounds good. Do you like Greek?”
