A flurry of movement, a parting wink, and she was gone.
“Well?” Sophie said, draping her arm over the marble countertop as she mimicked Birdie’s affected tone. “Are youvisualizing?”
Freddie sighed, running a hand through his cropped hair. “Are you here to mock Birdie or help me decide on an apartment?”
“Oh, come on, this has to be the fiftieth place we’ve seen,” she whined, sitting up straight as she made a face at the bright orange canvas on the wall beside her. “How many apartments do you need to look at?”
He hated to admit that she was right. Over the past three months, they had seen more than enough apartments. Birdie had described each one the same way, too—some variation of gorgeous, luxurious, or chic. After the first dozen, Freddie realized she wasn’t being disingenuous. They were all gorgeous, luxurious,andchic, but they were also exactly the same. New and modern, atop some high-rise in Midtown.
None of them ticked that one box that even he hadn’t quitedefined yet. The one that would ease that annoying bit of lingering self-doubt and stop him from feeling like he still needed to prove himself. Where the hell had that come from, anyway? He had left this city eight years ago, and in that time he had founded his own company, Wentworth Hydroponics. His modular farms were being used around the world, his company had just been acquired by one of the largest agriculture corporations to ever exist. He should be returning to New York like a conquering hero.
Maybe it was imposter syndrome. Or maybe it was just that same feeling everyone grappled with when returning home years after moving away: Regardless of how old you are, you still somehow regressed back to who you were when you left.
“We’re not kids anymore, Soph,” he replied. “I don’t need my big sister’s help to find a place to live.”
“Maybe not, but I need a distraction from watching all my dreams crash and burn,” she said, plastering on a painfully fake smile as she motioned to the window. “I’m serious, I can practically see the flower shop from here. It’s two blocks away.”
He glanced over at the view. Shit, she was right. The storefront that would have been her and her husband’s floral shop was just a few blocks away.
Sophie’s divorce wasn’t new. She and her soon-to-be ex, Jimmy Bruno, had been hammering out the details for months. But it was still taking some time to get used to. They had been high school sweethearts, falling in love freshman year and never leaving each other’s side for over a decade. Jimmy had been the first person to help Freddie with Bertha, the make-shift hydroponics system he built in his parents’ basement in college, and had talked Freddie’s father off a ledge when he eventually found out about it. Freddie and Jimmy had gone to Yankees games together, even had a few double dates with Sophie and Anne. But the cracks between Sophie and Jimmystarted to form a few years ago, when they decided to open a floral shop together. Jimmy had argued that they lived in Queens, so that’s where the shop should be, but Sophie wanted to think bigger. Soon, they had signed a lease for a storefront in the East Village. Freddie was sure there had been problems before that, but the business only accentuated them. So much so that Sophie filed for divorce before Bruno’s Blooms even opened its doors. Now Sophie had a storefront, all the equipment, and no idea what to do with it.
“You’ll be fine, Soph,” Freddie said, softening his tone slightly. “The shop can still happen. You just need to hire someone to handle the business side of things.”
“Right. Between contractors and vendors and helping my brother find a place to live, I’ll make sure to pencil that in,” she murmured.
“We’ve been over this. I don’t need your help to find an apartment.”
“And leave you to your own devices?” His sister rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. If you end up in another apartment with a twenty-four-hour concierge, Mom is going to keel over.”
Freddie shook his head, even as he laughed. Sophie knew as well as he did that he never took advantage of the always-available concierge at his apartment in Los Angeles. In fact, he hadn’t even known about the service until he was moving out.
But that hadn’t stopped his sister or the rest of the family from giving him shit about it, as if he had somehow forgotten where he came from. Impossible for numerous reasons, not least of which was that his parents still lived in the small house in Queens where he grew up.
“Besides,” Sophie continued, getting down from the counter stool and wandering into the center of the room. “I think this is the best one we’ve seen. I mean, the view is awful, obviously.” Shegestured back to the window framing where her shop should be. “But the apartment itself is kind of gorgeous.”
Freddie nodded absently, giving the living room another glance.
“Anne used to live around here, didn’t she?”
“Who?” he asked, pretending to find the purple acrylic dining table interesting.
With anyone else, his feigned ignorance would have worked, but not his sister. Sophie turned, giving him a look similar to the one he had thrown her way just a moment before. The same one they had inherited from their mother.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is there another Anne who lived in the East Village and broke your heart that I should know about?”
He scoffed. “You missed your calling. You should have been a stand-up comedian.”
“Doubly funny since I wasn’t kidding,” she replied, glancing out the window again. “So? Did she?”
He pretended to think about it as he walked forward toward the kitchen. “Yeah, I think so.”
“You think so?”
“Well, I was never invited over, was I?”
Sophie’s mouth made a small O, as if she was just recalling that small detail. As if he hadn’t spent almost his entire collegiate life talking about Anne Elliot. Sophie knew every detail, including how he’d never seen her family home even once during their almost three-year relationship, how he still wasn’t sure if it was because she was embarrassed of her family or of him.
A long moment passed before Sophie continued, “What’s she doing these days?”
