He shot her another look.
“What?” His sister’s eyes went wide, like she had no idea what she was doing.
“You know I haven’t talked to her in years, Soph.”
“Yeah, not right after the breakup, but you two must have connected on social media or something. It’s been seven years.”
“Eight,” he said before he could stop himself.
To her credit, she didn’t call him out on it. “I’m just saying, Freddie. You two were a big part of each other’s lives. Now you don’t even know where she is?”
“No. I don’t.” His voice sounded cold. Final. It was out of character enough that Sophie blinked, the only tell that she was surprised.
Shit. It was rude, but he didn’t have the patience to apologize and invite the conversation to continue. He had spent years separating himself from Anne Elliot, both mentally and physically. It was easier when he wasn’t in New York, but now that he was back, he didn’t want to fall into old patterns.
He had moved on. And maybe reclaiming this one last bit of his city would be the final step he needed.
That last thought was punctuated by the front door swinging open again. Birdie waltzed back in with a smile, followed by a man about Freddie’s age. He was slightly shorter, though, with black hair and wearing a pair of trendy wire-rim glasses.
“Frederick! This is Ellis Rowley. He’s the listing agent for this utopia,” she said, motioning between them.
Ellis let out a chuckle and shook Freddie’s hand. “Nice to meet you. My husband James and I live on a lower level of utopia. Apartment 5A. I’m also the co-op board president, so don’t let the application deter you. I can move it along quickly.”
“But you still have to movefast,” Birdie added, her singsong voice almost hitting shrill levels. “Something like this won’t stay on the market long.”
Freddie turned to look around the apartment again.
The windows were open, allowing in the crisp autumn air. Temperatures had only just started to cool and the leaves outside were beginning to change color, leaving an earthy tinge to the breeze that billowed the curtains. The living room sat at the northeast corner of the building, so he could hear the sounds of traffic below, along with children’s laughter from what Freddie could only assume was Tompkins Square across the street. It was all just far enough away that it added life to the apartment while maintaining a level of serenity that even the red leather sofas couldn’t ruin.
He smiled. Birdie was right. Without the ridiculous furniture, the bad art, those awful curtains, it was good. Better than good. It was perfect. Natural light streaming in from all directions, tall ceilings lined with original crown molding. It had character and charm. The perfect place to start fresh. He could already picture the housewarming party he would throw, a huge gathering of all his favorite people to welcome him back to the city he had missed so much.
Was it too impulsive to decide on a place after just one viewing? Maybe. But being impulsive hadn’t steered him wrong yet. Why start now?
He turned back to Birdie and threw her an easy smile. “Then let’s start the paperwork.”
CHAPTER 3
The next month was a blur. Between temporarily shuttering Kellynch Productions—and breaking the news to its staff—getting the apartment ready for showings, and trying to figure out where she was supposed to go herself, Anne barely had time to come up for air. When she finally did, it was October, and an offer to buy the apartment was on the table. In just a few weeks, someone else would be living there.
She tried not to think about that nagging detail, which was easier thanks to her father. He had insisted that the sale be done anonymously—as if having names attached would send a bulletin out across the city about his financial straits—so information about the potential buyer was sparse. And that was okay. Better, actually. Anne didn’t want a name. It was bad enough thinking about some stranger walking around her kitchen, her bedroom…
It was never really hers, though, was it? Despite how much time she had spent there, how much it had shaped her life, apartment 8A wasn’t hers. It never had been. It was her father’s. He owned everything while Anne barely had a savings account.
Yes, but you have a plan, she thought. And that was always thefirst step to solving any problem, right? Sure, her current plan only had two steps—find a job and a place to live—but she could build off that. Just as soon as she finished coordinating the move for her father. And wrapped up all payroll at Kellynch. And—
No spiraling, she reminded herself.
Right. She couldn’t think about any of that, not until she got through this co-op board meeting and ensured they approved the sale of the apartment. That’s if they ever actually got to that item on the agenda.
“This is censorship!” Beverly Santenello bellowed.
A collective groan rose from the group assembled in the rows of metal folding chairs currently set up in Ellis Rowley’s living room on the fifth floor.
“Bev, we voted on this last month,” Ellis replied patiently from where he stood in front of them, even as his expression looked increasingly pained. The tie he had been wearing at the beginning of the meeting was loosened, and his new wire-rim glasses were already askew.
“To clarify, that vote was regarding Labor Day decorations,” Glen Rinnard of 2B interjected from the front row. His day job as a tax lawyer meant such clarifications were just about his only contribution to these meetings.
“Right,” Beverly agreed from where she stood in the second row. All eyes were on her and her short gray hair sticking out in all directions. “And I only put Dennis out for Halloween.”
