Brittany raises an eyebrow. “Brave words from someone who claims to value their life.”
“What can I say? I live life on the edge.”
Just then, the barista calls out our names. We grab our coffees and make our way toward the exit, but not before tasting our respective drinks.
“Mmm. Perfect,” I say, savoring the cold brew. It’s simple, yet delicious.
“Mine too.” She beams. “Thanks for suggesting this,” she says as we step back out into the New York afternoon. “I needed the break before facing the chaos of unpacking.”
“Anytime. Coffee breaks are essential to maintaining sanity during moves. It’s practically a law.”
She smiles up at me, the sunlight catching in her hair and making it glow.
“Now, let’s go get you settled into your new place,” I add. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and meet some of your neighbors.”
“I think my next-door neighbor at the new place is a pianist,” Brittany says as we make the trek back to her car. “At least, that’s what the property manager said. Hopefully they’re good.”
“If not, you could always fight music with music,” I suggest. “Take up the bagpipes or something equally horrific.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of interpretive tap dance,” she quips.
“Even better.”
She smiles, then glances at her phone and winces. “Shoot, our little coffee run took twenty minutes. Parker’s going to kill us.”
“Death by coffee break,” I say solemnly. “What a way to go.”
Brittany looks at me, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Worth it, though?”
The question hangs between us, carrying more weight than it should for such a simple phrase. Is this—whatever is developing between us—worth risking Parker’s wrath? Worth potentially complicating a friendship I value? Worth stepping into territory I promised myself I’d avoid?
The answer feels dangerously close to yes.
“Definitely worth it,” I say, trying to keep my tone light despite the heaviness in my chest as we arrive at her car. “Even if your brother makes me carry all the heavy boxes as punishment.”
She laughs at that as I trot around to her driver’s side before she does, opening the door for her.
“You’re pretty good at this whole friendship thing, Weston,” she says, before sitting down in the driver’s seat.
Friendship. Right. That’s what this is—what it has to be.
“I try,” I say, forcing a casualness I don’t feel as I shut the car door behind her.
And try to shut the door to my heart.
Chapter Eleven
Brittany
It takes nearly forty-five minutes of navigating NYC traffic to make it to my new apartment, and when I’m finally parked in a spot nearest the entrance for the service elevator, I breathe out a heavy sigh.
“This is why I don’t even have a car in the city anymore.” Weston laughs, tipping his head back against the headrest. “I left it back home in California. I figure if I ever need it, I’ll have it shipped here. I just don’t even want the option to drive.”
“I don’t blame you,” I agree, my shoulders slumping under my jacket. “And now we have to unload everything.”
“It’s not that much.” Weston pushes open the car door as I pop the back hatch. He jogs around to the back and starts loading his arms with my things.
I spot Parker across the street, arms folded across his chest, foot tapping against the sidewalk as he stands next to his car. He’s checking his watch for what I’m guessing is the hundredth time.
