Page 10 of Only Lovers in the Building

She needn’t have worried. They were up to speed.

“Dad, since when are you on BookTap?”

BookTap was the book community’s answer to social media upheaval. It provided a safe space to share hot takes on books, publishing news, and author drama—all genres included. Founded by a former Instagram exec, members included the likes of Obama, Oprah, and Deepak Chopra.

Her father sighed. “Liliane, the whole world is on that app now.”

Lily focused her thoughts, took a breath, and presented oral arguments to Judge Yves Lyon of New York’s Second District Court. These were the lies she told: after working for months to close a deal, she was granted a sabbatical. No way was she tapping into her savings: her bonus would cover the expense. And she would put her free time to good use by signing up for pro bono work and finally learning Spanish. Fifteen long minutes later, after promising she would no longer post about frivolous things and instead use her account to establish herself in the legal community, she said goodbye to her father, sent her love to her mother, and promptly blocked him on BookTap.

Lily slid onto the floor, weighed down by her deception. It made no sense, lying to everyone and anyone. She’d quit her job! So what? She had savings, resources, a law license, and years of experience under her belt. She was going to see her way through. Why couldn’t she stand her ground, own her truth, or whatever?

She spiraled back in time to the moment her career had gone up in smoke. Not smoke, exactly. Eucalyptus-scented steam pumped out in thick tufts at a five-star Miami Beach spa, of all places. She’d stormed out of the banquet hall and sought refuge in the spa. There, she exchanged her cocktail dress for a towel and settled in the steam room for a good cry. She mourned her career as much as the life with Darren that she hadn’t wanted but now seemed so full, so rich. When at twenty she’d envisioned her future with the aid of magazine cutouts of her life and legal career in the city, she could not have imagined it would shape out like this. “I need to know what else is out there for me,” she’d told him. Well, now she knew, and it wasn’t great.

She blinked the image away. Now was not the time for a meltdown. Her neighbor was making her coffee. Although, by now, the coffee had surely gone cold and Ben had given up on her.

Head throbbing, she set out for a caffeine fix, once again. If Ben did not come to the door, she was hopeful a coffee shop would be open by now.

A small package on the welcome mat outside her door stopped her in her tracks. Wrapped in a tea towel was a stainless-steel travel mug along with a Ziploc bag filled with sugar packets of the type collected at random drive-through windows. There was even a handwritten note.

Love thy neighbor.

—Ben

Chapter Three

Ben’s coffee revitalized her, propelled her into the day. Determined to start her pseudosabbatical right, Lily slipped on a swimsuit and found her way to the pool. She spotted Noah sprawled on a lounge chair, wet hair slicked back. He called out to her. “La belle Lily!”

“Well, hello!” she replied. “You weren’t kidding when you said you lived by the pool.”

“Is there a better way to start the day?” he asked.

“None that I know of.”

She tossed her tote onto a vacant chaise and stretched out next to him. It was Friday, the start of the weekend. And yet, while she slathered sunscreen on her legs, hordes of people commuted to work. Back home, the early birds were flocking to the office. The news of her departure would have already made the rounds. They’d laugh and call her a flake. Gus would update his comedic material to better cover his involvement. They’d fight for her office and the minifridge with her snacks. In a few weeks, they’d forget all about her. What did it matter? The morning air was fresh, the sun gentle. A blue pool stretched out before her. Her former colleagues could congregate in cold conference rooms with coffee and doughnuts. She was drinking in sunshine. They could go screw themselves.

Her phone rang.

Lily and Noah groaned in unison.

Lily scrambled to silence the offending thing. She’d made the mistake of taking her father’s call and had no intention of repeating that mistake. Without reading the screen, she shut it off and shoved it into the tote. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Désolée!” she apologized in his native French in the hopes of getting back in his good graces.

Noah shielded his eyes from the sun. “You speak a little French?”

“A little,” she admitted.

“Where’d you pick it up?” he asked.

She laughed. “I’ll never tell you about my slutty semester abroad.”

“Okay.” Noah turned away. “I won’t tell you about last night.”

Oh no! Anything but that! Other people’s love lives were her raison d’être, so to speak. Had Noah been stood up, after all? If so, how did he take it? Did he need a hug? Her inquiring mind had to know.

“I’m bilingual,” she admitted. “My parents are from Haiti. Dad insisted we speak French in the house. He’s fussy like that.”

“Ah . . .” he said. “We have that in common.”