Page 3 of Only Lovers in the Building

“He’s a lawyer,” her barmate explained. “Justice for all requires human sacrifice.”

“I’m a lawyer,” she said. “I can attest that’s true.”

He looked her over. She returned the favor, only she had to crane her neck to do so properly. In a pair of linen pants and a button-down shirt with most buttons left undone, he had obviously put a lot of effort into looking effortless, and it paid off handsomely. He was too good-looking to be ghosted, but it was a spooky world.

Next to him, Lily felt drab. She’d fled a corporate retreat, but she was still in corporate uniform. In a cashmere knit, pleated trousers, and sling-back pumps, she was as prim and proper as Miami allowed. Her reflection in the smoky mirror behind the bar confirmed this. She’d turned thirty last month, and every birthday card assured her that she was fun and fabulous. Well, not tonight. Her wide eyes stared back at her with a war-weary expression. The weight she’d lost to better fit in her bathing suit at the retreat had hollowed her cheeks and collarbones. Her copper-brown complexion was as dull as an old penny. Her hair, ever so curly in Miami’s record-breaking humidity, was gathered on top of her head, giving her the air of a deranged pineapple. Coppery, wiry, and overdressed, it was a wonder they hadn’t escorted her thirty-year-old self off the premises.

“I’m Noah,” he said, finally.

“Lily.”

“What’s with the luggage, Lily? Are you on the run?”

“In a way. I’ll be hiding out here a bit.”

“Moving in?”

“For the summer,” she replied. No one in their right mind would stay in Miami past Labor Day. “I quit my job.”

He nodded approvingly. “Good for you.”

It was good for her. She shouldn’t doubt it, even if it was reckless and foolish and prohibitively expensive. None of that mattered. She’d earned this.

Noah’s phone lit up in his hand. He glanced at the screen. “Bet he’s calling to cancel.” He let the call die out.

“Give him the benefit of the doubt,” she said. “I’m sure he’d rather be with you than working on a brief. It’s early. Still time to turn things around.”

“Is that how it works out in books?” Noah asked, skeptical.

“In real life, too.”

A lie, but Noah couldn’t handle the truth. Lily was willing to bet anything that his supposedly overworked lawyer had swiped a picture-perfect profile from LinkedIn and was using it as bait. Classic catfish. The dating game was brutal. People had twisted and selfish motives, Lily chief among them. She broke Darren’s heart all those years ago when she was too young or too foolish to value their relationship. “We’re so good together,” he’d pleaded. “This is true love. We want all the same things.” That couldn’t be further from the truth. She’d only wanted to be free. At thirty, she no longer believed in true love—but a romance novel delivered every time.

“I should call him back,” Noah said with a little frown.

“I think so.”

“Well, welcome to the building, Lily. I’m on the tenth floor, but I live at the pool.” Noah sealed their new friendship with a double air kiss. Before slipping away, he whispered, “The hot bartender will get to you eventually. By the way, he’s straight . . . and single. That’s a rare combination here.”

Stung, she replied, “Why should I care?”

Hot or not, she’d ruled out bartenders, bouncers, DJs, and dancers a long time ago. There came a time for every girl to grow up, sober up, shake the glitter out of her hair, and kiss the party boys goodbye. They called it growing pains for a reason. Now that she was old enough to appreciate the Darrens of the world—loyal, steadfast, a little boring, but so what?—she would limit her search to the men who fell neatly onto that pile.

Noah looked at her pointedly, a look so sharp it cut through her bullshit like butter. “Good luck,” he mouthed and walked away, phone pinned to his ear. Lily knew instinctively that if she didn’t panic and bolt, aborting her impromptu fun-filled summer, if she stuck it through, she and Noah from the tenth floor would be the best of friends.

But first, that drink.

The sun was setting over Miami Beach, and the rooftop deck had filled up. What was she doing, brandishing a coupon as if she were at the checkout line of a big box store? No wonder she wasn’t getting any service. Free wasn’t free. She had to entice the hot bartender with a tip.

Lily rummaged in her quilted leather bag for her silver money clip. As she rifled through the wad of twenties in search of a ten, she had the odd feeling of being watched. She glanced up, and there he was. She’d spent so long trying to get the man’s attention, and now that she had it, it burned. His eyes were midnight black, but his gaze flashed blue then red then gold, catching the colors of the neon lights strung over the bar. For a fraction of a second, her world went silent—no music, no chatter, no distant sounds of traffic. Even the noise in her head quieted down, which was unheard of. He leaned close to speak to her, setting her pulse at an erratic pace.

“Ma’am,” he said.

Was that necessary? They had to be about the same age.

He pointed over his shoulder. “The gentleman over there would like to buy you a drink.”

Gentleman! National Geographic had declared that species extinct. Besides, the bar was too crowded to spot anyone who might fit the bill. “Who? Where?” Lily asked. She scanned for a top hat and coattails.