Page 56 of Only Lovers in the Building

Unlike Ben, who was so many things—bartender, lecturer, writer, speaker—she was one thing. “An attorney.”

“Oh.”

“The grant money,” a cranky old man repeated. “What do you plan to do with it?”

“For the love of God,” a woman moaned. “Whatever you do, please don’t start a podcast. The last thing the world needs is another damn podcast. I can hardly stand it.”

“A podcast about romance novels!” a man exclaimed. “Ha!”

It was clearly a joke, and the table laughed.

“Oh, leave them alone!” Finally, someone spoke up in their defense. She was a woman in her fifties with silver hair and gray eyes. “They’re young. If they want to read romance all summer long, let them. If they want to podcast about it, I think it’s a fantastic idea. The world is a dumpster fire, and we could all use a little romance.”

The table raised a toast to love and romance. The conversation turned to local politics, and Ben was left alone.

“Who is she?” Lily whispered to Ben.

“Allison Leigh. She’s in media.”

“I like her.”

He agreed. “She’s cool.”

The others were decidedly not cool. Their disapproval of Ben still hung in the air. They were the reason he’d put off inviting her. Anyone would be intimidated by all this. Lily, though, could hold her own. This was her kind of circus, not much different than a room full of lawyers, judges, politicians, or corporate drones. She wasn’t afraid of these clowns.

Just when Ben leaned close to whisper something in her ear, he was called away. It was time for the keynote address.

Ben took the stage and, without hesitation or nervousness, delivered a simple and effective speech. “In my work,” he began hesitantly, “I consider myself something of a ferryman or gondolier.” He paused and gazed out at the audience. “Every etymologist worth his salt knows the root word of translate, from the Latin translatio for a transfer or a handing over. That’s my job, you see, to bring languages together, to row one across a foggy lagoon to another without losing the author’s voice or intent. It’s a challenge. Language is slippery as a seal. It hides as much as it reveals.” Now his eyes rested on Lily. “If you surrender yourself to the rhythm of the words, however, to the emotions those words evoke, you’ll make it to the other side without running aground.”

Lily checked the time on her vintage Cartier watch. She fell in love with Ben Romero at exactly 8:04 p.m. Eastern time.

Chapter Sixteen

After dinner, dessert, and one last tour around the room—at Lily’s insistence—to thank all the right people, she and Ben ducked out. Having beat the crowds, they easily caught an elevator.

Ben shoved his prepared remarks into his jacket pocket. “Lily, you made this night infinitely more pleasurable. I can’t thank you enough.”

“You’re welcome.” Lily stumbled back and leaned against the paneled wall. Socializing was a competitive sport. Like any athlete who’d left it all on the field, she was ready to drop.

He stepped closer. “Why so far away? I won’t kiss you again, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Again?” she asked. “If you mean our first elevator kiss, you don’t get to claim a kiss you didn’t give.”

“A kiss is shared, Lily,” he said. “It’s not a territory. No one person gets to claim it.”

Suddenly, it got very hot and steamy in the elevator. Lily’s face was still hot when the valet attendant brought their car around.

Lily slipped into the low passenger seat and winced. The corset bodice of her dress dug into her ribs.

Ben took the wheel. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“It’s the dress,” she answered. “I think I’ll sell it online. I’m done with it.”

The midi-length crepe cocktail dress wasn’t the vibe for the summer.

“Too bad. You look good in it.”

“Oh, I know,” she said with a grin. “I quit my job in this dress.”