Page 7 of Only Lovers in the Building

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Now she felt lost and disoriented in this sterile white box of a studio apartment. When startled awake in the dead of night, she’d fumbled about for the light switch for an eternity. Okay, it was just a minute or so, but that’s a long time when a) you desperately need to pee and b) have no muscle memory of the way to the bathroom.

And then there was the mishap with Hot Bartender. She would have done better by kissing the guy in the suit. He was straight and single, too! More likely than not, she had far more in common with that guy than him. Sad women on solo dates were most definitely not his type. Why had she gone and made a fool of herself when she wasn’t even all that drunk? Now she could never show her face at the rooftop bar again. It was going to be one cruel-ass summer.

Lily scrambled out of bed. She was in the throes of a meltdown and needed caffeine. The kitchenette was stark white and spotless. A Mr. Coffee machine was tucked in a cabinet, but with no ground coffee or filters. No matter that the sun had barely peaked. Time for a coffee run.

She rummaged through the open suitcase at the foot of the bed for something to wear. Everything she’d packed was work appropriate, tasteful, and neutral. Even her bathing suit and other beachy things fit the bill. No cutoff denim shorts, no cute halter tops, no bright-colored sarongs or faded T-shirts. She’d have to add a whole new wardrobe to her online cart if she wanted to fit in. But there was no need to fit in at six in the morning. Her pajamas were fine. The classic navy two-piece with contrasting piping had a touch of old-Hollywood glam befitting an Art Deco building. She secured her wild hair with a clip and was ready to go. No. Wait. She wasn’t ready at all. No money, no keys, no phone, and . . . no shoes.

She slid on the pointy-toed kitten heels abandoned by the door and found the set of keys the property manager had given her the night before. The official title of Property Manager was a bit of a stretch. Dr. Jake Goldman, a clinical psychologist in his thirties, had inherited the condo from his grandmother who’d retired to Miami Beach. He lived with his family in Sunny Isles and rented out this property, but only for extended stays. “Fewer hassles,” he’d explained during their friendly walk-through. Lily had struggled to pay attention to Dr. Jake. She was still stinging with embarrassment from the elevator-ride fiasco.

Her money clip was on the kitchen counter next to the keys. As she headed out, she caught her reflection in a large round mirror and scurried back to the bedroom for a pair of dark sunglasses to hide her puffy, bloodshot eyes. Then she was off, on a mission to buy a gallon of coffee. She locked her door just as the door directly across the narrow hall swung open. That’s how at six thirty she found herself face-to-face with the hot bartender.

She closed her eyes and wished him away. For a moment, her world went still, and she was fool enough to believe it had worked. Unfortunately, his image was seared into her retinas. Dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants. Chiseled face soft with morning scruff. This was Miami, she reasoned. There were loads of men who looked like that. It could be anyone, not just the one she’d attacked the night before.

“Lily?”

Nothing to do now but smile. “Hey there, Ben! Or is it Benny?”

“It’s Benedicto.”

“Ha! Bet no one calls you that!”

Her smile was so tight, her neck muscles ached.

“Not even my mother. Call me Ben.”

“Okay, Ben! Good seeing you . . . at this early hour!”

She took a few sidelong steps toward the stairwell, preferring to walk down seven flights of stairs in heels than get on an elevator with him.

“Did you move in last night?” he asked.

She stopped and fidgeted. “Yes. This is home for the summer.”

“Ah,” he said. “We have a landlord in common.”

Curiosity got the best of her. She moved toward him. “Dr. Jake owns your unit, too?”

“And an apartment on the tenth floor.”

“Are you kidding? He said his grandmother—”

“His grandmother was a real estate mogul. She left him several properties.”

“Jesus . . .”

“I know,” he said. “We should all be so lucky. All I got from my grandmother is a statue of la Virgen de la Caridad.”

They laughed rather mechanically. Internally, Lily was freaking out. How could he be so bright and shiny so freaking early in the morning after working all evening? She was thankful for the sunglasses that ate up half her face. Quickly, she thought of something clever to say. “All I got from my grandmother is my stupid name.”

“Don’t say that. Your name is beautiful.”

That word again! “Are you off to the gym?”

“Going for a run.”

“Me, too.” His gaze slid from her face, taking in her outfit. She prayed he thought it eclectic and cool. “A coffee run.”

“This early?” He checked the time on the watch he likely only used to count steps. “Liliana, nothing is open. The nearest coffee shop is blocks away. Trust me, I know.”