Page 9 of Only Lovers in the Building

He twisted the moka pot shut and set it on the stovetop. “Let’s give it a minute.”

Lily returned to the barstool and pressed her hands between her knees. There was something intimate about a man making you coffee first thing in the morning.

“This is awkward,” she whispered.

“Why?” he asked.

“I . . . don’t know.” Women likely jumped him all the time. Why bring it up? She switched topics. “Last night you mentioned grad school. What do you study?”

“I said a lot of things last night and forgot them all after you kissed me.”

Lily screeched.

“Sorry!” He grinned. “Had to poke the elephant in the room.”

“Not true! We could’ve kept ignoring it!”

“Don’t you feel less awkward?”

“No!” she cried. “I can hardly look at you!”

“Lily,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”

Was he saying that to make her feel better? “It’s not. And I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “I’m not.”

Now that was a lie. “Oh, come on! You didn’t kiss back!”

“I had my reasons.”

“Such as?”

What if he wasn’t straight or single, despite what Noah from the tenth floor had attested? She hadn’t asked. Instead, she’d taken the word of a virtual stranger . . . to make a move on another stranger.

“It felt to me like you dared yourself to do it,” he replied. “And that’s just not how I like to be kissed.”

“Oh really?”

Funny, she thought. You go your whole life wanting to be seen and understood. When it happens, you don’t care for it. You feel fragile and exposed. In fact, you hate it.

The coffeepot percolated, and her phone rang at the same time. He turned his back to her, and she glanced at the screen. The name on her caller ID had her in a cold sweat. The Saint.

Lily slid off the barstool. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

“I’m almost done,” he said. “Sugar?”

“Uh-huh . . .” She was already at the door, phone still ringing in her hand. “I’ll be back, but honestly, I’m not sure when. I’m really sorry!” Lily was across the hall and back in her apartment in no time. With her back to the locked door, she answered the call. “Hello?”

“Liliane!”

Not everyone called her Lily. To her parents, she would always be Marie-Louise Liliane Lyon.

“Good morning, Dad.”

It was early, even for him. Her parents had expected to hear from her last night, a quick text to reassure them she’d landed safely. If she didn’t answer this call, they’d alert the National Guard.

“What’s this I’m reading on BookTap?” her father said. “You’re a beach bum now? Aren’t you coming home? What about work?”