He kissed her forehead. “I know, and I love you for it, but I’m not ready to give up my place.” Or his memories and every hope and dream the old apartment represented. He glanced at the ceiling where a thin crack ran through the plaster. “This is home.”
She headed for the door. “You know you’re my hero, don’t you?”
“And you’re my princess.” Esmie was his queen. But Holly was his princess.
“Plan on coming to the house this week, okay? We miss you. I’ll be at the Gottlieb Gala Friday night, but any other time . . .” Holly checked her watch. “Is it after six already? I’ve got to go. Hope is making dinner tonight.” She gathered her things and headed for the kitchen door. “You’d tell me if being the superintendent was too much for you.”
“I would.”
“Or if you were lonely.”
“I know where to find you.”
“You’re such a good man, Dad.” Holly brushed her hand over his shoulder. “Grandpa’s old shirt. I miss him.”
“Me too. Now get going or you’ll miss Hope’s dinner. Give my love to the kids.”
“Come to the house. This weekend.”
When he shut and locked the door, Ed chuckled. He had him a spitfire of a daughter. And she had probably saved him.
He tidied the kitchen and shut off the light, then rewarded himself with an ice-cream bar. Back in his chair instead of the den where the typewriter taunted him, he flashed through the cable guide.
So this was his life. Work. TV. Sleep. He was okay with simple. Peaceful. And the fact very little changed. It kept him connected to his love.
He’d settled on a rerun of Bonanza when his work phone jangled from the kitchen counter. Ed frowned at the name on the screen. Mabel Cochran. Now what?
“Sorry to bother you, but my garbage disposal is broken.”
“I told you not to shove potato peels down it. Clogs it up every time.”
“I didn’t, you lug head. I made pasta not potatoes. I simply poured water and a few noodles down the drain and kerplunk.”
“Fine.” He sighed, yanked his keys from the hook by the back door, and headed down to the super’s closet for his tools.
By the time he arrived at Mabel’s, her apartment door stood open, spilling the golden glow of a cozy home over her feet and into the hall, and he wasn’t nearly as miffed. Besides, the fragrance of pasta, cheese, and tomato sauce still saturated the atmosphere.
“I am sorry to bother you, Ed. Did you have to go down for your tools? Tell you what, I’ve got coffee on, decaf, and fresh-from-the-oven brownies for your trouble.”
Brownies. He stopped short, his mouth watering. He loved a good brownie and vanilla ice cream. His absolute favorite. Used to make them with Esmerelda, then Holly. What happy memories brownies make. Maybe he should start his story there.
You might wonder if a love story can start with brownies. I tell you, it can. Listen to what happened to me.
“The doctor has me off sweets.” Was it wrong to not want to share his favorite with Mabel? “And never mind about the disposal. I’ll buy you a new one if we need to. Shouldn’t run you more than fifty bucks.” He crossed her living room toward the kitchen, passed the dining table still set for two. Tall tapers beat their flames against the shadows while ol’ Bobby Darin sang “Mack the Knife” from a vintage hi-fi.
Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear.
Chapter 6
Lexa
She’d developed the habit of leaving her third-floor, walk-up apartment door open when she arrived home on Friday nights. When the weather was nice, music floated up from the streets. Mickey the Irish singer was her favorite.
She wanted to believe she embraced some part of the weekend by living vicariously through the vibe in the Village, through her lively neighbors and the hubbub behind the walls.
Especially Abby, the NYU senior majoring in theater. But tonight, her place across the hall remained dark and quiet.
Lexa turned the heat down beneath her chicken-and-broccoli stir-fry, sipped from her glass of wine, then took a plate from the cupboard.
The weekend was her time to cook. Working for a restaurateur had sparked her otherwise dull interest in culinary arts. But she wasn’t very skilled. She overcooked everything.
Pouring the contents from the pan onto her plate, Lexa settled in the low red reading chair under the window of the rectangular living room.
Eight hundred square feet was all she could afford after the split. But she was saving for something bigger. If Zane promoted her, she’d earn enough to move uptown.
Well, not literally uptown. She’d considered moving north after the divorce. Being three blocks from Jett, she feared running into him as they schlepped about the neighborhood.
Then Zane purchased the Tribeca office space and moving didn’t make sense.
A laugh bounced off a distant wall. She raised her head. Abby? The occasional laugh or shout, even the muffled sounds of a television show, gave Lexa a sense of belonging. Proof she was among the living and not so very much alone.
That sense was why she loved ZB Enterprises. She belonged. She more than belonged. She was one of the steering forces of the company.
A bit of pride—no, satisfaction—filled her chest. Finding her place had never been easy. And when she did, it usually ended in disaster.
ZB Enterprises was the one place outside her family where she belonged. Where she mastered her own ship and destiny.
Look out, Zane, I’m coming for you.
She watched a show on Netflix as she ate, then washed her plate and returned it to the shelf. Her next place would have a dishwasher.
Beyond the window, the sun had long gone west. She peered down into the street, curious where her Greenwich Village neighbors were going on this Friday night in such a hurry.
After a moment, she changed into her comfy sweats, pulled her hair back in a ponytail, and smothered her face in a charcoal mask produced by her favorite cosmetics company, CCW.
She regarded her reflection, her hazel eyes peering over the muddy concoction.
What was Monday night about? So weird. She’d texted Jett on Wednesday asking once again if he was behind the invitation. He promised he was as confused as she.
So should she go back?
Besides running into Jett, her week had been frustrating. There was no time to talk to Zane about the CEO job. He was busy or on a call, going to a spontaneous meeting not on his calendar. He even took a last-minute flight Wednesday to survey a new location for ZB Burgers in Waco.
Thursday night, Lexa had texted her baby sister, Skipper, the newly minted NASA engineer, for courage.
Do you think he’s avoiding me?
No. He’s busy. You’re not going to get the perfect moment. Just tell him, “I’m your girl.”
Easier said than done.
Then apply for the job like any other candidate. He’ll have to interview you.
True. He posted the job months ago and has yet to interview anyone.
He’s waiting for you.
Then why doesn’t he just ask me?
You’re killing me here. Apply already. And text Dad. See what he says. You know he thinks you have a great business mind.
He takes forever to text back. Never know where he and Mom are in Zambia. Are you still visiting them in October?