“Don’t apologize. She’s a beautiful girl.” Esther glances over her shoulder at Bristol and Charm bringing up the rear. Bristol splits a glance between Esther and me with bright red cheeks. I’ve seen that girl blush more lately than I can ever remember.
“That she is,” I agree.
Mrs. O’Malley leads me out and into an enclosed porch of sorts that looks like it might have been a greenhouse at some point.
“Are you two married?” she asks.
“Is that a condition for the lease?” I frown because I really love this place, more than any of the others Bristol sent pictures of this week while I was in Europe doing shows.
“Oh, no.” Mrs. O’Malley releases another one of those robust laughs. “Just curious.”
“We’re not married.” I pause to offer a one-sided grin. “Yet.”
“Engaged?” Her brows climb into silver-streaked bangs. “Not yet.”
“What are you waiting for? Someone else to snatch her up?”
Even as a joke, that idea feels like a set of jagged fangs tearing through the muscles in my stomach, though I know it would never happen. I know she’ll never be anyone else’s.
“That’s not even . . .” I clear my throat. “No, I’m just waiting for the right time. There’s so much transition right now, so much going on. I just . . .”
I have no idea why I’m telling a complete stranger all of this, but there’s something about this lady. Ever since she busted out laughing over my joke and took my arm, a rapport has been building between us.
“I just want it to be right,” I finish.
Bristol, Charm, and her mother join us in the greenhouse before Mrs. O’Malley can respond. Bristol makes her way over and slips her hand into mine while the other ladies converse about the latest gossip in the city.
I assume Bristol is over her embarrassment, but I still bend to whisper, “You okay?”
I linger behind her ear, inhaling the mingled smells of her hair and perfume, heated by her pulse.
“Yeah.” She glances at Mrs. O’Malley still chatting with Bridget and Charm. “I owe you for that nasty trick you played on me. ‘What color would you call that, honey?’” she mimics.
“Your face.” I drop my head into the curve of her neck and chuckle. “Classic. ‘Such a rich white.’”
“Asshole.” When she draws back, the affect
ion in her eyes and the
smile on her face remove any sting. “Do you like this place?” “My favorite so far, by a lot.”
“I don’t know.” A tiny grin teases the corners of her lips. “We could always go to my old stomping grounds, the Upper East Side.”
“I told you it’s too bougie.” I laugh because we’ve already had this debate.
“Is bougie anything like siditty? You called me that once.”
“That’s because you were siditty.” I dodge her small fist when it comes toward my chest. “And yes, kind of like that.”
“But it costs just as much to live in Tribeca as it does there.”
“Yeah, but Jay-Z lives here.”
We both laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement.
“I really like this.” Bristol studies the outdoor porch with the comfortable couches and the table set for two in the far corner. “It reminds me of our roof at home.”
“Be a great place to watch the sun set,” I say. “Or snow fall. You know I’ve never seen snow fall?”