there.”
“Yeah, we’re so far out there that we have to defend ourselves from our new neighbors with footwear.”
The resulting showdown was one of the loudest and most colorful that Emily had ever witnessed between her two friends. In the end, two things were decided. First, Margot would agree to stay in the apartment. Second, she maintained full rights to call the cops if their neighbors got too loud. With their friendship still intact, Zoey and Margot headed up to the attic while Emily made a promise to meet them momentarily.
Frantic, Emily paced the length of the living room, trying to figure out what to do. Stay or go? Her situation was very different than Zoey and Margot’s. It wasn’t as simple as dealing with loud neighbors. If she was going to live here she had to come to terms with this strange attraction she felt for this Andrew Hayes. An attraction that troubled her and left her questioning her normally sound judgment, even as it seemed to intensify with each passing day. There would eventually come a day when they would have to talk. Or she could avoid him; he wouldn’t be there much. Zoey was right about that. He’d be on the road most of the time.
Why she thought of Myra at that moment, she couldn’t say. But in her mind’s eye she could picture the old woman’s finger wagging at her, demanding she channel Tracy Lord. “Bring it on, C.K. Dexter Haven,” she could almost hear her whisper. “What’s the worst he can do?”
That was it. Let him bring on his worst; she would remain calm, cool and unruffled, which wasn’t difficult since the heat seemed to have gone out yet again, a particularly chill blast hitting her as she reached the door. She turned about on instinct but saw only the empty apartment. There was no one there. Yet at that instant she swore she felt a cold pressure on her arm like those of fingers, icy and singular, pushing her forward.
Shaking it off, she reached the attic door and hurried up a dark, narrow staircase to the conservatory. Another door waited for her at the top of the stairs. She swallowed hard and pushed it open.
Immediately bright sunlight flooded down upon her, forcing her to squint and raise her hands to her eyes. A ceiling of glass seemed the only thing between her and the endless blue sky. Before her lay a long room, the entire structure made of glass and wrought iron like a hothouse except it was perfectly pleasant. Dozens of half-dead orchids lined the shelves on the perimeter, and planters full of the remains of mottled geraniums and spidery ferns sat next to the assortment of abused wicker furniture that dotted the tile floor. At the other end, a landing exited to what Emily could only assume was a roof garden.
But Emily saw nothing beyond that. For there, set off near the corner, Andrew Hayes stood, his back turned away from all of them, silhouetted in sunlight like some formidable saint from Margot’s holy card collection.
Her first instinct was to laugh. It was all so ridiculous—a fantasy at best, a sickness at worst. But whatever it was, whatever emotion was wreaking havoc with both her mind and her body, would end the moment they exchanged words. It had to. It couldn’t survive past the first hello. If it did, she wasn’t sure she would.
As for her friends, she was relieved to see that they hadn’t abandoned their protective stance. Zoey had joined Christian, and although she had reignited her nonstop praise of the house, she kept her sights fixed on Andrew. Margot had gone so far as to pick up a particularly heavy potted orchid for examination, as if to test how far she could throw it if necessary.
“Zoey you’ve met. Margot and Emily,” Neil said, “I’d like you to meet your neighbors, Christian, Simon and, oh, there you are, Andrew. Ladies, may I introduce Christian Wood, Simon Godden, and Andrew Hayes. Gentlemen, Margot Larson and Emily Thomas.”
Emily watched Andrew shake hands with everyone until he came to her.
“Yeah, we’re so far out there that we have to defend ourselves from our new neighbors with footwear.”
The resulting showdown was one of the loudest and most colorful that Emily had ever witnessed between her two friends. In the end, two things were decided. First, Margot would agree to stay in the apartment. Second, she maintained full rights to call the cops if their neighbors got too loud. With their friendship still intact, Zoey and Margot headed up to the attic while Emily made a promise to meet them momentarily.
Frantic, Emily paced the length of the living room, trying to figure out what to do. Stay or go? Her situation was very different than Zoey and Margot’s. It wasn’t as simple as dealing with loud neighbors. If she was going to live here she had to come to terms with this strange attraction she felt for this Andrew Hayes. An attraction that troubled her and left her questioning her normally sound judgment, even as it seemed to intensify with each passing day. There would eventually come a day when they would have to talk. Or she could avoid him; he wouldn’t be there much. Zoey was right about that. He’d be on the road most of the time.
Why she thought of Myra at that moment, she couldn’t say. But in her mind’s eye she could picture the old woman’s finger wagging at her, demanding she channel Tracy Lord. “Bring it on, C.K. Dexter Haven,” she could almost hear her whisper. “What’s the worst he can do?”
That was it. Let him bring on his worst; she would remain calm, cool and unruffled, which wasn’t difficult since the heat seemed to have gone out yet again, a particularly chill blast hitting her as she reached the door. She turned about on instinct but saw only the empty apartment. There was no one there. Yet at that instant she swore she felt a cold pressure on her arm like those of fingers, icy and singular, pushing her forward.
Shaking it off, she reached the attic door and hurried up a dark, narrow staircase to the conservatory. Another door waited for her at the top of the stairs. She swallowed hard and pushed it open.
Immediately bright sunlight flooded down upon her, forcing her to squint and raise her hands to her eyes. A ceiling of glass seemed the only thing between her and the endless blue sky. Before her lay a long room, the entire structure made of glass and wrought iron like a hothouse except it was perfectly pleasant. Dozens of half-dead orchids lined the shelves on the perimeter, and planters full of the remains of mottled geraniums and spidery ferns sat next to the assortment of abused wicker furniture that dotted the tile floor. At the other end, a landing exited to what Emily could only assume was a roof garden.
But Emily saw nothing beyond that. For there, set off near the corner, Andrew Hayes stood, his back turned away from all of them, silhouetted in sunlight like some formidable saint from Margot’s holy card collection.
Her first instinct was to laugh. It was all so ridiculous—a fantasy at best, a sickness at worst. But whatever it was, whatever emotion was wreaking havoc with both her mind and her body, would end the moment they exchanged words. It had to. It couldn’t survive past the first hello. If it did, she wasn’t sure she would.
As for her friends, she was relieved to see that they hadn’t abandoned their protective stance. Zoey had joined Christian, and although she had reignited her nonstop praise of the house, she kept her sights fixed on Andrew. Margot had gone so far as to pick up a particularly heavy potted orchid for examination, as if to test how far she could throw it if necessary.
“Zoey you’ve met. Margot and Emily,” Neil said, “I’d like you to meet your neighbors, Christian, Simon and, oh, there you are, Andrew. Ladies, may I introduce Christian Wood, Simon Godden, and Andrew Hayes. Gentlemen, Margot Larson and Emily Thomas.”
Emily watched Andrew shake hands with everyone until he came to her.
Similar Books
