My realtor is an older woman dressed in a red power suit. Her grey hair is stick straight and cut into a simple bob that hits at her jawline, and her makeup is heavy and overly done for her age. She looks every part the uppity New York City realtor I expected her to be.
“Mr. McPherson,” Janet, the realtor, greets me, reaching out to shake my hand. She looks at Gracie and offers a tight smile but doesn’t greet her. Strike one. “I got your email with your last-minute request.” She pauses and looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “I’ve got six places I’d like to show you today.”
She turns away from us and heads into the newly built fifty-story building we just parked in front of. I reach for Gracie’s hand and she settles into my side. Janet rambles off facts for the building and apartment. “There’s a gym, a pool, and a spa. This apartment has two bedrooms and three bathrooms.” She continues rattling off details as we take the elevator up to the twentieth-floor apartment. She unlocks the door, and when we walk into the open and bright space, I hear Grace gasp as she takes it all in.
Everything is new and modern and enormous compared to Gracie’s humble Red Hook apartment. The kitchen in this place alone is bigger than her entire apartment. The island is at least eight feet long. Janet points out the custom kitchen cabinets made from imported wood. Gracie runs her hand over the white marble counters, her pointer finger tracing the grey veins that run throughout the white stone.
We follow Janet through the condo while she points out the bedrooms, bathrooms, and a den. Janet likes to throw around all the realtor schtick—“vaulted, luxury, one-of-a-kind”—and I don’t give a shit about this. I just want something comfortable and homey. Something Gracie will feel comfortable in. “Two-point five is a steal for this—"
“What else do you have?” I ask Janet, cutting her off as she tries to convince me the two and a half million-dollar price tag is a good deal for this place. “Do you have anything a little less modern, something more comfortable with some outdoor space?”
Janet looks shocked, but quickly regains her composure as she pulls the iPad from her shoulder bag. She quickly scrolls through her listings as Gracie and I step back into the kitchen.
“What do you think?” I release her hand and she leans back against the kitchen island, resting her hands on the edge of the marble counter. I mimic her and rest my back against the island, our hips touching. I don’t like distance between us, but I allow it. For now.
“I think this is the nicest place I’ve ever seen.” Her eyes fall to the travertine floors. “I also think my opinion doesn’t matter. You’re going to be the one living here, not me.” I go to argue with her that her opinion does matter, but she continues before I have a chance, which is good, because I just met her and I don’t want to scare her. “But if you really want my thoughts, I think it’s pretentious and you’d fit in much better in Red Hook. Nineteen-fifties parquet wood floors are just more your style. Travertine is soooo overrated,” she drawls.
I see her fighting back a grin and I can’t help but laugh. Loudly. It’s been a long time since a woman has had this effect on me. Her sense of humor might be my favorite thing about her. “Red Hook, huh?”
“Don’t knock it until you try it,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. I turn to her and pull her into my arms. It’s intimate and close, natural. My hands travel up her sides and I pull her face into my hands. Her beautiful eyes meet mine and I search them…for what, I’m not sure.
“Your opinion matters to me,” I tell her softly.
“It shouldn’t. I’ve known you for what, forty hours?” Her eyes are vulnerable, guarded and I want to know what she’s thinking, but this isn’t the place to ask. The reality of her comment strikes me. It has only been a couple days, but it feels much longer. Our connection is undeniable, like I’ve known her forever. No woman has ever edged their way into my heart in a matter of hours, let alone days, weeks, or months.
“Mr. McPherson, I have a place in Chelsea I’d like to show you,” Janet interrupts our moment.
Gracie shrugs out of my hold and I turn to Janet, still feeling the sting of Gracie’s words.
I clear my throat and reach for her hand anyway. “Let’s go.”
Gracie rests her head on my shoulder the entire way to Chelsea. It’s not far, but again, Manhattan’s traffic is like no other cities. We finally pull up to a newer, but much smaller building and Janet once again meets us eagerly.
“Mr. McPherson,” she scrolls through her iPad, “this listing was built in twenty-ten, completely gutted and remodeled this year. This home is over thirty-four hundred square feet and has three bedrooms and four baths.” We walk into the main entrance and are greeted by a doorman, who calls the elevator for us.
“This unit is located on the ninth floor,” Janet adds.
“How many floors are there?” I ask, noticing that it wasn’t a very tall building.
“Nine.” She smiles at me, seemingly knowing that was the answer I was seeking.
We exit the elevator and walk down the sleek, modern hall to the unit marked P1. We’re greeted by a grand foyer with a large, modern chandelier made of wood and iron with large round globe light bulbs. The colors inside are neutral and warm, mostly whites and greys, and the beautiful large plank wood floors are impeccable.
Janet continues her sales spiel as we move from the foyer into the open concept living room and kitchen area. “You’ll notice off the large living room is a formal dining area,” she gestures toward the vast open space off the kitchen where another similar chandelier hangs over a long, sleek table, “and the kitchen is a chef’s kitchen with custom cabinets and a ten-foot island.”
Gracie releases my hand and ambles into the kitchen. I’ve noticed she’s drawn to kitchens and this one she likes. The kitchen cabinets are white with a dark grey island. The counters are white marble just like the other condo we visited. High end appliances complete the space, from the commercial-sized refrigerator to the gas cooktop and four wall-mounted ovens. Four. If Gracie thought the other condo was excessive, this is over the top.
Janet notices Gracie checking out the kitchen and turns her attention back to me. “All of the bedrooms are oversized and the master leads out to a private terrace that is also accessible through the sliding living room doors.” Janet points to the glass wall where two large glass doors open to a concrete terrace that is full of potted trees and plants.
Oversized plush outdoor furniture fills in the space and I notice a built-in barbeque and outdoor kitchen at the far end of the terrace.
“No inch was left untouched,” Janet tells me, overly pleased with herself.
I nod, keeping my face blank. I don’t have much to say, though. My only concern is whether Gracie will feel comfortable here. I intend for her to spend all of her time with me outside of work.
“What is the price on this one?” I ask as I follow Janet down a hallway lined with doors. “Three-point nine-nine, but I expect multiple offers on this. They priced it low to get interest. This place is worth over four and a half. It went on the market yesterday.”
I glance over my shoulder to Gracie, who is still lingering in the kitchen, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. “Gracie,” I call to her and she looks up and over to me. “Please join us.”