“Night, Aspen.”
I wondered if she knew about us. She was closest to Lark. She’d know if anyone did. I’d have to ask her.
As I waited for Lark to show up, I pulled out my phone to check my social media. I nearly choked when I saw the name on my screen—Claire.
I hadn’t heard from her in weeks. She’d messaged me a bunch when she first left for Europe, and then it had all tapered off into silence. It was still three weeks before she was supposed to come home. We had to figure out the living situation. But I’d been putting off getting in contact with her. I didn’t want to know what Europe was like, if she was having a good time, and what things would be like when she got back. In fact, I didn’t want to talk to her. I just wanted to move out and get my own place and let her figure out what to do with the place in Brooklyn.
With a swipe of my finger, I sent the series of unread messages into the trash. I’d deal with that later.
“Hey, sorry about that. I got caught by Shawn,” Lark said, appearing in the hallway. She smiled up at me. “Ready to go?”
“Definitely.” I slid the phone back into my pocket and held the door open for her.
“God, Buns has the best burger in the city,” Lark said as we got out of the cab and headed up to her apartment.
“You say that every time you go there. And then try to dispute it every time that we debate on going somewhere else.”
“True,” she conceded. “But it’s just so greasy and delicious.”
“It is. And their shakes are amazing.”
She narrowed her eyes at me as we headed into the building. “I still feel personally victimized that you got a strawberry milkshake.”
“It’s my favorite!”
“I’m allergic!”
I laughed, dragging her into the elevator. “Are you not going to kiss me then?”
“Maybe not.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She poked me in the stomach and then pressed her lips to mine. “You’re insufferable.”
“I know.”
She tried to pull away, but I just held her closer. Her laugh was infectious as she squirmed against me.
“You’re lucky that I like you.”
I kissed her again. “I am.”
Her smile went all melty at the edges. “Let’s get you inside before you’re too sweet, and I start taking off your clothes in the elevator.”
“I’m not opposed.”
She shook her head at me and then dragged me out of the elevator. She was working the key into the door when my phone started buzzing. I took it out of my pocket, wondering who was calling me at this hour. I blinked in surprise. It was Claire. Again. After the text messages.
She was probably in Paris or something right now. So she had a five- or six-hour time difference. Maybe she didn’t realize what time it was here.
Wait, or were my time zones backward? If it was midnight here, it’d be like six in the morning there. Why was she up so early?
“Everything all right?” Lark asked.
I hadn’t noticed she was holding the door open.
I silenced the phone and let it go to voicemail. I didn’t want to know why she was calling me. She’d be back in a matter of weeks. I could deal with her then.
But another text came through right then from Claire.
Why aren’t you answering your phone? We need to talk.
I deeply disagreed. We did not need to talk. She’d said everything she needed to say before she left.
“Sorry.” I stepped inside after Lark. “Claire just called.”
Lark’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”
I could see her hackles were up. “Yeah. I don’t know why she’s calling.”
“Do you need to…talk to her?”
“No, I definitely don’t. I sent her to voicemail. If it’s important, she’ll leave a message or something, I guess.”
“Oh,” she said, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of wine. She held it up, and I nodded. “Has she called or texted you before?”
“Well, when she first left, she did. But it fell off. I haven’t heard from her since before you and I started talking.”
She smiled slightly as she popped out the cork and poured us each a glass. “Well, what do you think she wants?”
“I have no idea. I don’t really want her to call me at all.”
“Yeah.” She passed me my glass and took a contemplative sip of hers.
“I mean, we do have to figure out the apartment situation. She’s coming back in three weeks, and our lease ends soon after that.”
“That makes sense,” Lark said. “What are you going to do about that?”
“Well, ideally, I’ll find my own place.”
She glanced at the ground and nervously toed her foot in a circle. Then her big green eyes met mine. “You could always stay here.”
“I already do.”
She smiled softly. “I mean…you could move in.”
“Really?”
“If you want. If you don’t think it’s too soon. You’re already here a lot, and English told me that Josh found them a place here for when he’s done filming. I think they’re going to sign on it this week even. So, she’ll be moving out. I mean, is it crazy?”
“Maybe a little,” I said, clearing the distance between us. “But I want to.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, I do. I want to move in with you.”
Her only answer was to press her lips against my own and to pull me back into the bedroom. The bedroom that would be ours in a matter of weeks.
30
Lark
Something pulled me out of a deep sleep. I squinted up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what the hell had woken me. Then I heard it—the sound of boots on hardwood and something heavy hitting the wall.
“What is happening?” I asked, reaching across the king-size bed to turn on the bedside table lamp.
Sam groaned and rolled over, closer to me. He glanced at his phone. “It’s not even seven.”
I yawned dramatically and then heard the noise again. “God, I don’t know. Do you think someone is breaking into the apartment?”
“Fuck,” he grumbled. Then he threw the covers off of himself. “I’ll go check it out. You stay here.”
He pulled on a pair of joggers and headed out into the living room. But I had no intention of staying here. If someone was breaking into my house, I wanted to make sure Sam was okay and call the cops. I threw on a nightgown and then snatched up my phone as I hurried to catch up.
“Hey!” Sam called. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment? You need to get out before I call the cops.”
“Your apartment?” a crisp, clear voice asked.
I cringed. Oh no.
I knew that voice.
I dashed into the living room. And there she was. Hope St. Vincent in an Alexander McQueen suit and a St. Vincent’s handbag. She was standing firm before Sam as if he were a bug under her shoe.
“Mom?” I gasped.
Sam whipped his head back to me. He shot me a look that said, This is your mother?