“It was something. You bought all new clothing in five minutes. And you got all of us milkshakes and got the diner owner to give you the very unfiltered scoop on how townspeople felt about all the redevelopment going on in the area. And then we were all chummy again.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think Rob ever let me in his car again after that. In fact, I suspect he moved to Virginia just to save his precious upholstery from me.”
“His loss,” Oliver said, so easily and quickly that it nearly took her breath away. Fay shifted closer. His eyes were bright with life, and she thought very seriously for thirty seconds about leaning in, bringing her mouth to his. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. This time, she looked away first.
“Besides,” Oliver continued, “it’s not like I’ve always had wonderful experiences with the great outdoors, being a city boy myself.”
“That’s right. You grew up here.”
“Yep, born and raised in Queens, the best, most diverse borough in the world. I say this both as a New Yorker and as an expert on how cities are supposed to work.”
“Is most of your family still here?”
“My brother and sister, and my mom. My dad, well, I have no idea where he is. I guess I don’t care.”
She didn’t probe. Instead, she said, lightly, “Maybe you could show me around there sometime.”
He watched her. “If you’d like that, I could.”
Why did she keep blushing? “I would really like that.”
It was all a little too much. So she sprang up to start moving again, and Oliver followed her, a little more slowly. When they got to the West Side they crossed the street to peer more closely at the old brick buildings and perhaps start their walk through the district. Suddenly, Oliver stopped and pointed to a flier taped next to some door buzzers. They went up for a closer look. “There’s a couple of open houses taking place here.”
“Are you looking to buy?”
“No. No, sadly I’m not. But...”
He raised an eyebrow.
Not quite a house tour, but it was an opportunity to see inside. “Let’s do it.”
They were buzzed up. The fact sheet, bearing the logo of a prominent uptown brokerage, said there were two apartments showing in the building. They decided to go to the higher floor first. They made their way noisily up a set of creaking stairs, pausing at one landing to stare at the skylight. “Do you think it’s original to the building?”
“Hard to tell. For sure, it hasn’t been cleaned in a long time.”
A Black teenage girl was slouched in a chair in the hallway, staring at her phone. “If you and your wife could just sign in,” she mumbled, barely glancing up.
Again with the assumption that they were a couple—but they were on a date, after all. Maybe. After a pause, Oliver quirked Fay a smile, and wrote “Oliver and Darling Wife,” on the clipboard, along with what seemed like his real email address.
Not that she had looked it up or anything.
She had to laugh at the little heart he put over the i in Darling, too. And then she stopped laughing. Because the joke seemed to hit a little too close to home.
It was a pretty teacup of an apartment, with a bright kitchen with a big window that looked right into the branches of the tree that stood on the street. The walls had been painted yellow, and there was no lack of sunshine in the living room. It felt cheerful and modern and altogether without context; she and Oliver could have been standing anywhere. Most of the period details had been plastered over, sanded, and stripped over the years.
She and Oliver glanced at each other at the same time, as if they were really in the market for an apartment, and they both shook their heads.
They stepped into one bedroom—a nursery—where the roof sloped down over the crib. It was tiny. Not much room for anything besides the crib and a chair. But someone had built a clever set of drawers and bookcases around the window.
They went into the bathroom, which was really too small for both of them to be in at once. And yet, it was exciting standing in there with him so close, with him watching her in the mirror, and her watching him. Why was it easier to look him steadily in the eye when it was through a mirror? To notice how his lips seemed so soft compared to the sharp planes of his face? Her own lips parted a little. She was near enough that she could feel his breath quickening, feel the subtle way they turned their bodies toward each other.
A door slammed somewhere in the apartment. Voices.
She ducked her head and left the bathroom. He followed. And they stepped into the last room. The bedroom.
Most of the room was bed.
She devoted a part of her mind to wondering how difficult it had been to wrestle the mattress up the narrow flights of stairs. But the darkest corner of it was wondering how hard it would be to tip Oliver down into the bed, how willing he’d be to fall.
They were still standing close with just a narrow strip at the foot of the bed to walk around in. He leaned a little closer to her. “Fay,” he whispered.
She half turned, and her hand slid up his chest.
“Hellooo,” a voice called cheerily from behind them.
They both turned.
“Ah, a pair of honeymooners.”
The Black woman with chunky jewelry and a blue suit was clearly the actual real estate broker. Fay tugged self-consciously at her top and hoped her face wasn’t too shiny.
But the broker beamed at the two of them and neither of them moved or denied a thing.
“Isn’t it a great place? A perfect starter apartment with just enough room for a small family.”
“It’s lovely,” Oliver said. “Lots of light.”
His hand slid around Fay’s waist. She wanted to turn toward him and sigh.
The broker smiled at them widely. “Is this the kind of space you had in mind? Is it in your budget?”
“Oh, well, we wouldn’t mind seeing the downstairs,” Fay found herself saying.
“Sure. It’s a much bigger layout. More room to grow. Maybe more along the lines of what—” she checked her clipboard “—you, Darling and Oliver, are looking for.”
As Sharon, the broker, led them downstairs to the ground floor, chattering all the way, Oliver laughed softly into Fay’s neck.
“Maybe we should stop doing this,” Fay whispered.
Her lips were practically on his ear. If he took a step down she’d be able to nip him.
“Doing what?”
“Pretending that we’re together. It’s like last week. It’s...it’s too easy.”