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I expect Gideon will already be upstairs when I arrive, but…he’s not.
He’s standing under the restaurant awning next to his building’s entrance, in a heated conversation with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
She’s nearly as tall as Gideon and slim, but with the tanned, toned arms of an athlete. Her dress and hat are clearly designer originals as is her chunky jewelry. The bracelet and large necklace bring out the silver streaks in her long brown hair, but the gray doesn’t age her. It adds to her exotic, artsy vibe.
I’m instantly intimidated.
If this is the kind of woman Gideon usually dates, what the hell is he doing with me?
Yes, I have the money to buy expensive clothes—I have several suits in my closet that, even on the resale market, could pay my rent for a month—but I’m one of the least fashionable people I know. Sure, I enjoy dressing up now and then, but I’m happiest in athletic wear and whatever gear I need to stay warm and dry out in the wild. I’m a person who enjoys looking out at the world more than gazing at my own reflection.
But this woman clearly puts in the time in front of her mirror. Her makeup is subtle but perfect, from her dewy complexion to her contoured cheekbones and full, berry-stained lips.
I shift into the shelter of the awning of a nearby makeup store, wondering if I should duck inside. I’m wearing mascara, as usual, since my blond eyelashes are invisible without it, but I was in such a rush to get to Gideon, I didn’t bother with anything else.
Besides, he’s seen me without makeup and didn’t seem to care, one way or the other. I figured he was an outdoorsy guy who wasn’t into fashionista women.
But maybe I was wrong…
He and this glamorous human have history, it’s there in every tense line of their bodies and the ease with which they shoot verbal darts back and forth. They clearly aren’t friends anymore, but they’re…familiar.
And this woman is familiar to me, too, I realize as she turns with a dramatic flail of her arms, sending her skirt swirling around her legs. The pose is just like a picture Adrian had on his bookcase back in college. It was a black-and-white photo of a gorgeous woman with long brown hair, swirling in a black dance dress while a naked toddler—Adrian—ran in a giggling blur through the front of the shot.
This must be Angela, his mother.
My hunch is confirmed a moment later, when Gideon brings his phone to his ear and my cell starts to ring.
“Hey,” I say. “What’s up?”
“My ex was waiting for me when I got home,” he says, a tension in his voice I’ve never heard before. “She flew in from Florida this morning, as soon as Adrian texted her about the baby. She thinks we should be supporting him by giving him my apartment, so he and Gigi can raise the baby in a safer part of town.”
My brows lift. “Wow, that’s…quick. She doesn’t want to make sure the baby’s his first? And she does know he currently lives in one of the safest buildings in the sleepiest part of the Upper East Side, right? We have a doorman, too.”
“She knows,” he says with a sigh. “This is just an excuse to try to force me to sign the apartment over to Adrian and, by extension, to her. She’s been angry about it for close to a decade. My business didn’t take off until a few years after our divorce was final. She didn’t get as much from me in the settlement as she felt she deserved.”
I make a sound I’ve never heard before, somewhere between a grunt and a squawk of outrage.
Across the street, Gideon laughs.
“Couldn’t agree more,” he says, the affection in his voice mirrored on his face. “Where are you?”
I feel a little guilty for spying on him, but this stolen moment is worth it. That’s not the face of a man who wishes I were more glamorous or spent more time on my makeup. That’s the face of a man who likes me just the way I am, weird noises and all.
“I’m almost there,” I say, launching into motion. I lift my hand as I stride toward the crosswalk. “Traffic was so bad, I had to get out and walk.”
His gaze finds mine and his smile widens. “There you are. Meet me upstairs? I’ll tell Derrick to put your name on my approved visitor list until I can get you a key.”
“Sounds good. See you in a few,” I say before ending the call.
I fight to keep my composure until Gideon disappears inside his building. Only then do I do a giddy happy dance on the corner, my smile spreading so wide it hurts my jaw.
He wants to give me a key to his place! Already!
If that’s not a sign he’s feeling the same “this could be something special” vibes I’m feeling, I don’t know what is.
When the crosswalk light changes, I practically dance across the street, happier than I’ve been since I left Maine at the end of the summer.
The next morning, as Gideon and I are feasting on pastries from the best French bakery in town, the doorbell rings.
