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He chuckles. “New York City cab drivers are the worst but you get used to it.”
I return to my previous position and give him a smile.
“The city looks beautiful at night,” I say, looking around outside the windows.
“It definitely comes to life at night, that’s for sure.”
I spot the time and blanch. “I’m sorry you’re out so late to get me.”
He shrugs. “I was out with the guys from work, getting some drinks, it wasn’t a big deal.”
His words make me feel a little better. My flight was long, and I’d never stopped to consider the time difference.
It takes what feels like forever to finally reach Owen’s place.
The building is brown brick with a black wrought iron set of steps leading up to the door. There are a couple of flowers planted outside and several piles of trash.
I slide out and Owen grabs my bag. As soon as the trunk is closed the cabbie is speeding away into the night.
Owen shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out a set of keys.
I follow him up the steps and he swings the door open.
“My apartment is up there.” He points to a staircase leading upstairs. Once upon a time I’m sure the staircase was grand. I look around, seeing the remnants of what once must’ve been an impressive residence but has now been sectioned off into apartments.
He leads me upstairs and finds a different key, sliding it into the door.
“Welcome home.”
I wince. This isn’t my home. I don’t know where that is anymore. It used to be where Jace was, but now it’s too hard to be near him.
The hardwood floor creaks beneath my feet as I step inside.
There’s a kitchen, living area, and a bedroom and bathroom to our right. It’s definitely tiny, but it’s clean and nice.
The door closes behind us. “You can take my room. I’ll crash on the couch.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be silly. You have to work.”
Work. I completely forgot about my job at the record store.
“I can’t let you sleep on the couch, I insist.”
“Are you sure?” I hesitate, wrapping my arms around myself.
He nods. “Absolutely.”
“Okay then.” I follow him into the bedroom and he sets my suitcase on top of the bed. The room is, again, tiny. There’s a full-size mattress, one end table, and nothing else except for the photographs on the wall. In the corner of one, I spot a picture of us tucked between the glass and frame. We look young, like children. Owen has his arms wrapped around me, his lips pressed against my cheek. I’m taking the photo, my arms held out, and I look blissfully happy.
Owen clears his throat. “I … uh … It’s my favorite photo of us. I couldn’t get rid of it.”
I press my lips together and nod—wondering why he didn’t keep it in a drawer or something.
“Shower is yours.” He edges toward the door. “Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine.”
He hesitates in the doorway, seeming to want to say something, but he changes his mind and leaves.
