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So he’d waited patiently for the other families in the building to move on, buying up the two other units when they became available and eventually renovating the whole thing to Leah’s exact needs—adding an elevator that would help her get to the top floor when she couldn’t manage the stairs, redoing all the flooring and installing grab bars in the bathrooms, among other things.
Oh, and buying her a custom pink velvet sofa because it was impossible to say no when she turned her puppy-dog eyes on him.
“I’m coming!” Leah yelled from inside, and Keaton immediately smiled. His sister’s voice would never not have that effect on him.
No matter how stressful his workday, no matter how difficult a client was being, no matter how much hehatedpretending to be like all the other Wall Street wankers... Leah’s voice could make it all disappear.
The door swung open and he drew her into his arms. She smelled like strawberries and powdered sugar, no doubt a preview of the dessert that would be in his belly before too long. Keaton hugged her tight, letting the day’s irritations melt away.
When he pulled back, he saw Molly sitting in the hallway, glaring at him with her front paws crossed and her snout sticking slightly up as if she’d smelled something bad.
“Your dog hates me,” he said, glaring back.
“Stop it.” Leah frowned. “You know it’s a house rule that you two have to get along.”
Fat chance. The husky was about as agreeable as a toddler who was six hours overdue for a nap. Even the black-and-white markings on her face made it look like she was constantly judging everyone around her.
That thing about her resting bitch face? Not an exaggeration.
“Tell that to her.” Keaton hung his suit jacket on the vintage iron rack by the front door and took off his shoes. The house smelled like heaven. “She’s the one who’s looking at me like she wants to go allFriday the 13ththe second I turn my back.”
“Maybe because she senses thatyoudon’t likeher.” Leah shot him a look. She was dressed in a pair of pink sweatpants and a matching hoodie, but her makeup looked ready for a night on the town. Her eyes were covered in some sparkly stuff that shifted purple and blue, and she had those big fringe things on her eyelashes that made her look like a Barbie doll.
“Nice makeup,” he said. “Were you filming a tutorial?”
“I was.” Leah beamed. “I got a new eyeshadow palette in the mail today.”
One of the things Keaton had done for his sister was set up a room where she could film YouTube videos without having to move equipment around. She had permanent lighting and a sleek series of drawers for her makeup. The look on her face when he’d done the grand reveal had made his heart burst. Considering that back when they were kids he’d scrimped and saved for six months to buy her a single brush from MAC for her birthday, it felt like quite the turnaround.
“A palette that abrandsent me.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m getting PR from actual brands now, can you believe it?”
“That’s awesome. I’m so proud of you.”
Leah ran a burgeoning YouTube channel that was mostly beauty and fashion content, but which also touched on her life as a young woman with multiple sclerosis. There had been a time where persistent flare-ups had made it challenging for her to hold a traditional job traveling to makeup gigs like weddings and photo shoots, and so she’d turned to virtual work. The YouTube channel had started out as a creative outlet on the side, but she hoped to grow her social following and turn it into a career.
Keaton had zero doubt that she could achieve that goal.
“It’s so exciting.” She grabbed the silver cane leaning against the wall. “I’m starting to get traction now, you know. The algorithm can be so fickle sometimes, but I’ve had a few videos do really well recently.”
“You’re working hard. Of course the success is coming.”
“Not as fast as you, Wall Street Whiz Kid,” she teased. “But I’m getting there.”
“Hey, you’re the one living in trendy Brooklyn now. These days you can’t turn a corner without walking into a dude with a man bun sipping on a $7 latte.”
“Yeah, because the coffee in Manhattan issomuch cheaper.” Leah rolled her eyes as she walked slowly but steadily with her cane, the soft sound of the rubber stopper tapping against the hardwood punctuating each step. “Besides, I still go to that little Italian place where it’s two dollars for an espresso and the grandma behind the counter tries to fatten me up with sfogliatelle.”
“Good. I’d hate to think you were giving money to the man bun brigade.”
Brooklyn and Manhattan had both fallen prey to hipsters. Everything was small-batch this and farm-fresh that and the most confusing word of all: artisanal. What the hell qualified someone to be an artisan, anyway? Because he’d seen that word used on everything from chocolate to pottery to candles with awful Instagram catchphrases.
Live, love, laugh his ass.
“Keaton!” His mother, Jackie, walked out of the main room and into the hallway, arms outstretched. “Don’t you look handsome as ever.”
“Thanks, Mom.” He wrapped her up in a big hug, noticing how tiny she felt in his arms. “Are you shrinking?”
“Oh my goodness, stop it.” She pulled back and shook her head. Her dark hair was peppered with tinsel-like silver strands and her green eyes—the eyes she’d gifted both her children—glowed with mischief. “It’s not nice to tease the vertically challenged.”
