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My laptop pings again. I roll my eyes and go to close it down for the night, annoyed that it owns my complete attention. But the wordYalein the sender’s name catches my eye. I bend down and click to open the email. I scan it so quickly that I need to reread it just to make sure I understand. “Blah, blah, blah . . . your scholarship was made in donation . . . by the Safe Haven Trust managed by Westcott Law Firm . . . Those are the only details we can share as part of the agreement. Blah, blah, blah . . .”
Westcott Law Firm.
Safe Haven Trust.
Safe Haven . . .
“Harbor.”
47
Lark
I’ve putthis dress on and taken it off three times. Why am I going? What am I doing? Why do I want him to think I’m sexy? My appearance shouldn’t matter.
I take the dress off and slip on a pair of fitted jeans. And since the Yankees are playing today, I dig out my jersey from the dresser and slip it on over my head.
But what if we’re going to a nice restaurant?
Harbor said this is a do-over, which we also need to discuss. He did keep his promise. He came back to me just like he said he would.
As I angle in front of the bathroom mirror, the debate wages on. I bet he scored reservations at the hottest place in the city and plans to wine and dine me.
I’m not opposed to this scenario, especially since I now know what he did for me. Though I still don’t know why.
Screw it.Red dress it is, and I’ll wear the shoes he loved on me earlier in the week. I get dressed, grab my clutch, and then hurry to the street to wait, but as soon as I swing the door open, he’s already there. I don’t think he’s a sight I’ll ever get used to. “How long have you been here?”
“Not long.” I won’t complain that I don’t have to wait on him. It’s actually sweet that he showed up early. He opens the door, and adds, “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I say, blushing like I’m twenty-one and standing with him in that convenience store all over again. I don’t regret the red dress.
Traffic isn’t bad, but we’re not getting anywhere fast either, so I beat around the bush, and ask, “Do you live in the city?”
A grin crosses his expression. “I do. I live in Tribeca.” I don’t know why this comes as such a shock, but it’s weird to think of him dwelling in the same town as me, yet we’re not together. Our lives felt so intertwined at one time that it feels unnatural not to know he lived here as well.
“Do you have a parking garage for your car? You seem to prefer to drive.”
“The building has a garage, and I have a reserved spot, a view of the city, and—”
“More than one room?”
His eyes stay on the road ahead. “Yes, more than one room.”
Taking the opportunity to look at him, really look at him, I see him in a new light. He’s handsome, too handsome to stare at for too long. I say, “I live in a studio near the hospital.”
“How’s that?”
“Good. Easy to maintain, which is good considering the number of hours I work.”
He nods, and then asks, “You work a lot?”
“I work a lot.”
He glances over. “How do you balance your social life with work?”
I start laughing. “I don’t. I traded a shift and went in this morning at four o’clock to be here with you thirteen hours later.”
He rests his arm between us, his hand so close but seemingly just out of reach. It feels wrong for some reason. Too far from me. “You didn’t have to do that, Lark. We can work around your schedule.”
