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For me, that moment occurred on the Gapstow Bridge.
A moment I’ll never forget.
CHAPTEREIGHT
Over the next few weeks, I slowly settle into my new life in New York. Runs with Ethan become easier—almost enjoyable, even. And while I still haven’t devised a winning ad campaign, I try not to stress about it, trusting that it’ll come to me eventually. Besides, it’s a moot point if I don’t finish everything on my list.
So far, I’ve checked off three tasks: move to New York, online dating, and learn to knit. Brynn actually took up the hobby with me, and we’ve spent several evenings in front of the fireplace knitting scarves and swooning over Colin Firth in the BBC’s episodic production ofPride and Prejudice.
Although, I use the termscarfloosely. Brynn’s turned out fantastic—she somehow mastered a complicated diamond pattern on her first try—while my simpler attempt resembles a tangled fisherman’s net. Still, I technically knowhowto knit, even if I’m not any good at it. Plus, my efforts weren’t in vain. Whiskers has adopted my sorry excuse for a scarf as her new toy, and she and Wilson often play an extremely lopsided game of tug-of-war, which ultimately results in Wilson towing her around the apartment while she clings to one end like a water skier.
Some nights, when we’re really lucky, Ethan reads aloud to us fromThe Great Gatsbywhile we knit. His voice is strong and soothing, yet there’s something about his inflection—the passion in his voice, perhaps—that brings the story to life just like when we were kids. Back then, Brynn and I would pester him until he relented and lulled us to sleep withThe Adventures of Huckleberry FinnandThe Boxcar Children.
At first, I thought it might be strange to live with Ethan, especially since we both work from home—he builds ecommerce websites—and we wind up spending a good chunk of the day together, from chatting over morning coffee after our runs to coordinating our lunch breaks. But now, I can’t imagine what my time in New York would be like without him.
And yes, occasionally my stomach still flip-flops whenever his hand accidentally grazes mine or when he flashes one of his sexy, slanted smiles. But I’ve come to accept it, like an inconvenient bout of indigestion, and it in no way encumbers our friendship. He’s still Ethan Delaney, my best friend’s brother, and a man with whom I have zero romantic future.
Which is why when Harper insists we all join her at some jazz lounge to celebrate my first month in New York, I only hesitate for half a second.
Sure, the invitation might be an excuse for her to finally meet Ethan and charm him into falling madly in love with her. But so what if it is? They could very well be soulmates, and who am I to stand in the way of true love?
I repeat the sentiment to myself several times as the muscled bouncer waves Brynn, Ethan, and me into the dimly lit lounge. Like Harper, the space is sleek, sophisticated, and trendy without trying too hard. Dark-stained wood, leather, and steely metal blend with soft, sumptuous fabrics in vibrant reds and purples, creating a sultry atmosphere that’s the perfect complement to the seductive sounds emanating from the stage.
Ethan places a hand on my lower back and guides me through the milling crowd. The gesture, though innocent and utilitarian in purpose, sends a shiver across my skin, and I try not to concentrate on the woodsy scent of his body wash or how handsome he looks in a simple wool coat.
My gaze keeps traveling to the stubble on his jawline, so I purposefully redirect it straight ahead, searching for Harper. When I spot her in a booth near the stage, my step falters slightly. She looks absolutely stunning. Her flawless skin glows in a burgundy off-the-shoulder sweater, and her impossibly long legs are crossed beneath the table, shown off to alluring effect by snug leather pants.
I’m suddenly glad I swapped out my boring beige cardigan—even if it is cashmere—for the indigo silk blouse that enhances the blue of my eyes, then scold myself for the trivial thought.
Harper smiles and waves when she sees us, and I notice there’s a man seated in the booth beside her. An incredibly attractive man, who could easily be the star of a Spanish soap opera. The rakish rogue the heroines have a duel to the death over before realizing he has a twin and they’re actually each in love with a different brother.
I breathe a little easier realizing Harper must have given up on her one life goal of enchanting Ethan, since she clearly brought a date.
“I’m so glad you guys could make it!” Harper beams when we reach the table. “Quincy, sit here, by me.” She pats the cushion next to her, and I remove my coat before sitting down.
Since there’s no more room on this side, Ethan sits across from us, and Brynn follows.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?” Harper says as we settle in. “Everyone, this is my friend Javier. Javier, this is Quincy, who I’ve been telling you about, and this is Brynn, and you must be Brynn’s elusive brother, Ethan.” She extends her hand to him gracefully, and for some reason, I hold my breath while they greet each other. I suppose I’m waiting for a spark to ricochet off their fingertips, like the moment in every romantic comedy when you know it’s love at first sight. But Ethan’s expression doesn’t reveal any emotion beyond casual friendliness.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” Javier’s voice is deep and velvety, and although he speaks in the plural, his full attention is directed at me. There’s something in his smile—a glimmer of open interest—that makes me uneasy, especially with Harper sitting between us.
After a few minutes of chitchat, she asks me to let her out of the booth so she can order a bottle of champagne at the bar, and wrangles Brynn to help carry the glasses.
As I’m left alone with Ethan and Javier, I notice a strange energy rippling across the table. The two men are eyeing each other, as though sizing up the competition. Is Ethan jealous of Harper’s date? My stomach sinks with disappointment, but I remind myself that I don’t care.
“So, Javier, how do you and Harper know each other?” Ethan asks, confirming my suspicion.
“We work at the same PR firm. She mostly handles actors, while I work with musicians. Wes is a client.” He nods toward the stage.
The young man pouring his heart and soul into the microphone reminds me a little of the jazz greats Ray Charles and Louis Armstrong mixed with modern influences. His raspy baritone is achingly beautiful. The kind of music you feel all the way to your core.
“You’re lucky,” I say. “He’s incredibly talented.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Javier smiles at me again, the same intimate smile that makes me squirm. I glance over my shoulder to gauge Harper’s progress at the bar, but I can’t see her through the sea of people.
“So, Quincy.” Javier drapes his arm across the back of the booth, angling his body to face me—his noticeably fit body. The satiny fabric of his pin-striped button-down strains slightly across his broad chest. “Harper tells me you’re on a quest to complete a bucket list?”
“I am. Only seven more tasks to go.”
