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“Am I your gift or your meal?” I ask in breathless anticipation.
“Both. I warned you that you’d be dinner tonight. You still came, so I’m going to assume you’re all right with being eaten?”
Dear Lord, I’m going to go up in flames.
I clear my throat. “Where are you taking me, by the way?”
“Being that my dining room table is in my home, that’s where I’m taking you.”
* * *
Noah lives on the upper floor of a ten-story building in Jersey City. It’s one of those places that has served as everything from an office building to a factory and has now been converted into a swanky loft that maintains that industrial character.
I’m informed that while there is a reception area where most of the residents come through, Noah’s place has its own entrance. An elevator accessible through his private portion of the garage leads directly to his loft.
The elevator bell chimes and we step inside the open space.
“Wow,” I say, taking it all in—the brick walls, thick exposed beams, large windows that give you a bird’s-eye view of the city.
Though well furnished, the gray leather sectional and clean lines of the occasional tables give it a minimalist feel that’s actually calming.
Ever since meeting him, I could tell he has money. Not only in the expensive clothes he wears and his fancy car, but in the way he carries himself. A man with power who’s accustomed to control. But seeing this now, I realize just how much money he must have.
After I absentmindedly set the gift and my clutch on the kitchen counter, I go to stare out into the night, at the high-rises and bustling streets, and sigh. “Your place is wonderful, Noah. So much quieter than I’d expect.”
“These are soundproof windows,” he says right by my ear, startling me.
“How did you do that? I didn’t hear you move.”
“I tiptoed,” he teases.
“Do you ever stand here and just admire how beautiful the city can be?”
He takes in the sight, observing it with keen appreciation. “This view is the reason I bought the loft. But if you like this, you’ll really love the deck.”
“Deck?”
Grabbing my hand, Noah tugs me toward a door next to the kitchen. We enter a stairwell that leads up, then exit through a metal door onto the rooftop.
The cool spray of light rain instantly clings to my skin, and a delicious breeze blows through my hair, lifting it and swirling it above my head. It brings with it the scent of wet gardenias and night-blooming jasmine and other fragrant smells produced by the flowers in planters all around us.
In the center of the roof that’s lined with a glass railing, there’s a modern lap pool with an attached Jacuzzi . I run to it, a huge grin on my face as I peer over the side.
“Noah, this is amazing!” I shut my eyes and breathe, inhaling, listening, feeling. “You must be up here every day.”
“Rarely, actually.” He leans against the rail and peers out at the city. “That’s about to change.”
“I would hope so. If I lived here”—I stretch my arms wide—“I’d be up here all the time. In fact, I might make it my studio. Actually, that reminds me. I want to give you your gift.”
I follow him back down to the large kitchen, or at least, I assume that’s what it is because of the gray cabinetry since I don’t see any appliances.
Noah grabs the piece and removes the cloth I wrapped it in. Then he stares at it for so long, I wonder if I made a mistake.
“You don’t have to hang it or anything. It’s just, I saw how drawn you were to it.” I don’t tell him that every time I took it out for the exhibit, someone offered to buy it. But I was never able to bring myself to part with it, because it was my first painting. The one that bares most of my soul. So back to my studio it went each time.
He touches it with his forefinger. “Rain,” he whispers, staring at it with the same intensity he did when I first showed it to him.
“Do you like it?”
