Chapter Twenty-Two
Miles
Before the elevator reached the floor labeled PH, Miles stuffed his speech notes into his pocket, pulled out his keys, and glanced at his watch.
Thanks to a weather delay, he’d been a day late getting home, and now had less than an hour to get ready for the gala.
He let out a tired sigh. At least he’d made it back to New York in time for the fundraiser.
The doorman had let Avery into his apartment the previous night and she’d texted him a picture of herself grinning on the Boa sofa.
Miles’s heart soared at the anticipation of seeing of her smile after five long days in Wyoming.
Waiting the extra day to hold her again had felt longer than the entire week he’d been away.
He’d wanted to be there when she entered his apartment for the first time.
He’d always imagined sharing champagne on his terrace and pointing out landmarks like he pointed out stars.
There’s Central Park, the Empire State Building.
That’s lower Manhattan. The planes fly up the East River and down the Hudson.
After that, a tour of the interior. This is the statement couch the interior decorator insisted I buy to match the modern style of my apartment.
I spend all my time over in that navy Eames lounge chair instead.
I can’t wait to make love on the couch we picked for the Red House and nap on it, holding you.
Maybe we should buy a second one for here and get rid of this one.
He wasn’t sure when his “I” had become a “we,” but he couldn’t wait for the Saturdays when they’d wake up next to one another, make love, and amble to the kitchen to throw together some blueberry pancakes.
New York might be big and bold compared to small, quaint Maine but no matter where you were, you needed breakfast. He wished they could start that life tomorrow, but Avery and Anna Catherine were flying out for Lily’s bachelorette in Boothbay first thing in the morning.
He walked off the elevator and headed to the door on the left.
One day, Avery wouldn’t be a guest in Penthouse A.
He’d overcome his anxiety and ask her to live here.
But it’d be two years until any of that happened.
Her MBA came first. She’d have an internship the following summer, possibly with a consulting firm, who knew where, but it wouldn’t be at the lake.
They needed to savor their little bits of time together over the next month.
They might cross paths for a brief second between her return to the lake from Lily’s bachelorette and his departure for Nate’s canoe trip.
After that, they’d have two weeks until her classes began.
She’d be busier than ever in the fall—and he planned to finish his masters, recruit new board members, write grants, and if they raised enough money, purchase and renovate the corporate retreat.
Miles needed August to do what August did best: slow everything down. He unlocked the door and glanced at his watch again. This would be a quick hello.
As the door swung open, the sweet scent of magnolia permeated his senses in the best way possible.
Within seconds of the door closing, she ran out of the guest bedroom wearing his plaid flannel bathrobe.
She’d wrapped her hair in a lovely chignon and wore a wide grin on her face.
He only caught a glimpse before Avery flew into his open arms. Miles imagined coming home every day and wrapping himself in this happy energy.
“I’m so excited to be here,” she said. “I slept in the guest room last night because it felt weird to sleep in your bed for the first time without you.”
If only they could stay in for the night.
But he needed to shower, shave, and memorize his speech.
His dream of opening a camp for grieving families depended on raising enough money for a down payment and securing financing on the corporate retreat.
He and Hayes couldn’t make an offer without proving they could afford it.
He’d happily add more to whatever they raised, but a large donor base gave grant-making foundations a reason to believe the project could succeed.
“Get going.” Avery smacked his backside. “The car will be here soon.”
He recited his speech from memory while he shaved. In the shower, he went over it again and forgot half of it. The time crunch sabotaged his confidence, and schmoozing people for money wasn’t his forte.
While he believed in the mission and knew his fundraising target, Miles doubted his ability to sway people to donate to a camp that hadn’t affected a single person yet.
And he rarely spoke to crowds. On Bright and Early, he talked to a camera.
There was no audience inside the studio, only out on the plaza.
CashCache’s success had happened in a room, at a computer, after work hours and on weekends.
Later, it had grown in rented conference rooms and when CashCache took off, in a real office.
This gala called for convincing a large public audience. He needed the stage presence of Hayes and the persuasiveness of Paulson, who could fearlessly convince anyone of anything. Miles hated to admit it, but he admired Paulson’s ability to sell Avery on her hotel bar in seconds flat.
Thankfully, Hayes and Anna Catherine were a huge draw for the event.
Counterblow, Hayes’s latest film, was smashing box office records this summer.
People vacated Manhattan in summer, spending their days in the Hamptons or on Nantucket.
But they’d returned to the City for this event and the chance to be in the same room with Hayes Preston and Anna Catherine Page.
Hayes had mentioned the Camp Luciole project during a recent appearance on The Tonight Show. He’d teared up talking about his own loss. The clip had gone viral, a sign others cared about the camp. Miles would rely on that to buoy him through the night.
Thirty minutes later, Miles leaned against his kitchen counter, wearing navy pants and a dress shirt, his jacket hanging on a nearby dining-room chair. His tie looped over his shoulders and his cufflinks sat beside him as he gave his speech one last pass.
“How do I look?” Avery walked out of the guest bedroom, a vision in midnight blue. An embellished crop top showed a hint of her midriff above a long skirt with sparkling beads fading down its length. On her feet were matching heels. The added height brought her eyes closer to his.
“Oh, Pepper.” His throat tightened. “You’re prettier than the night sky.”
She twirled around and finished with a curtsey.
“The invitation said the theme is summer camp.” She skimmed her hand down the skirt. “This ensemble reminds me of stargazing with you.”
He put down his notes and stepped to her, tracing his thumb along the exposed skin above her waistband, his eyes holding hers.
“I don’t want to dishevel perfection.” His voice cracked. “How about if I touch you right here all night?”
She folded his tie under his collar, her fingers brushing the back of his neck, and began tying a knot.
No woman had ever dressed Miles, only undressed him.
It felt caring and incredibly intimate. Avery focused on the task, her forehead close to his lips, as they breathed the same air.
In the silence, his breathing became ragged.
Avery patted the tie and kissed him, melting his nerves.
She wiped her lipstick from the edge of his mouth, and he felt the urge to kiss her so she’d have to rub off another smudge.
“You can dishevel me later.” She tugged his belt loops and winked.
As they stepped away from one another, a chill washed over him. They never used air conditioning at the lake and Miles didn’t like it. Cold air billowing out of a rectangle in the ceiling was not the same as a cool breeze blowing off the water. He missed the heat she generated in him.
Avery glided over to the enormous windows facing his terrace.
“This apartment is something,” she said in a way that didn’t sound like she loved it. “It’s like a decorator’s show house.”
True. He lived inside a glossy magazine photo.
Staged and sterile, with nothing personal anywhere.
It could easily have been a rental because it said nothing about him.
He didn’t collect things like airplane propellers or flags; things that hinted at his interests.
His hobbies were running and reading, but his bookshelves were filled with modern sculptures and massive black and white photography books he’d never cracked open.
Avery crossed to the Eames chair and ran her finger along the back, swiveling it.
“I think this is your favorite spot.” She smiled. “It’s the only thing in here with your imprint.”
“You know me and decorating.” Miles fiddled with his shirt cuff. “I figured the designer knew her stuff. The couch looks cool, but it’s meant for a media room. It makes you recline, even if you don’t want to.”
“You’re leaning back to where it’s hard to get up,” she said. “It’s like being stuck in a comfy dentist chair.”
“Maybe I should pull out my drill.” He winked.
“Slow down, doctor. I need Mr. Thirsty first.” Avery made the slurping sound of the dentist’s suction tube. “On second thought, he sucks.”
Miles loved when they relaxed and joked like this, even if she wasn’t wild about this apartment.
Purchasing the Penthouse A had been like buying a new pair of pants only to discover they chafed.
He’d moved to this brand-new building from a small prewar studio on a vibrant, sometimes noisy street in the East Village.
What his old apartment had lacked in size, it made up for in charm and warmth.
“I’ll redo the whole place if you don’t like it,” he said.
She straightened and walked over to him.
“Oh, I didn’t mean for you to change it. It’s beautiful; the polar opposite of the Red House. Maybe because your life in the City is different from your life at the lake. They’re worlds apart.”