CHAPTER FORTY Joshua
CHAPTER FORTY
Joshua
E mily changed into more comfortable clothing: a pair of wide jeans, a red cable-knit sweater, and white sneakers. Her hair is up in a bun, and her face is stripped of all make-up. Even after all this time, her beauty still catches me off guard. But it’s more than that now. It’s also the way she carries herself, the quiet confidence beneath the surface.
I glance at her one more time as we walk, her footsteps audible against the uneven West Village sidewalk. I’m holding our takeout so we can eat later. Her curiosity is practically radiating off her, but she’s trying to play it cool as always.
“Josh,” she calls, dodging a puddle on the sidewalk. “Are we almost there, or is this part of your plan to walk me to exhaustion?”
I grin, looking at her. “Patience, Emily. Good things come to those who wait.”
She shakes her head. “Nope, good things come to those who do something about it.”
I nod in agreement, and she just follows me as we continue walking. Finally, we stop in front of an unassuming building with a sign that says ‘Bowen Art Enterprise.’
“Here? An… office?” she asks, blinking at the small gate, clearly unimpressed.
“Not just here,” I say with a chuckle. “Follow me.” We enter the office building, and the guards greet us. Emily’s still looking confused as we board the elevators to the top floor. She crosses her arms and looks at me with raised eyebrows. I simply wink at her, and she rolls her eyes, but a smile is playing on her lips.
As the doors open, we’re met by a dark hallway. I walk into it, and Emily follows suit. We reach the glass doors, and a discreet sign that says ‘Jefferson Rooftop Garden’ comes to view .
I take a key out of my pocket and open the door. Her eyes widen.
“You have a key to a rooftop garden?” she exclaims.
I shrug. “I may have done a favor for the caretaker once or twice.”
“This is officially the coolest thing about you,” she says.
“Coolest? You mean there are other cool things about me?” I say. “Please, do tell.”
“Shut up,” she says with a chuckle. I turn on the light switch. The space comes alive all at once. String lights are draped between trees and trellises, casting a glow over the stone pathways and garden beds. The air is filled with the fragrance of blooming roses and lavender, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil. A small fountain bubbles in the corner, the sound soothing against the backdrop of distant city noise that seems so much further away now.
As I close the door behind us, the city disappears entirely.
Emily takes a step forward, her mouth slightly open as she takes it all in. Flowering vines climb wooden arbors, their petals glistening with dew under the lights. The lush greenery is a world away from the concrete jungle below, a little slice of magic hidden in plain sight.
“Wow,” she breathes, her voice hushed. “This is… stunning.”
I glance at her, and the way her face lights up makes my chest tighten. She looks like she belongs here, surrounded by all this quiet beauty. For a moment, I think I’d bring her here a thousand times just to see her smile like that.
“This is where I go when life gets overwhelming,” I tell her, my voice softer now.
“I can’t imagine what must be overwhelming for Joshua Santaigo,” she says. “You look like you’re made of steel.”
I shrug. “Oh, you know, even Superman has bad days.”
“You can tell me about it, you know,” she says. We take a seat on the bench by the fountain. We’re surrounded by flowers and beautiful plants, but despite all the beauty around me, she stands out. She pats the empty seat beside her, and I follow. We’re closer now, and I can smell hints of her perfume that only amplifies the smell of flowers around us.
“It’s just… a different kind of pressure,” I start. “To inherit a solid company and maintain everything. Some days, I get really overwhelmed. It’s not just about running the thing, you know. It’s living up to my uncle’s legacy and meeting the expectations of the people who have been there much longer than I have. Every decision feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.”
This is the first time I’ve opened up about this. No one really asks me about it, and I’m not one to divulge. I glance at her, expecting her to brush it off or crack a joke, but she doesn’t. She just listens, her attention steady and grounding, urging me to continue.
“And then there’s the family part of it,” I say. “Everyone thinks I have it all figured out, like I’ve got this perfect life—career, success, stability. But I’m still trying to figure out who I am in all of this.”
I laugh, but it’s hollow. “Sorry, this is probably more than you signed up for when you agreed to come with me.”
Emily shakes her head, her expression softening. “Don’t apologize. You don’t get to play the ‘steel man’ all the time. Sometimes you need to just… be human.”
Her words settle over me like a warm blanket, comforting and disarming.
“I guess it’s easier to just pretend everything’s fine,” I admit, leaning back against the bench. The cool night air brushes against my skin, carrying the faint scent of roses and lavender. “But pretending gets lonely after a while.”
“Yeah, I get it,” she says. “But lonely doesn’t suit you. Let people in, sometimes.”
I look at her, and for a moment, the thought strikes me— I’m letting you in right now .
“And please,” she continues. “You have access to a garden, add some plants to your apartment.” She laughs, probably trying to shift the tension that just simmered there.
“The caretaker actually asks me to take whatever I want, I just never really had a preference, I guess,” I admit. I look around, thinking about which flower I want to bring back home. Only one thought comes to mind: roses.
“Anyway, you?” I ask, turning the focus to her. “What do you do when life gets overwhelming?”
She smiles, but there’s something bittersweet in it. “I escape,” she says. “I go to random places and give a fake name. A fake me. It’s easier.”
“You go on random dates with strangers you meet in the back of a café?” I ask, smiling.
“That happened once. And frankly, I don’t think I’ll do it again.” She chuckles. “But if I had a place like this, it’s all the escape I’d need.”
“Well,” I say, nudging her playfully. “You do now.”
“Thank you,” she says, smiling sincerely.
After a few seconds of silence, I break it with a question that’s been on my mind. “So, are you quitting your job?”
Emily exhales, her gaze drifting toward the fountain in front of us. “I can’t resign from the café. My work visa is tied to them.”
I blink, genuinely surprised. “How in the world did you manage to get a café to sponsor a visa?”
She grins, clearly amused by my reaction. “I’m a really good barista,” she says, her tone teasing but confident.
I raise an eyebrow. “No, really. How?”
“Okay,” she relents, leaning back on the bench. “Back in college, I took a few barista and mixology classes for fun. When I applied to the café, I pitched a new menu item—this layered coffee-drink-dessert hybrid thing. Frank, the owner, loved it so much it became a bestseller. It turned into this huge event for the café. You know, posters, social media campaigns, the works. After that, Frank begged me to stay.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal, but the pride in her voice is unmistakable.
I shake my head in disbelief. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
Her lips twitch into a small, almost shy smile, and she glances down at her hands. “Thanks,” she says softly.
“And the club?” I ask, keeping the conversation rolling.
“That one I’m definitely resigning from,” she replies firmly. “It was always just a temporary gig to make ends meet. I’ve decided I’m going to start hunting for an accounting firm—specifically one that’s woman-owned. If I can’t find one, well…” She smirks, the mischief in her eyes unmistakable. “Maybe I’ll just marry a stranger and get a green card so I can open my own.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “That’s one way to do it.”
She turns to me, her expression playful. “You got a better idea?”
“I’ve been a citizen since I was twenty-one,” I say casually, throwing her a pointed look. Her eyebrows shoot up, and she stares at me for a moment. “I’m just saying,” I continue, “If you’re marrying someone for a green card, you may as well aim higher than a stranger.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Someone handsome and charming, and has a key to a secret rooftop. Someone who owns a toolbox. You know, the bare minimum.”
“Oh, I see,” she says, her voice dripping with mock suspicion. “If this is a proposal, it sucks.”
“Sucks?” I repeat, pretending to be offended. “You’re a tough crowd.”
“Well, yeah,” she says with a smirk. “Where’s my sweeping declaration? My flower bouquet? My—”
“Careful, Emily,” I cut in, leaning closer, my voice low and teasing. “Keep talking like that, and I might actually make you fall for me.”
“Maybe I already have,” she says. I expected her to counter me with an equally teasing remark, or a joke, or anything. But now, I’m not sure if she’s joking anymore.
It’s stupid. It’s reckless. It’s everything I shouldn’t want, and yet all I can think about is the way she’s looking at me right now. The marriage jokes should be making me squirm by now. Hell, they usually do.
But this discomfort is different. It’s not the kind that comes from running away from commitment—it’s the kind that comes from realizing you might not be good enough for what’s right in front of you.
I can’t help but wonder, does she deserve me? Or, more importantly, do I deserve her?
The string lights above cast a warm, golden glow, but it’s nothing compared to the way her eyes shine, even in the half-light. The faint scent of flowers mingles with the crisp night air, grounding me and completely untethering me all at once.
She tilts her head just slightly, her gaze darting to my lips for the briefest moment. My heart kicks into overdrive.
And then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, I lean in.
She does too.
And—
Her phone rings.
The sound slices through the moment like a bucket of cold water, and I immediately pull back, clearing my throat as if that will somehow erase what almost just happened.
“Hello?” Emily says, her voice raspy. She glances at me, her expression unreadable. She clears her throat before she continues, “Hey, David!”
Who the hell is David?
I try to play it cool, leaning back against the bench, but inside, a storm is brewing. I know I have no right to feel anything about who she’s talking to, but I hate the name David now.
“No, no,” she continues, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll be at the café tomorrow… lunch? With you? I guess.”
Lunch? With him?
She nods along to whatever David is saying, her tone friendly and light, and it’s enough to make me grit my teeth. I force myself to relax, casually resting one arm along the back of the bench like I don’t care.
But I care. Oh, I care way too much.
Something claws at my chest, sharp and insistent, no matter how much I try to shove it down. Who is David? A coworker? An ex? Someone trying to weasel his way into a spot I’m not even sure I’m allowed to claim?
Relax, Josh. You’re just her friend.
But that’s the thing. I don’t want to be just her friend. I never have. Not when every moment with her feels like this—a little electric, a little terrifying, and entirely too good to let slip away.
She ends the call with a quick, “See you tomorrow,” and slips the phone back into her bag.
“Sorry about that,” she says, smiling like nothing’s happened.
“David, huh?” I say, keeping my tone neutral.
She nods, brushing imaginary lint off her sleeve. “Yeah, he’s one of the regulars at the café. He’s been trying to convince me to teach him latte art.”
Latte art? Really? Is she buying this?
“Sounds… intense,” I say, my voice laced with sarcasm before I can stop myself.
She raises an eyebrow. “Is that jealousy I hear?”
I scoff, though it comes out too sharp to be convincing. I sit up straighter, forcing a smirk. “Please. Just didn’t realize latte art was such an in-demand skill. What’s next? You teaching him how to fold napkins into swans?” I make a triangle motion with my hands.
“Oh, don’t underestimate latte art,” she says as she tries to hold back a laugh.
I lean closer, my eyes narrowing as I meet her gaze. “I’m not underestimating anything. I’m just curious why this David guy needs private lessons from you and not, you know, YouTube.”
She laughs softly, shaking her head. “He’s just a nice guy trying to pick up a hobby. You don’t need to interrogate him.”
“Interrogate?” I repeat, my voice dropping into something low and teasing. “Emily, I haven’t even started yet. If I were interrogating, I’d ask why he scheduled his ‘lessons’ during lunch breaks. Or why he couldn’t find another barista to teach him.”
Her cheeks flush, and she tries to brush it off with a wave of her hand. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Am I?” I tilt my head, studying her. “Because I think you’re avoiding the real question here.”
She blinks, caught off guard. “And what question is that?”
I lean back, feigning nonchalance, though my voice comes out with a sharp edge. “Whether he’s just a guy looking for latte tips or someone trying to get close to you.”
Emily stares at me for a beat, her lips parting slightly in surprise. Then she smirks, leaning in just enough that I can catch the faintest hint of her perfume. That floral, feminine scent that’s like a drug. “And why does it matter to you, Joshua?”
Because I like you. “I’m just… concerned,” I say.
“Well, thanks for your concern.” She smiles.
Okay, that’s it. Call me jealous, call me petty, call me anything you want. Just don’t call me Emily’s friend. Because starting today, I’ll do everything to be more than that.