19. Ginger
GINGER
The private elevator slows, then stops with a gentle chime. The doors slide open to reveal a spacious foyer with soaring ceilings and museum-worthy art—but I only had eyes for Tyler, stands behind an excited Julian, his smile warming me instantly from across the room.
"KARL!" Julian shouts, launching himself forward.
"JULIAN!" Karl responds with equal enthusiasm, the two boys collide in a hug that nearly topples them both.
As the kids launched into rapid-fire conversation, Tyler steps forward, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Hi," he says simply, but the warmth in that single syllable melts any lingering anxiety I'd been harboring.
"Hi yourself," I reply, suddenly shy despite the countless hours we'd spent together at Crystal Peak.
He closes the distance between us, pulling me into an embrace that feels like coming home. "I've missed you," he murmurs against my hair.
"It's only been two weeks," I remind him, though I tightened my arms around his waist, breathing in his familiar scent.
"Fourteen days too many," he counters, pulling back to look at me. "You look beautiful."
I laugh, smoothing down my wrinkled blouse and tucking a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. "I look like I've been wrangling an eight-year-old on public transportation for three hours."
"Yes," he grins. "Beautiful."
Before I can formulate a suitably witty response, he leans down and kissed me—not a polite greeting peck, but a proper kiss that made my toes curl in my sensible traveling shoes.
"Ewww, they're KISSING!" Julian's disgusted voice breaks the moment, followed by Karl's equally horrified, "GROSS, MOM!"
We separate, both laughing at the boys' theatrical revulsion.
"Get used to it, kid," Tyler advises Julian with a wink in my direction. "There may be more where that came from."
Julian makes a gagging sound that set Karl off in a fit of giggles.
"Anyway," Tyler continues, clasping his hands together. "Welcome to our home! Would you like the grand tour before dinner?"
"YES!" Karl exclaims. "Julian says you have an elevator INSIDE your house!"
Tyler chuckles. "Let's start with that, then."
As it turns out, 'the grand tour' was somewhat aspirational. The boys race through each room at lightning speed, Julian proudly showing off his domain while Karl gasps at appropriate intervals. Tyler and I follow at a more sedate pace, his hand finding mine as naturally as breathing.
"This place is incredible," I say as we moved through a living room larger than my entire apartment, with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a breathtaking view of Central Park.
"It's a bit much for the two of us most of the time," Tyler admits. "But the location is convenient for work, and Julian's school is nearby."
"A bit much," I repeat with a laugh. "That's like saying the ocean is a bit wet."
He has the grace to look abashed. "I forget sometimes how it might seem to others. We've lived here since Julian was a baby."
"I'm teasing," I assure him, squeezing his hand. "It's a beautiful home. Though I do have questions about the practical aspects of raising a child in what appears to be an art museum."
"We have a 'no football indoors' rule that gets broken approximately twice a week," he confides. "And several priceless vases have been replaced with remarkably convincing replicas after unfortunate incidents involving remote control vehicles."
I laugh, picturing Tyler frantically swapping out Ming dynasty ceramics before anyone noticed. "Parenthood—the great equalizer, regardless of square footage."
"Exactly," he grins. "Though I will admit the housekeeper was a sanity-saving investment after Amy left. Turns out I'm terrible at remembering laundry schedules."
"Housekeeper," I muse, adding that to my mental list of ‘things that are normal in Tyler's world but alien in mine’, right alongside private elevators and museum-worthy art collections. The lottery had changed my life, but this was a whole different level of wealth.
He seems to read my thoughts, because his expression grew more serious. "Is this too weird for you? The apartment, I mean. I know it's a lot to take in."
My stomach knots as I considered the question. The penthouse probably cost more than I'd win in ten lotteries. "It's definitely different from what I'm used to," I acknowledge, twisting my fingers together. "But weird? No. It's just... your life. Part of who you are."
The relief in his smile is almost palpable. "Thank you for that. Some people get either intimidated or oddly aggressive when they see where I live. Like the apartment is a personality trait rather than a place."
"Well, to be fair, it's a pretty impressive place," I point out, glancing at what was probably an original Monet on the wall. "But I've already seen you with bedhead and hot chocolate spilled down your shirt, so the mystique is somewhat diminished."
He laugh, pulling me closer. "That's what I love about you. You see me, not the trappings."
The word "love" hung in the air between us.
My heart skips a beat, then raced to catch up.
I swallow hard, reminding myself it was just a figure of speech.
My fingers pull nervously in the hem of my shirt.
We'd agreed to take things slowly after Crystal Peak, testing our connection in the real world before making grand declarations or promises.
"MOM!" Karl's voice saves me from having to formulate a response. "JULIAN HAS A GAME ROOM WITH EVERY CONSOLE EVER MADE!"
"I believe we've reached the pinnacle of the tour," Tyler grins. "Nothing else will compare to the gaming setup, I'm afraid."
He leads me down a hallway to what had clearly once been a formal dining room but had been converted into the preteen equivalent of gaming heaven—large screen TV, multiple gaming systems, comfortable seating, and enough controllers to supply a small arcade.
"Can we play? Please?" Karl begs, already holding a controller as if it might be confiscated at any moment.
I glanced at Tyler, who shrugs. "Dinner won't be for another hour or so. I thought we could order in from that pizza place the boys have been talking about."
"Pizza?!" both boys exclaim in unison, video games temporarily forgotten at the mention of food.
"The famous head-sized slices," I recall with a smile. "Karl's been talking about them nonstop since Julian mentioned them."
"They're not really as big as your head," Tyler clarifies for Karl's benefit. "But they are pretty impressive."
"Can we order now?" Julian asks, bouncing on his toes. "I'm STARVING."
"You're always starving," Tyler point out good-naturedly. "But yes, we can order now. The usual for you, Jules?"
"Yes! And Karl wants pepperoni, right?" Julian looks to Karl for confirmation.
"Pepperoni and extra cheese," Karl nods solemnly, as if placing a pizza order was a sacred ritual.
"And for you?" Tyler asks, turning to me. "Any preferences?"
"Surprise me," I says. "I trust your pizza judgment."
"Dangerous words," he warns with a twinkle in his eye. "I've been known to order controversial toppings."
"As long as it's not pineapple, we're good," I assure him. "I have strong opinions about fruit on pizza."
"Noted," he nod. "Why don't you get settled while I place the order? Make yourself at home, explore, snoop through my medicine cabinet—whatever makes you comfortable."
I laugh, appreciating his attempt to put me at ease. "I'll save the medicine cabinet snooping for at least day two of the visit. Wouldn't want to seem too eager."
While Tyler orders dinner and the boys disappear into their game, I wander through the penthouse, cataloging the revealing contradictions: dog-eared paperbacks leaning against leather-bound classics; Julian's crayon masterpiece (dinosaur?
fire truck? abstract expressionism?) hanging beside what looked like an actual Picasso; a tiny blue sneaker peeking from beneath a designer sofa.
My gaze lingers on a silver-framed photo of Tyler and Julian on a beach, and beside it, partially hidden, a woman with Julian's smile—Amy, I presume—hugging a younger version of the boy.
The penthouse might have graced Architectural Digest, but someone had colored outside the lines to make it a home.
It was, I realize, a home first and a showplace second—the exact opposite of what I'd expected from someone of Tyler's wealth and status
"Finding everything okay?" Tyler's voice startles me from my observations.
"Just being nosy," I admit with a smile. "Hope you don't mind."
"Not at all," he assures me, moving to stand beside me. "Anything interesting in your snooping?"
I gesture to a framed photo of Julian as a toddler, covered head to toe in what appeared to be spaghetti sauce. "This is adorable."
Tyler chuckles. "His second birthday. Amy was horrified—she'd dressed him in some designer outfit for the party. I thought it was hilarious and snapped the photo before she could clean him up."
"I have a similar one of Karl with birthday cake," I share. "Kids are natural disaster magnets around food."
"Universal truth," Tyler agrees. "Pizza should be here in about 30 minutes. Can I get you something to drink in the meantime? Wine? Beer? Something stronger if the train journey warranted it?"
"Wine would be lovely," I says. "White if you have it."
"I think I can manage that," he smiles, leading me toward the kitchen.
The kitchen, like the rest of the apartment, was a study in understated luxury—high-end appliances, marble countertops, custom cabinetry—but again with those lived-in touches that made it feel like a real home.
A child's artwork held pride of place on the refrigerator, secured with alphabet magnets.
I mentally calculate how many lottery tickets I'd needed to win just to afford the refrigerator, which looks like it might have its own ZIP code and possibly sentient intelligence.
It probably judges people who stored leftovers like I do back home.