Chapter 26
CHAPTER 26
Christine
Two weeks later . . .
Standing on the sidewalk in front of Tagger’s building, I lift my sunglasses off so my gaze can follow the building until it disappears into the sky. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live in the clouds. I’m about to find out. At least for the weekend.
Two nights to live the high life.
The doorman opens the door for me. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon,” I reply, feeling fancy. If I said that to the guys on the ranch, I’d be laughed all the way back to New York City. It’s a nice change hearing it while in the city. A little formal for my day-to-day, though.
He scoots around the tall marble counter. “How may I help you?”
“I’m here for Tagger Grange. Christine Greene. He’s expect?—”
“Yes, he is, Ms. Greene.” He sets a key on the counter and slides it to me. “Mr. Grange left this for you. He’s running late and sent his apologies.”
“Oh.” I take the key and tuck it into my pocket. “So I just go on up?” And here, I was always under the impression that New Yorkers didn’t trust strangers. Happily proven wrong. Of course, he did know my name, so there is that.
“Yes. Twentieth floor. Apartment A.” He rests back on his heels and adjusts his hat. “The apartment is on the left.”
I glance at the elevators. “Thank you.”
The apartment is easy enough to find, but it feels weird to invade without him being home. It’s like I’m an intruder in his life.
I open the door and am greeted with sunlight flooding the space from across the room. Stepping inside, I pull my suitcase in and walk down the short hallway. The hardwoods add warmth to the space, and the dark counter in the kitchen keeps it more masculine in style. Those windows, though. I leave my suitcase and hurry across the room to look out at the view.
I’m in the heart of the city, but the view over the surrounding buildings reaches all the way to the water in the distance. The blue sky and scattered clouds are so close I can almost touch them up here.
Turning back to the apartment, I find the kitchen is small, but I have a hunch it’s not used much anyway. It’s clean and looks high-end with matching stainless steel appliances and stone backsplash. I touch it just to feel the slick, natural surface.
My dad kept the sunny-colored appliances in our kitchen because they matched the flowers on the curtains, and yellow is my mom’s favorite color. But they’re so dated and starting to rust at the hinges.
I run my hands over the counter on the island, spreading them wide and resting my cheek on the cold surface. I’m no chef, but this nice kitchen would be inspiring. I remove myself from the counter before he catches me acting like a country bumpkin who has never been out of Small Town, Texas.
Two barstools are tucked under the counter overhang, and a wooden dining table for six is set up parallel to a wall of bookcases with few too many books and too much unused space. I walk closer to see a small collection of framed photos. One of Tagger and Beck on a beach with palm trees in the back and ice-blue waters washing over their toes. Another silver frame holds a photo of him back in high school with his parents flanking him. I remember that night. It was college night, and they had just announced he was going to Michigan State along with Baylor, who was next to him with my parents at his sides. It was a big night for Peachtree Pass.
I move closer to see a photo of Tagger solo in hiking gear standing on what looks to be the top of the world. I know he and Baylor traveled quite a bit after college, but I can’t place where this might have been. I was in college by then, caught up in my own life, so not surprised. A kiss of a sunburn across his cheeks makes his smile blinding white, but the happiness can’t be contained. I can even see it in his eyes. I’m not sure I’ve seen it at that level since we reconnected. I take a breath. He looks so handsome that it hurts to think some of the joy has been sucked away from his life.
Another photo of that cutie patootie Beckett makes me smile. When does he not? Never. His personality is so vivacious, and he’s handsome like his dad. Dressed in a school uniform, he looks nice, but I think I prefer him playing at the farm to every hair being in place. He’s a kid, not a little adult.
Shifting to the last frame on the shelf, I pick it up. Tagger and Baylor. It’s how Tagger looks now, grown into his looks, harder jaw, those creases at the corners of his eyes I love to look at. Even his hair is similar.
Both are dressed in tuxedos in a crowded room with paintings on the wall and gilding everywhere. Best of friends since they were crawling on the floor. I’m glad they’ve always had each other. I have that with Lauralee.
It’s been a while since I’ve seen my brother, even in photos. I’m not as familiar with this Baylor—the smile is the same, but he’s all grown up with broader shoulders and his hair more styled than he used to wear it, and like Tagger, little lines are forming on the outside of his eyes.
There’s no judgment, just noticing my brother grew up without me being aware. I’m sure it would surprise him to see how much I have changed as well.
I set the frame back in place and walk to the living room. Dragging my finger along the back of the structured leather couch, I notice the touches of hominess he’s added—a fuzzy blanket draped over a chair and a few throw pillows that look expensive, judging by the design and size. The TV is big, but that doesn’t surprise me. He and Baylor are huge sports fanatics.
It’s then that I see the hallway leading to more. Do I snoop? Do I sit here patiently and wait for him to come home? Should I shower and freshen up after the day of travel?
I’m not sure, so I check my phone to see if he’s sent a messages, but I don’t have any. I set it down on the counter next to where I left the key and decide to snoop because that’s what you do when someone leaves you unsupervised in their fancy apartment.
The first room on the left is unmistakably Beck’s. Blue walls with Yankee pennants and a game ball that looks to be signed on display next to books on a shelf. It’s a cute baseball-themed room. I close the door and walk to the next room on the right. The modern designed bathroom has a walk-in shower and a counter that matches the one in the kitchen. It’s moodier in design when in a smaller space but still inviting.
Having a feeling Tag’s room is the one on the right with a great view, I peek into the last room on the left first. It’s not particularly exciting as an office setup with a treadmill. Looks like some junk lines the walls. Thank God. I was starting to think he wasn’t human.
It’s the last room I’m most anticipating. Where does Tagger Grange lay his head?
The door is cracked open, so I peek in before pushing it the rest of the way. I home in on the dress lying on the bed with a shopping bag next to it. It’s out of place, and a knot of discomfort tightens in my stomach.
The room is brighter than the rest of the house, with lighter beiges and open curtains, a chair in the corner, and a king-sized bed as the showpiece. A darker rug anchors the bed over the hardwoods and leads to nightstands on either side of the mattress, which is covered in a down comforter and four pillows to rest your head. Who needs more than one?
I suppose someone who lives like a prince in a high-rise apartment or someone who is into foursomes. I’m not sure how I feel about either, so I go to personally inspect the dress situation to see what that’s about instead.
Pris.
This is my kind of welcome.
I take the note and flip it open. There’s an address and a time. Signed, Your Cowboy.
Okay, fine. I’m charmed right out of my underpants. He’s so getting laid when we get back tonight.
The dress is pretty, though tighter than what I typically wear other than when I head out to Whiskey’s in my good pair of jeans. I hold it to my body and turn to see myself in the mirror on the wall. “The man has excellent taste.” Returning it to the bed, I look in the bag to find a shoebox and a tissue-wrapped handbag. “Gorgeous. Gorgeous.”
I’m starting to feel like Pretty Woman without the bad stuff that happens. Two hours until I’m supposed to meet him. So mysterious and sexy and romantic. I’m liking this side of him. It’s fun.
I pull my suitcase to his room and hop in the shower. It’s when I’m drenched with soap running down my body that I start to wonder if he does this for all his women. Way to ruin it, Chris.
Refusing to dwell on the stuff that doesn’t matter to the timeline our relationship is on, I finish up and get ready.
Thirty minutes to go, and I have no idea how long it will take me to get there. I’m not riding the subway. That’s way too complicated to figure out when I’m running late.
Scraping my hands over the emerald-green silk dress, I look in the mirror, noticing how the color brings out the orange strands in my hair. I twirl to check it out on my body from all angles. It’s a perfect fit, as if they had my measurements. Though I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be this high on the thighs or it’s just shorter on me, I give it a little tug from behind to make sure nothing important is showing. And I can appreciate the way my legs look a mile long, especially when I add the strappy black heels.
I send a prayer to Mary Bracelets to keep me from breaking my ankle. The patron saint of accessories has never failed me before.
Running short on time, I transfer my ID, lipstick, the key the doorman gave me, the note with the address, and my phone into the little black clutch. It’s perfect for me, something I would have chosen myself. Understated but classic.
After one last glance in the mirror to make sure my makeup is flawless and the little black eyeliner wingtips are sharp at the ends, I tuck a section of hair behind my ears, impressed by how straight I got it. The most delicate curl curves the ends like a professional styled it. Lauralee would be proud of how far I’ve come with my skills.
If it were to ever work out, tonight is the night I would pick.
I rush downstairs after locking up, and before I can ask the doorman how to get to the address, he says, “Your car is waiting, Ms. Greene.”
“My car?”
He laughs, but there’s no mocking in it. He leads me to the door and opens it. “Yes, Mr. Grange ordered the car to deliver you to the restaurant.”
First clue revealed. We’re meeting at a restaurant. I approve of food. I’m starving.
He opens the back door of the Town Car, and when I’m tucked in the back, he taps the hood and then shuts it.
Leaning forward, I say, “Hello.”
The driver nods, his eyes catching sight of mine in the rearview mirror. “Good evening.”
“Good evening.” Fancy.
I get the distinct feeling that he’s not a conversationalist, so I sit back and watch the city at dusk go by. When the car stops, I check the time. Ten minutes late, but I assume that’s to be expected here, considering the traffic.
The driver opens the door and assists me in getting out. Once I’m steady on my heels and standing on the sidewalk, I straighten the skirt of my dress with a little tug in the back and then walk into the crowded restaurant to find my cowboy.