Chapter Thirty-Two - Michaela
Chapter Thirty-Two
MICHAELA
I POUR A CUP of coffee and lean back against the counter with a small sigh. In less than three weeks, this condo has become more of a home to me than my own. If you had told me when we started working together that I'd sorta-kinda-actually be in a relationship with Finn Sheffield, let alone sleeping with him, I would have called you crazy. Absurd. Delusional. The thought would have made me sick. Now, I can’t believe I never thought about it before.
I have two hours before I meet with a new vendor, so I decided to sleep in and enjoy a slow morning with Finn before going to work.
The coffee warms my body against the slight bite of the air conditioner. It’s the first week of October, and we’re finally seeing the first signs of fall, each morning waking up to a chill in the air. However, by lunchtime, it feels like summer again. It’s that awkward phase when you have to embrace being uncomfortable one way or another, and I’d rather be a little cold than too hot.
Sipping the steaming liquid, I step up to the windows and take a moment to appreciate the view. The condo sits twenty stories above SoHo with floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the beauty of Manhattan. You can see from Tribeca to the Freedom Tower with full-on views of the Hudson. This view is everything I've ever dreamed of in a New York City home. And now, I can call it mine (kind of). It's obvious Finn didn't do the decorating. There's a hint of a woman's touch in it. Mahogany wood floors stretch through the open floor plan of the condo. The cabinetry and doors throughout match the rich mahogany color, a contrast to the stark white of everything else. White walls. White furniture. White rugs. White marble island. White backsplash. Hell, even the bathrooms are almost entirely white marble. When he buys something of his own, we’re gonna have a conversation about adding a little color to his life.
Looking over the Hudson, my mind wanders back to last Tuesday. Everything was perfect from the music to the food to him . “You know, this is my favorite place in the museum,” I said, walking through the maze of sculptures, feeling like I was amongst friends. He stood on the other side of the La Crainte des Traits de l’Amour, a sculpture from 18th-century France, watching.
“I know,” he said plainly, and when I looked over my shoulder a blush crept into my cheeks when our eyes met.
Finn is everything I always wanted David to be but never was — it’s not even fair to try and compare the two.
Strong arms wrap around my waist before he kisses my temple. I lean back into his warm embrace, and he steals my mug taking a sip of coffee. "Finn!" I smack his chest ripping it back from his hands and holding it close to my chest. "Michaela doesn't share coffee."
"There's plenty in the pot, Shortcake," he mumbles against my forehead, and it's only then I realize he's fully dressed in a white button-down with black pants.
"Going somewhere?"
"Gotta meet Nina quick, then I'm all yours." Another kiss to my forehead.
"Nina?"
"I have a few things to go over with her. We’re meeting at her office at Designs, then heading to the venue; she wants to walk it before the fundraiser next week.” Finn shrugs a sand-colored blazer over his shoulders and uses the floor mirror in the hallway to double-check his appearance.
“I’m supposed to meet Josh for lunch,” I say, wiping a piece of dust from his shoulder. “But I shouldn’t be too long; I don’t think he’ll want to stick around for much conversation.” He leans in for a kiss. Before our lips meet, three knocks sound through the condo. We share the same questioning glance. Paul never called to confirm whether to let someone up. The list of people allowed up without prior consent is very small… “I got it,” I say tugging on the hem of his button-down from yesterday, but it’s already reached max coverage. I pray this is just Paul bringing something up or a neighbor hoping to get a cup of sugar. I shouldn’t assume it’s someone we know, someone who doesn’t know about us or my divorce. Opening the door, my heart stops. No fucking way. It takes a moment for the other person to register the scene before him – his eyes move from my face to the coffee mug in my hands to my clothing (or lack thereof).
“Who is it?" I hear Finn’s footsteps behind me falter when he meets my brother’s venomous gaze.