Chapter 2
The Tour
Liam
My phone buzzed.
"Mr. Callahan," the doorman said, his voice crackling slightly through the speaker. "You’ve got a delivery."
“Thanks, Arturo. I will be right down.”
“Let me guess, Mr. Callahan...another book?"
I could picture the smirk on his face. I smiled, wiping my hands on a dish towel. "That would be correct. Actually, it’s two this time. I need something to read on the plane."
"Living dangerously," he said, and the line clicked off.
I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my key card, and stepped into the elevator. No music, no chatter. Just the soft hum of motion and the low ping as the floors ticked by. My kind of quiet.
The lobby smelled faintly of citrus and polish, like it always did. Arturo stood behind the desk, a rectangular package already in hand, grinning like he’d just won a bet.
I took the box and gave it a quick shake, enough to feel the weight shift inside. "Biography of a Chef. French guy. And a book on fermentation techniques, I’ll probably screw up before I get them right."
Arturo chuckled. "Yeah, no need to pass that one along when you’re done."
"Didn’t think so."
I turned the package under my arm and started to head for the door.
A voice cut across the lobby.
Her voice. Tense. Clipped words. No give in her tone.
I stopped walking.
She was standing near the far window, phone to her ear, her back to me.
"No, I understand things come up, but I’ve been trying to see this place for two weeks." She let out a short huff and pressed her free hand to her forehead. "You said today was the best shot—now you’re saying the end of next week? That’s too late. He’ll already be in town."
She turned slightly, pacing two slow steps toward the window, her heels tapping against the tile. Her other hand gripped the phone tightly.
"No, it’s not for me. It’s for my brother. He just took a job here. He needs to move in and get the place ready before his family arrives."
A pause.
"Yes. I’ve already ruled out the rest of the shortlist. This was the last place I had lined up."
I leaned a little toward the desk. "Arturo, what’s going on?"
He glanced over his shoulder, then back at me. "She’s been apartment hunting for her brother. Apparently, he’s got the financials all cleared, but she insists on seeing any unit in person before he signs."
I looked back toward the woman by the window. She was still on the phone, clearly losing steam.
Arturo continued, a little quieter. "The real estate agent was supposed to meet her here, but they’re a no-show."
"Which unit?"
"2804."
I paused. "That’s only a few floors down from my place."
"Yep," Arturo said. The place is nice. Move-in ready. Honestly, if you’re willing, maybe you could answer some questions? Give her a sense of the building? I feel bad for her, she seems pretty rattled."
I didn’t answer right away. I just turned the package over in my hands and kept watching her.
Her shoulders dropped. She stopped pacing.
"I get it. Things change. I just… was counting on this one."
She exhaled. Lowered the phone. It hung at her side while she looked out the window. Then she said quietly, more to herself than anyone else, "Okay. Back to square one."
And that’s when she turned.
It can’t be.
My breath caught mid-chest. The package shifted slightly in my arms. I tightened my grip on it. A rush of heat rose up the back of my neck, too fast, too sudden, like my body hadn’t gotten the memo that this was impossible.
For one awful second, I thought she was walking toward me. I braced, heart thudding, knees just slightly unsteady.
Then she veered toward the desk.
I stood utterly still, not blinking, not moving, trying to get my balance back. Same warm honey-brown eyes. Same tuck of hair behind her ear. For a second, time folded over itself.
She spoke again. Their cadences didn’t match.
"Hi," she said to Arturo, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I’m sorry to bother you. The agent who was supposed to show me the apartment just canceled on me. I’ve been trying to find a place for my brother. He’s moving here with his wife and daughters. This was my last option."
Arturo nodded. Sympathetic.
She kept going, as if she didn’t say it now, she’d lose her grip. "He’ll be here in less than two weeks. I feel like I’m out of time. Is there… is there anyone here who could give me a quick tour? Just a walkthrough?"
She paused, eyes flicking between Arturo and me, lingering just a second too long when she caught me watching.
Then she looked back at him. "Please. I know it’s not ideal. But this matters. I need to get this right for them. Mostly for my sister-in-law and the girls."
Arturo hesitated, then glanced at me.
"Well… Mr. Callahan lives in the building. Maybe he could answer some of your questions."
She turned to look at me directly for the first time. Up close, the resemblance was even sharper. I could smell her perfume. I managed a nod, but didn’t speak. My brain was stuck in a loop it didn’t know how to exit.
Arturo shifted behind the desk, sensing the awkward silence. "He lives in an '04 unit, same layout as the one your brother's interested in."
She glanced between us, curious. "Really? Same floor plan?"
I nodded again, finally managing a sound. "Yeah. Practically identical."
"Would you mind—" she hesitated, her voice softening just slightly. "Would you mind telling me a bit about it? Like how the layout works? Do you hear street noise? What’s the light like in the mornings?"
Before I knew what I was saying, I heard the words leave my mouth. "I could show you mine."
Arturo blinked. She did too.
Smooth, Callahan. Just what every woman wants to hear from a stranger in the lobby, I could show you mine.
I cleared my throat. "My apartment. Just to see the layout. If that helps."
She tilted her head, the tiniest smile lifting one corner of her mouth.
"I’d understand if going into a stranger’s apartment makes you uncomfortable," I added quickly.
But she shook her head. "You know how many apartments I’ve toured in the last two weeks? They’ve all been with strangers."
Then she actually smiled. "But I would very much appreciate seeing your apartment’s layout. Thank you for offering."
She turned back to Arturo. "If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, call the police."
He laughed. "The only thing you’re at risk of, is him offering to make you risotto."
She looked puzzled. "Risotto?"
I gave Arturo a look. "Hey. You know it’s the best risotto you’ve ever had."
He raised his hands in mock surrender.
Why do I care what she thinks? I’m just showing her a floor plan, not asking her to dinner.
We turned toward the elevator. She stepped beside me, quiet, composed. As we waited, I glanced at her from the corner of my eye.
Still not sure what was happening.
As we stepped off the elevator, I shifted the package in my arms, to fish out my key card. It wasn’t graceful.
"Here," she said, reaching out. "Let me hold that while you find your key."
I handed her the box. She tilted it slightly, hearing the soft thump of its contents. "Let me guess. Books?"
"Guilty as charged," I said, a little sheepish.
She gave me a look. Curious.
I opened the door to my apartment and stepped aside.
She entered slowly, pausing just past the threshold.
Her eyes flicked over the floors, the kitchen, the long stretch of windows that let in the skyline.
She didn’t speak right away, and she didn’t step too far in.
She just hovered a moment, taking in the space like she was cataloging every square inch.
I watched her eyebrows lift, just slightly. Not surprise exactly. More like reassessment.
Wide-plank pale oak floors, matte black cabinet pulls, deep charcoal cabinetry, and white counters that caught the morning light in clean lines. This place had been designed down to the air. And even though I didn’t decorate it with anyone else in mind, I suddenly felt like it was on display.
"Not what you were expecting?" I said lightly.
She turned her head toward me, half-smiling. "Fewer pizza boxes than anticipated. Definitely more organized."
I nodded and stepped past her, gesturing as I went. "Primary suite’s down that wing," I said, motioning left. "Guest rooms are on the right. The split layout gives you a little separation if you need it."
She followed me slowly, her heels soft against the hardwood, and handed me my package back.
It hit me then how rare this was. Letting someone into the space where I shut the world out. Where I cooked, read, and rewatched old game tapes when I couldn’t sleep.
And now she was here. Not even three feet away.
She wandered a few steps deeper, trailing her fingers lightly along the edge of the island. Her gaze landed on the pot rack overhead, then drifted to the counter, where a fermentation jar sat tucked against the wall beside a stack of well-worn cookbooks.
"Arturo wasn’t kidding about the risotto setup," she said, her voice lighter now.
I laughed. "He tends to oversell. But yeah, I cook."
She turned toward the shelves. "These are all food books?"
"Most of them." I stepped closer, setting the package down near the sink. "Some chefs’ memoirs. A couple of deep dives into technique."
Her hand hovered near a copper skillet on the wall. "This is serious. Who taught you?"
There it was. The question I’d hoped we’d dodge.
My throat tightened.
I leaned against the counter and folded my arms. "Picked it up a while back. Needed something to focus on." It was the simplest version of the truth.
The real answer? Nora. I can still see her, barefoot in her family’s farm Vermont kitchen, the sun warming the floorboards.
She’d toss vegetables into a colander, water beading on the leaves like jewels.
Ten seconds. That’s all it took for her to reduce an onion to a perfect pile of confetti.
She’d press a tomato into my hand and lean in close. "Smell that? That’s the one."
It was our ritual. Our language.
And when she was gone, the silence in my apartment was so loud. The only way to shut it up was to keep the knife moving, to fill the air with the sizzle of garlic, any sound but the sound of her absence.
"It helps with nutrition, too," I added, keeping it to the safe version. "Keeps me from living on takeout like half the guys I know."
She glanced at me sideways. "Looks like more than a distraction."
I shrugged, not denying it. Not confirming either.
She didn’t push. Just looked around the space one more time, her eyes tracing the light across the counter.
"My sister-in-law’s the one who cooks," she said, then smiled. "But it’s my nieces who’d fall in love with this kitchen. They pretend they’re on one of those cooking shows—chopped baskets, fake timers, the whole thing."
I felt the corner of my mouth lift. There was genuine affection in her voice. Not an obligation. I’d expected her to sound exasperated. She is doing a favor for her brother. But she genuinely cares about this decision.
“You should see the view from the balcony.”
She turned to look at me, brows raised.
I cleared my throat. "To see if it’s safe for your nieces."
She let out a quiet laugh and nodded. "Sure. Let’s see the view."
I followed her as she stepped out onto the balcony. The city stretched beneath us in steel and sunlight. The door clicked shut behind me. She walked to the railing, her hand rested lightly on the edge, her back to me.
She didn’t speak right away. Just stood there. Breathing.
I lingered just in front of the door and watched her shoulders drop, just a little. The first time she’d relaxed since the lobby.
She was carrying more than just a lease application.
"It’s quiet up here," she said finally, her voice softer. "I forgot what that felt like."
She looked up, eyes tracing the sky. Then gave a small, embarrassed laugh. "I haven’t stood still in weeks."
I leaned against the doorframe. "In that case, take all the time you need."
She turned slightly toward me, still scanning the skyline. "What about at night?"
I raised an eyebrow. "What about it?"
"Can you see the stars? Or is it all drowned out by the city lights?"
That caught me off guard.
"I’m kind of a stargazing nerd," she admitted. "I can point out most of the constellations. My nieces think I should work for NASA."
I huffed a short laugh. "I’ve never really paid attention."
Then I added, "And maybe I shouldn’t admit this, but I’m not even sure I could find the North Star."
She gasped in mock horror. "Don’t tell my nieces that. You’ll be banned from the telescope club."
I blinked.
She wants me to meet her nieces?
My brain caught up. Just an expression. A joke.
Still, the thought lingered.
We moved back inside slowly, neither of us in a rush. She glanced around once more like she was mentally filing it all away.
At the door, she turned slightly toward me. "Thank you again. Really. This helped more than you know."
Then she paused, eyebrows pinching slightly. "I just realized, I don’t even know your name."
I let out a breath of a laugh. "Liam."
She smiled, reaching out her hand. "Claire."
We shook hands.
She let go and stepped back. "Well, Liam... thank you."
I should be relieved to wrap up the tour. Open the delivery box. Inspect my new books. But instead?
Disappointment.
I nodded, then hesitated. "Do you... like the place?"
I rubbed the back of my neck. "I mean, for your brother and his family. Do you think it would work?"
She smiled. "Yeah. I think it could."
I wanted to ask her if she was going to tell her brother to take the apartment downstairs.
Instead, I watched her step into the hall.
She was gone.
But for a second there… Claire made me forget that.