Chapter 5 #2
Cole pockets his phone and looks around the apartment. “So,” he says, “I have a question.”
Sawyer sighs. “That’s never good.”
Cole gestures between us. “She’s a writer.”
“Yes.”
“What kind of writer?”
“Romance,” I tell him.
He looks at Sawyer. “And now she lives in your penthouse.”
Sawyer picks up another suitcase. “Yes.”
Cole grins. “That’s incredible.”
“Why?”
“Because she clearly doesn’t like you.”
“I don’t dislike him,” I say.
Sawyer pauses.
Cole looks delighted. “Really?”
“He’s just …”
I glance at Sawyer. He’s watching me now. Waiting.
“Kind of full of himself. Which doesn’t matter since I’m not interested in emotionally unavailable men.”
Cole bursts out laughing.
Sawyer closes his eyes for a second, like he’s reconsidering every decision that led to this moment.
“Exactly,” Cole says, pointing at me. “She’s perfect.”
“I’m beginning to regret letting you have a key to my place.”
“I’m serious though,” Cole says. “You’re the first woman I’ve met who talks to him like that.”
“How do most women talk to him?”
“Very carefully.”
I glance at Sawyer. “That must be annoying.”
“It is,” Cole says.
Sawyer sets the suitcase down again. “Are you done?”
“No,” Cole says cheerfully. “This is the most entertaining thing that’s happened all week.”
Then he gestures toward the luggage pile. “So, how many trips are left?”
I think about the apartment again then the alarming number of books still sitting in my living room.
“Several.”
Cole grins. “Well,” he says, rolling up his sleeves, “looks like you’ve got two helpers now.”
Sawyer stares at him. “You’re not helping.”
“I absolutely am.”
“Why?”
Cole looks at me. “Because I like her.”
Sawyer exhales slowly, and for some reason, that makes me smile.
Cole claps his hands once. “All right,” he says, “what are we moving first?”
Sawyer points at the pile of luggage. “All of it.”
Cole grabs one of the suitcases easily. “This is heavier than it looks.”
“Books,” I say.
“That tracks.”
He lifts the suitcase toward the hallway.
“So,” I say, following him, “what kind of restaurants are we talking about?”
Cole glances back. “Mostly Italian.”
My interest spikes immediately. “Real Italian or American Italian?”
Cole grins. “Real.”
Sawyer mutters behind us, “Here we go.”
“My father started the first restaurant thirty years ago,” Cole says. “Small place in Brooklyn. Traditional recipes. Family-style stuff.”
“That’s amazing.”
“We expanded over the years,” he continues. “I’m going with a new concept next year.”
“What kind of concept?”
“Still Italian,” he says. “But more modern. Seasonal menus. Local ingredients.”
“That sounds incredible.”
Sawyer sets another suitcase down in the guest room. “You’re encouraging him.”
“I’m interested,” I say.
Cole laughs. “See? Someone appreciates my work.”
“She appreciates food.”
“Everyone appreciates food,” Cole quips.
I lean against the doorframe and look at Cole. “Do you cook?”
Cole shrugs. “Enough to not embarrass myself in my own kitchens.”
“That’s still impressive.”
Sawyer crosses his arms. “He employs chefs. That’s not the same thing.”
Cole grins. “Don’t worry,” he says. “Next time you’re at one of the restaurants, I’ll make sure they treat you well.”
Sawyer looks at him. “Don’t.”
Cole ignores Sawyer and glances at me. “So, how long are you staying?”
“Until I find an affordable place that I can rent on my own.”
“And after that?”
Sawyer answers immediately, “She moves out.”
Cole raises an eyebrow. “Wow.”
“What?” Sawyer defends.
“That was fast,” Cole replies.
“It’s the plan,” Sawyer states matter-of-factly.
Cole looks at me again. “Good luck with that.”
I laugh.
Sawyer does not.
Cole grabs another suitcase and heads toward the hallway again.
“So, which one is the original restaurant?” I ask, following him. “The one your dad started.”
Cole glances back. “Little place in Brooklyn.”
“What’s it called?”
“Luigi’s.”
“Aw, that’s adorable. I love that name.”
“It’s been there forever,” Cole says. “My dad and Uncle Tony ran it together for years before we started expanding.”
Sawyer goes very still.
It’s subtle.
If I wasn’t standing right next to him, I might not have caught it. But something in his expression tightens for just a moment before it disappears.
Cole doesn’t notice. “Most of the recipes are still my grandmother’s,” he continues. “The sauce alone probably feeds half the neighborhood.”
“I’m jealous.”
“You should come sometime,” Cole says. “I’ll make sure they take care of you.”
Sawyer picks up the last suitcase a little harder than needed. “That won’t be necessary.”
Cole looks at him. “Why not?”
“She’s busy.”
Cole glances at me. “She doesn’t look busy.”
“I write,” I say. “My schedule is mostly imaginary.”
Cole laughs. “Perfect.”
Sawyer sets the suitcase down in the guest room and turns back toward us. “We’re done here.”
Cole raises his hands. “All right.”
We walk back out to the kitchen where Cole grabs his jacket from the chair. “Well,” he says, looking at me again, “it was nice meeting you, Kayla.”
“You too.”
Then he glances at Sawyer with obvious amusement. “This is going to be fun.”
Sawyer stares at him. “You’re leaving.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Cole walks toward the door, still smiling. Just before the doors close, he calls out, “Try not to scare her away before dinner, all right?”
The apartment goes quiet again.
I lean against the counter. “Your brother seems nice.”
Sawyer walks past me toward the hallway. “He talks too much.”
“That’s not a flaw.”
“It is for him.”
I glance toward the hallway where my guest room is now holding all my luggage.
“Well,” I say, “thanks for helping.”
He pauses for a moment. Then nods once. “You’re welcome.”
A second later, he disappears down the hallway. I stand there for a minute, looking around the apartment because for the first time since this whole strange living situation started, something feels … different.
And I can’t quite figure out what it is.