Manhattan Kiss

Chapter 1

ONE

Aurora

I’m going to rename myself Always Available. At least my first initial won’t change.

“You’re the best,” Darcy says as she opens the front door to her…how would you describe Woolton Hall? Stately home, I suppose. “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d been busy.”

“Nope. No plans. Your babysitter has done me a favor by canceling. I get to hang out with my two favorite people under ten years old.” I smile and try to put as much enthusiasm into my voice as possible as we head into the corridors of Woolton Hall.

I love my godchildren. And Darcy’s my best friend.

I’m happy to fill in for her babysitter who has a vomiting bug.

I just wish I had a reason to say no.

Not because I mind helping her out. I really, truly don’t.

Darcy and Logan have a Netflix subscription and a comfortable sofa.

My evening’s not going to change that much, except the bedtime stories will have fewer swear words and less kissing, but I’ll get plenty of snuggles from my favorite seven-year-old and five-year-old.

I just wish I was juggling babysitters or having date night with my husband.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she says. “Logan doesn’t know we’re going out. It’s an early anniversary surprise.”

“That’s so nice,” I say. “You’re still keeping the magic alive.

” They’ve been together for eight years now.

Two years until a decade will have passed since I was my best friend’s bridesmaid.

Where will I be in two years? I’ve been waiting for as long as I can remember for my happily ever after, but the years keep rolling by and I’m still standing exactly where I always have been.

She laughs. “I suppose so.” We head to her bedroom like we’ve been doing for the last thirty years.

“Did you get your results back from the clinic?” she asks.

My stomach falls to my feet. “Not yet,” I lie. I don’t want to ruin her evening. I know if I tell her what the fertility doctor had said, she would probably cancel plans with Logan. I want Darcy to enjoy her anniversary celebration.

I’d gone to the clinic to start the process of freezing my eggs.

The last thing I’d been expecting was to be told that my chances of getting a successful retrieval of eggs was extremely low.

Apparently, all the blood tests told me that the vision I’d had of myself since I’d been a kid—of being a wife and mother to a gaggle of children—was almost impossible. Apparently there was no reason.

The doctor had advised me to consider other options, although he didn’t mention what those options were.

How had it come to this? How could I be thirty-six and single with not even the faintest whiff of a happily ever after?

It’s not like I haven’t tried. I’m pretty sure I’ve dated every man in Chilternshire.

When Darcy’s brother got married, it took me a while to recover.

I’d been in love with him since I came out of the womb.

But that was a long time ago and things have shifted.

I realized it wasn’t romantic love I had for Ryder.

It was a crush that has long-since passed.

Ryder and Scarlett are perfect for each other, and I love spending time with them as a couple.

Not in a threesome kind of way. They’re fun and Ryder is like a brother to me.

I’ve moved on.

I just wasted a lot of my twenties mooning after him. Since then, I haven’t found anyone to have my happily ever after with. And now? The prospect of never having a family? Does that mean I’ll never find anyone? Even if I did find someone, if I can’t have children, would they even want me?

These thoughts are racing through my brain like a roomful of out-of-control toddlers. I can’t tell Darcy when I can’t think straight.

Growing up, I’d only ever seen myself as a wife and mother. Here I am in my mid-thirties as neither. I’m not okay. In any way.

“Daphne, Aurora is here,” Darcy calls.

A squeal sounds and it’s like an immediate dopamine hit, straight to my nervous system. Having a seven-year-old pleased to see me has never felt so good.

When Daphne appears in the hallway, her eyes light up, and she races toward me and jumps into my arms.

“I haven’t seen you since the longest time,” Daphne says. “We need to have one of our chats.”

Darcy and I share a look. I’m never quite sure with Daphne what one of her “chats” will be about.

They’re normally quite innocuous. She often wants to discuss what she’d like to call her cat, if she had one, or whether I think she’ll ever be able to do a handstand that lasts for ten seconds.

But Darcy and I both know that the conversations might soon turn to more serious topics, like friendships and body issues and a thousand things I want to protect Daphne and her brother, William, from.

“I can’t wait,” I say, squeezing her tight.

I hold on to her a little longer. I’ve been so lucky seeing her grow up, hanging out with her multiple times a week and watching her turn from a baby, to a little girl, and now as she transitions into a bigger girl with opinions about everything and a genuine warmth that she gets from her mummy.

I just thought I’d have a chance to get off the sidelines and be a parent to a daughter or a son. I’m important to Daphne and William, I know I am. But quite rightly, I’m just never going to be the most important person to them.

I swallow, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat.

Daphne releases me and she slides down to the ground. Her hand finds mine and she yanks me into her bedroom, and my phone slips from my hand onto the floor.

I turn, and as Darcy bends to pick it up, it starts to ring.

“Oh, it’s a US number,” Darcy says with a frown. “But no name.” Both Scarlett and Ryder have US mobile numbers, as that’s where they’re based, but obviously I have their names in my phone.

“It’s about a job,” I explain. I’ve taken to ignoring the calls I’ve been getting from Hotel on Ninth Street. It’s flattering how much they’ve been calling, but I’ve realized that when I pick up, they see that as a sign I’d be interested in working for them, even though I’ve told them I’m not.

“A job?”

Daphne tugs at my hand and I tumble after her. Darcy follows us both.

“Come and see what I’ve done to my Troll house,” Daphne says. She’s currently Troll crazy. Next week she might be back on the Labubu train. There’s always an obsession, but they’re switched out pretty easily.

“What kind of job?” Darcy asks, as we both sit in the beanbags in Daphne’s room and she shows us how she’s transformed her dolls’ house into a Trolls’ house. I’m here for it.

“At a hotel. Hotel on Ninth Street. I’d never heard of it, but why would I? It’s not like I’ve ever been to New York.”

“So, they’re head hunting you?” she asks.

I hadn’t thought of it like that. “I guess. The owners both stayed at The Rookery for a wedding for one of their friends. I only vaguely remember meeting them.” I’ve worked at The Rookery for as long as I can remember.

It started off as a weekend job, and then when I left for university, I would spend the summers there.

I’d waitress or join housekeeping—whatever they needed.

The hotel is close to my parents’ place, so it was convenient.

It was supposed to be temporary.

Over the years, I’ve been promoted. I’m now director of rooms. So basically I’m responsible for everything that’s not food and beverage, spa or activities. I’ve been told that I’m on track to be hotel manager.

I never thought things would work out this way.

I never expected to go back to The Rookery after I graduated from university.

A lot of people went to London after graduation.

I had a couple of interviews. But I’d just come home after being away for three years.

I’d missed Chilternshire and Woolton. I wasn’t ready to leave again.

“Wow, that’s flattering,” she says.

“I suppose it is.”

“So they’re opening a hotel in the UK?”

“No, they want me to go to New York.”

Darcy’s jaw drops—and then she bursts into laughter.

Something about her reaction irritates me. Not because she thinks they’re joking; she knows they’re not.

“They don’t know you very well if they think you’d ever move to New York,” she says.

I suppose Darcy’s right.

Other than university, I’ve never lived outside the village where I was born. Why on earth would anyone think I’d move to New York—a city thousands of miles away, that I’ve never even visited?

Apparently, the owners of Hotel on Ninth Street do.