10. Delilah
DELILAH
After my meeting with Kane, Priya meets me outside a shuttered pizzeria three blocks from the bakery.
"This is it?" she asks, eyeing the grease-stained window.
"This is it."
The landlord, a guy named Jimmy who owns half the commercial real estate on Fifth Avenue, unlocks the door and waves us inside.
"Equipment's all here," Jimmy says, gesturing at the ancient deck oven and the prep tables crusted with what I really hope is just flour. "Previous tenant bailed six months ago. Couldn't make rent."
He says it like it was a moral failing on the previous tenant's part. Absolutely nothing to do with the outrageous numbers New York landlords come up with while cackling maniacally on their yachts.
I hope the number isn't too outrageous on this one.
I walk the perimeter of the kitchen, noting the layout. It's smaller than my place, maybe eight hundred square feet total, but the bones are decent. Gas lines, three-phase electrical, functioning ventilation.
"What's the daily rate?" I ask.
"Two hundred."
Here we go. "One-fifty."
"One-seventy-five, and I throw in cleaning supplies."
I look at Priya. She's inspecting the mixers with the deep focus she usually reserves for temperamental buttercream.
"What do you think?" I ask her.
"The deck oven's a dinosaur," she says. "But it works. And the cold storage is bigger than ours."
"Can we run production out of here?"
She walks to the prep tables, measures distances with her hands, calculates counter space in her head. "If we bring over our portable convection and the stand mixers from the shop, yeah. We'd be tight on space but it's doable."
I turn back to Jimmy. "One-fifty and you get someone in here to deep-clean before we move equipment."
He scratches his jaw. "One-sixty."
"Done."
We shake on it.
Outside, Priya loops her arm through mine as we walk back toward Fourth Avenue. "So we're really doing this."
"We're really doing this."
"And you're sure the insurance will cover equipment rental and temporary facilities?"
"Skye's handling it. She says we've got a strong case for business interruption." I kick a pebble off the sidewalk. "Plus Kane offered to front the costs if the claim gets delayed."
Priya's eyebrows shoot up. "He did?"
"Yeah."
"And you said?"
"I said I'd think about it."
I don't say the rest—that I would have said no outright if not for her.
Priya has expenses. Rent, groceries, daycare. She's freshly divorced and with a four-year-old daughter to support, left with a lease she can barely afford to pay on her baker's salary.
The least I can do is get her that salary.
The house sale has to cover the rebuild and Priya's payroll through summer. That's my top priority. If push comes to shove, I'll accept Kane's offer.
But taking Kane's money would make the bakery something other than mine. I've already risked losing it once. Unless it's vital, I won't let him front me a cent. Him or anyone else.
Priya is quiet for half a block. Then, "You know you're allowed to accept help from him, right? Even if you're still figuring out the relationship stuff."
She has no idea the only reason I'm considering it is her. Even now, she's putting me first. That's how selfless she is.
I don't know what I'd do without her.
"I know," I say.
"Do you though? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're trying to do everything the hard way just to prove you don't need him."
I stop walking. "That's not what I'm doing."
"Isn't it?"
"I'm trying to keep things separate. Business and personal. So I don't get confused about what I'm feeling."
Priya gives me a look. "Delilah. You're moving into his house tomorrow. There is no keeping things separate."
My stomach does this uncomfortable flip. "I'll be staying in a guest suite on the third floor. That's totally separate."
"With armed guards and a man who looks at you like you're the only thing keeping him breathing." She squeezes my arm. "Just saying. The situation is inherently not separate."
"Whose side are you on?"
"Yours. Always." She grins. "But I'm also Team You Getting Some, because honestly you've been wound tighter than a spring since everything happened and maybe what you need is to let Kane Makov absolutely—"
"Priya."
"—wreck you in the best possible way."
My face is on fire. "Oh my god."
"Hey. The man traded ninety-one properties to get you back. That's some serious romantic hero energy. And you're telling me you're going to live under the same roof and keep it professional?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"However long it takes."
"To do what? Rebuild the bakery? Or figure out if you can trust him again?"
I don't have an answer for that.
We reach Fourth Avenue and turn toward the bakery. Or what's left of it. The front windows are boarded up and there's still a faint smell of smoke in the air.
Priya pulls me into a side-hug. "For what it's worth? I think he's serious about making it right. And I think you know that too."
The estate agent meets me at the Sheepshead Bay house at two.
Her name is Margot Chen, and she's wearing a blazer so aggressively professional I feel underdressed in jeans and a sweater. She walks through every room with a tablet, taking notes and photos.
"Excellent bones," she says, tapping the crown molding in the living room. "Original hardwood, updated kitchen, new furnace. How long have you owned it?"
"Four years."
"And you're looking to sell because?"
"I need the equity to rebuild my business."
She doesn't ask for details. Just nods and makes another note. "The market's strong right now. Three-bedroom, two-bath in this neighborhood should move fast. I'm thinking we list at seven-twenty-five, see what kind of interest we get."
Seven hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.
It's more than Connor and I paid for it. More than I thought I'd ever see from a house that holds mostly bad memories.
"That works," I say.
"Great. I'll draw up the listing agreement and have it to you by end of day." She tucks the tablet under her arm. "Any restrictions on showings?"
"Just give me forty-eight hours' notice. I'm staying elsewhere for a while."
"Will do."
After she leaves, I walk through the house one more time.
Most of my things are already at Priya's.
I came back for the last of it two days after they released me from the hospital, shoving clothes into garbage bags while Priya stood in the doorway refusing to let me carry anything heavier than a toothbrush.
What's left is furniture and staging. Margot's problem now.
There is still history here, though. A lot of it.
This is the place where I learned Connor was cheating. Where I found the hotel receipt in his funeral suit pocket. Where Vivian walked in on me and Kane in the bedroom.
But it's also the place where Kane refurnished everything after forcing Connor out. Where he gave me the photo of us kissing at New Year's. Where I woke up in a bed that finally felt like mine.
The house was never the issue. But right now, the memories are.
And I don't need to keep living in a space that reminds me of everything I lost.
I lock the door behind me and text Margot: List it.
I walk the block where I've lived my whole married life for what I expect will be the last time. There are things I will miss here. Little habits and places and sights. A few neighbors here and there, those who stuck through the real estate crisis. But not enough to make me regret my decision.
I'm halfway to the subway when my phone rings.
Kane.
I gape at his name on the screen for three rings before I answer.
"Hey."
"Lilah." I swear, the way he says my name is always borderline pornographic. "How'd the kitchen inspection go?"
"Good. We're renting space on Fifth Avenue until the bakery's ready."
"You need help moving equipment?"
"Priya's handling it."
"What about furniture? Supplies?"
"Kane."
"Just asking as your lawsuit partner."
I can hear the smile in his voice. It does unhelpful things to my chest.
I'd texted him the address this morning. A courtesy, not an invitation to pry. He hasn't learned the difference yet. But at least he didn't show up, and that's a small win for boundaries.
"I also met with an estate agent," I say. "I'm listing the Sheepshead Bay house."
Silence on the other end. Then, "You're selling it?"
"I need the equity to fund the rebuild. The building's zoned mixed-use, and there's a full second floor that was storage. I'm converting it to an apartment so I'm not paying rent elsewhere."
"That makes sense."
"So." I take a breath. "Your offer still stand? For the guest suite?"
"Of course it does."
"Okay. Then I'm in."
Another pause. "When do you want to move?"
"Tomorrow, if that works."
"It works. I'll have Anton make sure the room's ready."
"Thanks."
We both lapse into silence. I can hear traffic in the background on his end, the faint sound of voices.
"Lilah?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you said yes."
I clear my throat. "It's just temporary. Until the bakery's rebuilt and I have my own place again."
"I know."
"And we're keeping things professional."
"Right."
"Separate rooms. Separate lives."
"Understood."
He doesn't sound like he believes it any more than I do.
I hang up before I can say something stupid.
That night, I pack a bag at Priya's.
Zara is asleep in the next room. I can hear her snoring softly through the wall.
I'm going to miss it. Her, Priya, the warm air of family you can breathe in here. But it's time to move on.
Priya won't take rent money. She won't even let me buy groceries without turning it into a wrestling match at the register. Moving to Kane's is the right call for a lot of reasons, but getting out of Priya's hair is near the top of the list.
I finish packing. Two weeks' worth of clothes. Toiletries. My laptop and the external drive with all the bakery files. The framed photo from Kane's family Christmas dinner.
The photo of us in his bedroom.
I stare at that one for a long time.
I don't recognize that version of myself anymore. The woman who let Kane Makov tie her down and tell her she was beautiful and believed him without question.
But I miss her.
I miss the way it felt to be wanted like that. To be seen.
I shove the photo into my bag and zip it shut.
Priya appears in the doorway. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just finishing up."
"You sure about this?"
"No. But I'm doing it anyway."
She pulls me into a hug. "Call me if you need anything. And I mean anything. Including an extraction if things get weird."
I laugh despite myself. "It's not going to get weird."
"Uh-huh."
"It's not."
"Delilah. You're moving in with the man who gave up his empire for you. It's gonna get weird."
She's probably right.
But I pick up my bag and head for the door anyway.