Chapter 19
Liv
Noah’s apartment is nothing like I expected.
I could say the same about him.
I thought he would live in a studio apartment with a mixture of black and browns, leather couch and laminate cabinets barely holding together.
Despite his last name, I imagined a twenty-five-year-old recent grad school graduate would be living his best bachelor pad life.
That’s not what this is. I mean, he’s got leather barstools, but now I’m questioning if all recent Beacon University graduates live like this because this is not a typical first New York apartment rental.
This is an apartment that someone in upper management or even a celebrity would own.
“This is yours?” I ask dumbly because I’m just in awe. It’s stunning.
Leaving the stroller at the entrance, I pull the baby out and set him on his feet to walk beside me. I attempt to keep my astonishment in check.
“Yes.” He even looks pleased with it. How could he not be? This apartment is a showstopper.
Situated on the west side of a Tribeca building, he has big windows, sunset views, warm wood floors, exposed brick, and I swear the walls feel like suede. “Is this suede?” I lower my hand and grab Maxwell’s before he has a chance to sticky-print after he ate an orange.
“No,” Noah replies, heading down a long corridor. My hall isn’t even long enough to call a corridor. “It’s wallpaper that feels like it, though. It’s unique?”
“Very.”
“Make yourselves at home.” He leaves Maxwell and me to explore on our own. Looking down at my little guy, I whisper, “He means me. You don’t need to put your fingers on everything.”
He’s grinning and giggles before he pulls away from me and teeters over to the couch. I do a quick survey. It’s not entirely childproof, but why would it be? Maxwell’s probably the first child to step foot into this apartment.
I also begin to explore, getting caught up in the details.
Purposeful design, like the x-frame chairs in the living room and the modern barstools tucked under the large island, feel like they’re custom to the space.
The size of the place is the most surprising aspect.
It’s not quite double the size of mine, but it definitely has impressive square footage.
Noah comes in pulling a T-shirt down over his head. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“No, we’re good.” I move around the chairs and sit on the couch that I’m certain actually is suede. That means I need to be careful with Maxwell. One spit up and this fabric is a goner. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“You can ask me anything.” He sits in a chair closest to me and puts on his sneakers.
“I thought Bancroft & Lowe was your first job after graduate school?”
“It is. Why?” Guess he picks up on my nonverbal cues of gawking at the apartment because he asks, “Ah, you’re wondering about the apartment?”
“Yeah. It’s beautiful. Big. Expensive neighborhood and I can imagine the unit costs more than a few pretty pennies.”
Resting his arms on his knees, he sits forward. “Truth?”
“Full truth,” I reply, smiling as our earlier time comes to mind.
I appreciate that he didn’t take insult to my nosiness. It’s New York, though. Everyone talks real estate and money here, so maybe he’s already used to it. “I used a trust fund to pay it down, and my salary covers the remaining mortgage.”
Although it makes me feel weird about my own situation and certain trust funds that I’ve not been given access to, I’m not going to judge him for using his resources.
I took an offer I couldn’t afford to refuse to buy mine.
It’s not something I’ve shared with anyone, but this feels like we’re in it together. “My mom helped me secure my apartment.”
“Oh yeah?” He’s nodding without a lick of judgment on his face.
“Money she got in the divorce. She told me I’m a worthwhile investment.” Hearing myself say that out loud makes me feel even stronger. “I can’t afford that apartment on my salary, so her support—financial and emotional—changed our lives.”
His eyes search mine, and he takes a deep breath. “I wish I could have been there for you and Max.”
He just says the best things. His words instantly wipe away the negatives of the past. “I know you mean that.” Reaching over, I rest my hand on his knee. “Thank you.”
Covering my hand, he replies, “Thank you.”
We sit a second in the sounds of Max babbling as he crawls toward the window, but then I say, “Tell me about this place.”
He already seems to know that I’m better with the distractions sometimes than sitting in the heavier topics and is quick to reply, “It’s a great building, but the apartment was really in disrepair.
I got it at a discount.” I love the smile that he got away with finding a deal.
Most men in this city would never want someone to know they didn’t pay top dollar as they sip their expensive liquor out of decanters in the finest restaurants.
Noah is real with himself and with everyone who meets him.
You know what you’re getting because he’s on the level.
His eyes follow Max as he continues, “Once we got in here to evaluate, most of the damage was surface. Fixed it and worked with an incredible designer and her assistant to bring it together.”
“Which design firm?”
Chuckling, he says, “My mom and sister.” He pats his knees before getting up. “Want a tour?”
“Yes, please.”
He takes Maxwell into his arms like he’s been doing this all along. That’s something I’ve noticed. He’s adapted to the news so well, too well. It makes me wonder if he understands the scope of what it means to be Maxwell’s father.
Of course, I could come up with assumptions, but I have a feeling that Noah will want to be a part of every step. Many things are within my control, but this is not one of them anymore, and I’m okay with that.
He guides me through the space—kitchen, dining, bar area, which granted, he’s twenty-five and single so a bar makes sense, office, guest bedroom, and then he finally opens the last door at the end of the corridor. Angels aren’t singing. It’s quite the opposite.
I think this is where sin comes to life. “Oh wow, Noah.” I walk into the bedroom. “It’s stunning.”
Sexy and soulful. Like the man.
A gorgeous walnut wood-framed bed. King sized.
Doesn’t surprise me. The walls are the prettiest shade of deep brown bordering on black.
It’s rich and comforting, like Noah’s arms wrapped around me at midnight.
The heavy drapery matching the paint color has me thinking you wouldn’t know if it were day or night when they’re closed.
Muted gold accents the room and a plush rug is tucked partly under the bed but would keep the feet cozy when walking around barefoot.
I say, “Your room is the opposite of mine in color palettes, but I really love it. Warm and inviting. Homey but high end.” I go to sit on the bed and decide to lie instead. “I bet it’s so cozy in here in the winter.”
“Guess I’ll find out in a few months.”
He sets Maxwell down who immediately pulls at the bedding and brings a pillow to fall like a rockslide. “Sorry.”
He picks up the pillow and tosses it on the bed. “It’s okay. It’s his home too.”
The sharp stab of reality has me taking a breath, holding in any initial negative reaction I might have. I close my eyes and let myself feel what I need to feel to help move past the moment. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
While he starts packing a bag, I lie there thinking about how hard it’s going to be to drop off my son and leave him here. He climbs onto the bed next to me, and our eyes meet when we turn to look at each other. His hand slides over to take hold of mine.
The stillness.
The comfort.
The peace.
It’s not a small feat, but he manages to settle my racing heart merely by his proximity. We stare into each other’s eyes, not needing to say anything to fill the space. It’s filled with spinning thoughts and shared breaths.
He pushes over to kiss me.
Like every other time we’re together in this way, he manages to share the fire that burns inside him with me, igniting more complicated feelings.
It was never no-strings attached with him.
Now I realize that was not a possibility.
The desire to attach myself to him in ways that could be called stringy surges through my veins.
When it comes to us, it’s getting harder to separate fact from fiction because he has me believing in the fairy-tale ending. But that’s not who we are, not at our cores. We aren’t that naive. Things haven’t gone according to society’s expectations, but they’ve worked out how the universe planned.
I need to be careful . . .
We’ve had fun for the past twenty-four hours.
Noah gave me grace and jumped feet first into a life I’ve kept secret.
He’s been here for us, fully showing up when I told him the truth.
But come Monday, he has his own life again.
A life that only includes Maxwell. Noah isn’t mine and doesn’t owe me anything, so where does that leave me?
I roll over to move closer to him, wanting to make the most of the time we do share. His hand slides over my cheekbone and weaves into my hair. Holding me still, he kisses me with intention and pressure, and then slows, ceasing altogether.
He pulls back, though the tips of our noses are so close that our breaths still mingle. “What’s on your mind?” he asks.
I let my gaze drop between us because it’s so much easier to stare at his shirt than look into his eyes. There’s too much truth to discover in his irises, and I just want to play house with him for a bit longer. “What’s not on my mind?”
When we hear, “Dada. Mama,” our eyes flit back to each other because we know it’s time to go. I lift, not any happier than he is about ending this so early, but we don’t need any little witnesses to the confusion of our relationship.
He asks, “Should we get going?”
“We probably should.” For many reasons. What do I want from him? I could lie here all day and still not understand our relationship. But asking anything feels like too much, especially based on the past week.
I’ve been leaving pieces of myself wherever he is in hopes of him finding them. It felt too good in his arms, and though he’s right about needing to go, I wouldn’t have minded a moment to collect myself. Not needing to drag this out.
Sure, we’ve had sex. We’ve kissed when it probably wasn’t in our best interest.
There is no us in this equation.
I push myself up and scoop Maxwell into my arms before leaving the room. It’s too comfortable in here—the colors, the fabrics, the large bed, but mostly Noah. He’s jostled the configuration of my chemistry and left me out of sorts for two years now.
The only thing I’m certain of is that I don’t have a right to stake a claim, so I must free him to be my son’s dad. It’s a lot to take on, but I’ll carry the burden of unrequited sentiments.
I set Maxwell in the stroller, rolling him back and forth until Noah arrives.
He shoves a backpack in the bottom of the carrier and then opens the door for us.
Our conversation has stilted, but I don’t mind the quiet time to think.
We ride down the elevator, and when we cut through the lobby, I say, “Thank you for bringing us here.” I look around. “It’s good to see where you live.”
“Of course. I like having you here.”
“You do?”
“You and Max.” Walking into the sunshine, he stops on the sidewalk and slips his sunglasses on. Black Ray-Bans. I wouldn’t expect less. He’s the guy who makes old-school style look cool again. “It’s fun to share this side of my life with you.”
The tree-lined street reminds me more of Brooklyn than this part of the city.
We stroll slowly, my guard still down around him.
The bubble of trust we’ve created follows us down the street.
“My father wanted a male heir to carry on his name and legacy. He never wanted a daughter.” We cross the street, and he asks if he can push Maxwell.
He’s been nothing but one hundred percent committed to Maxwell since he found out. He’s a lucky little boy to have Noah.
Noah looks at me when I stop talking. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, not realizing I had just been standing there.
“I grew up in the shadows of his shattered dreams. Was he cruel to me? No, not in a sense that would stand out to anybody. I just knew I could never live up to his expectations.” A humorless laugh releases without permission.
“The gall of him to treat me horrible is not something I’ve ever been able to wrap my head around. ”
“Your job as his daughter isn’t to wrap your head around the ways he’s failed you. That’s on him.”
That hits a raw part of my heart, a stab wound my dad inflicted when I was born that’s never healed.
I touch the scar above my eyebrow. It’s a small reminder of how hard I’ve tried for him.
“I got this when I was fourteen. I was on a sailing crew. My father loves sailing, so I spent all summer working this massive sailboat that had once raced in the America’s Cup back when there was less technology involved.
It lost, but it was a beautiful sailboat.
” We stop at a light. I look both ways when the light changes, and we resume our journey.
I continue, “It was windy, which is great for sailing, but it got intense fast. Some kids lost control of their stations. The mast came fast and with no warning. It punted me right off that boat.”
“It hit you in the head?”
“It hit me so hard that I was knocked unconscious.”
“In the water?”
Not a story I like to revisit, but it did make me realize that I’m stronger than I thought.
“I woke up gasping for air in the middle of the ocean. The captain had jumped in and reached me just after I came to. He put his life on the line for me and didn’t think twice about diving in.
He didn’t even have time to put on a life jacket.
” I lead the stroller to the inside of the sidewalk and stop.
I haven’t thought about this in so long, but now it’s clear.
“That man saved me, but all I remember is wondering if my dad would have done the same.”
I’m not crying. My heart doesn’t hurt anymore. As a mother, though, it makes me angry. No child should ever have a revelation like that regarding a parent. Bending down to hold Maxwell’s hand, I kiss his fingers, then his head.
When I stand back up, Noah embraces me. Not entirely since he keeps one hand on the stroller. And that’s how he’s already a better father than I had. I hug him fully, wanting him to know how much I appreciate him stepping in without hesitation to be there for his son.
That matters.
More than he’ll ever understand.
But Maxwell will, so that’s all I can wish for.