Vanilla On Top(64)

I take a shot of the hallway and old elevator, then step forward to press the up button. “I’d love to.”

He slips his hand into mine once more and I’m overwhelmed with the feeling of completeness. He feels like home.



On the ride back to Manhattan, we’re both quiet. There’s an easy feeling of peace between us, and a comfort in our silences that wasn’t there before. Tony showed me every project in the building he’s worked on with pride pouring out of every pore. Some jobs he’s been the general contractor on, hiring experts, others he’s done himself.

While his large unit isn’t complete, he’s got the major work done. Including the gorgeous kitchen. I learned a lot about him while walking through the space and listening to him. He’s passionate about using renewable resources and sustainable materials for his rehab projects, even if it costs him more upfront.

For the first time, the polished corporate façade fell away and the real man behind the suit came alive. We ordered a late lunch and ate on his outside roof terrace. The city sounds of Hoboken drifted up to us, making me think we were still in Manhattan.

I relax into the plush leather seat of his car, content with how we spent the day. I curve my hand over his denim-clad thigh. “Tony, why do you work at Apollo?”

My question catches him off guard and he hesitates. “I’m good at my job and I like it. The money is incredible.”

Anxiousness fills me at the thought of disappointing him next Friday. But spending this time with him has taught me one very important lesson—sometimes you have to do the right thing. Even if it’s hard.

I swallow and say what’s been rattling around in my mind since he told me about his father. “My parents died in a car accident when I was twenty-two.”

“I’m so sorry, Heather. That had to be awful.”

“Let me get the rest out before I freeze up.” His free hand reaches down to mine on his thigh and squeezes. “I think I’ve been so afraid of being deserted that I’ve chased away the men I’ve been involved with, or—like you noticed—I’ve run from them. If I somehow sabotaged the relationship then I’d have a reason to be the one leaving, not the one left behind…like with my parents. I’d be somehow controlling the ruin and my pain, not them.”

“Oh, sweetie. You know your folks didn’t desert you, right? They died.”

I nod, blinking back tears. “Logically, I know it, yes. But I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my past and why I’ve done what I’ve done. I’m not proud of it, but the first step toward change is being aware of what you’re doing, right?”

He picks up my hand and kisses my fingers, his eyes still safely looking ahead at the road before us. “I won’t be easy to run off. You can count on that.”

Yeah, until I ruin his deal next week. A lump forms in my throat.

God, why does life have to be so hard?





Chapter Eighteen

Tony

Monday morning rolls around, much too soon for my taste. I spent the entire weekend with Heather and it felt magical.

She raved about the apartment building, impressed with the architecture and beauty, just like I was when I first saw it. The dilapidated structure may have been priced to move, and only someone with time and money to fix it up would have even considered it. My love of acquiring old buildings and bringing them back to life was mirrored in Heather’s eyes. With her new camera she took shot after shot. I can’t wait to see how the pictures turn out. I’d love to take her to my other Hoboken properties to see what details she discovers behind the lens.

In comparison, my familiar office at Apollo leaves me feeling empty. Aside from the warm memory of Heather and me last week, there’s really nothing here I’d miss.

The morning hours drain away as I mechanically move through my morning. Deidra asks me on four separate occasions what’s eating me. I don’t have an answer for her. How can I say all I think about is Heather and the future we might have together? She’d either give me a knowing look and smile, or think I was off my rocker.

Marcus drags me off to lunch where I pick at my meal. In a loud clatter, my friend drops his silverware onto his plate.

“Are you thinking about Heather, again?”

My eyebrows rise in surprise. “Am I that obvious?”

“You told me about taking her to Hoboken. The rest I can conclude because I’m super observant and wicked smart.” The last words come out with a fake New England accent, sounding like smaht.

I ignore his attempt at humor and pose a question that’s been buzzing in my skull for hours. “Do you ever wonder what we’re working so hard for?”