Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“Baker . . .” I start by sweetening my tone. “Do you happen to know Warner Landers by chance?”
“In the penthouse? Sure, I know Mr. Landers. Good guy.”
“Hrm.” I smile, though I can’t relate to the comment. “Yes, well, that remains to be seen. Anywho, I’ll be staying with him for a while—”
“Ah!” He stands. “This must be for you.” He sets a shopping bag on the counter. “The bag was delivered around six, but we don’t disturb our tenants before eight unless prior authorization is given. That’s why it’s still here.”
I peek inside the bag. And now I’m grinning. Damn him. Why’d he go and do something nice for me? It’s so uncharacteristic of Warner.
Holding a pair of leggings up, I ask, “Do you have somewhere I can change down here?”
“A bathroom on the other side of the elevator.”
“Thanks.” I change into the spandex pants that hold everything in like I didn’t have pancakes for dinner last night, then check out my butt in the mirror. “Warner did good.”
The socks are thick, and the sneakers fit like a dream. He’s making it hard to hate him. I know it will only be a matter of time before the emotion returns in full force again. Probably as soon as I see him, he'll say something out of touch, like the city should let landlords charge whatever they like. Okay, maybe that’s too harsh. I don’t know how he feels about Manhattan pricing, but I do know that he’s part of the problem for me and my family.
My sweet family. My heart clenches thinking of all the Thanksgivings we had at the restaurant, my mom always leaving the door open for strangers with no other plans or no home to go to. A hot meal and laughs. The joy of cooking together and feeding the staff, who have become like family.
So many birthdays have been celebrated around the table upstairs in the apartment, Christmas trees shining in the front bay window, and neighbors who looked out for us kids like we were their own.
I wipe under my eyes and raise my chin. I can do this.
I walk back out and set the bag on the counter. “Would it be any trouble to hold this bag until I return? And I want to get Mr. Landers a coffee and a bagel. Do you have any suggestions?”
“No trouble at all.” After setting the bag down, he comes from behind the counter and walks toward the door. “And there’s a great local place at the corner. Their everything bagel is one of the best in the city, and I would know. It’s my favorite.”
I grin even wider. “I trust you. Thanks. I appreciate it.” He opens the door and holds it, then joins me outside. I’m about to walk off, but I turn back coyly, swallow my nerves, and say, “I have a favor to ask, Baker.”
“Happy to help. What is it?”
I lean in conspiratorially, which makes sense because I’m literally conspiring. “Mr. Landers was in an accident.”
“I saw. How’s he doing?”
Bobbling my head, I reply, “He’s been better. The thing is, he’s lost part of his memory.”
“Oh wow. That sucks.”
“It does suck. What sucks even more is that the part he lost is his life with me.” His silence, shock, or both leave me an opening. “We were married, and now he doesn’t remember at all. It’s quite the issue.”
When his expression contorts, he shoves his hands in his pockets. “I can see how that can be an issue.”
“We got married on a whim.” The lies flow like wine as I gesture in the air to help my explanation. “I kept my place. He has his. We love each other, but we got into a big fight, and I never quite moved in. I thought I had more time, but this accident has shown me I don’t. We must make the most of every day we have together.”
He scratches his head. “And Mr. Landers feels the same?”
I laugh, though I don’t hear the humor I’m trying so hard to inject. “He’s had a bad concussion. I can’t speak for him, but our feelings for each other are mutual.”
With a nod, his eyes soften along with the lines around his mouth. “You mentioned a favor?”
“Oh yes, I almost forgot.” I didn’t forget, but I did get caught up in my own story. That was a doozy. “He may be questioning things. You know, since he has a concussion. The doctor advised treating him as usual, but not to stress him out. If he asks about me, it’s probably best to gently remind him I exist, but let me know so I can report any progress or slips to the doctor.” I hate myself for being so good at this. And here I thought I was a bad liar. I could win Oscars for this performance.