“No problem.” My gaze coasts down, taking in her lavish trench coat, the red on the bottom of her booties.
Louboutins? You’ve got to be shitting me.
She peels off a red leather glove and offers her hand, revealing impeccably polished, glossy nails. “Emily.”
I slip my hand into hers, trying to hide the three-week-old DIY mani. “Jennie.”
“You’re Garrett’s friend.”
Nope. “And you’re his fuck buddy.”
She winks. “Only on days that end in Y.” The elevator stops, and Emily gives my forearm a tender squeeze. “I’m heading down to the parking garage, so I think this is where we say good-bye. So fun to meet you, Jennie. See you around.”
“Bye, Emma.”
She holds my gaze, sugary smile in place. “Emily. On the off chance you find yourself feeling forgetful again, you’ll likely hear Garrett calling it in the middle of the night.”
I stick my tongue out as she begins to disappear behind the closing doors, and she sticks hers out right back.
I mean, ew. Haven’t I already said I don’t want to know what that man sounds like when he comes? I fully plan on acting like I don’t know him when I see him around.
Like right now. Fuck.
“Jennie?”
My eyes lock with Garrett’s, and my body moves faster than it ever has, darting behind a wall. Forget about not wanting to see him exiting my new neighbor’s apartment, I don’t want him to see me when I look like this. I’ve already been on the phone with Carter once this morning, feeding him some bullshit about how fine I am. He didn’t buy it, and reluctantly agreed to pick me up later tonight for dinner instead of coming right over. I don’t need my appointed babysitter running and blabbing to my big brother that his little sister is a mess.
“Jennie?” Garrett calls again, closer. “Are you hiding? You know I saw you already, right?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, plastering myself to the wall. When a throat clears, I crack one lid.
The blond giant of a man stands in front of me, wearing the exact same hoodie as me, messy hair tucked beneath a ball cap, and a tray of hot drinks in his hands from the very café I’m heading to. As his gaze rakes over me, his concerned expression amplifies.
“Oh hey, Garrett. Didn’t see you there.” I straighten, tugging at the hem of my hoodie, and his eyes fall to my pajama pants. I gesture at the drinks and force a chuckle. “Did you get one for me?”
His stare holds mine, brows knitting, and I can hear the question on the tip of his tongue: Are you okay? He rethinks his words, probably because he’s terrified of me most days. “Uh, yeah, actually.” He tucks one drink into his elbow and holds out the remaining two. “These are for you.”
I stare at the drinks, then him. “What?”
“For you.”
“I don’t…I don’t understand.”
Garrett clears his throat into his arm. “I know last night was your first night, and I know today…” His eyes flicker as I swallow. “I know today might be a hard day, so I thought…maybe you could use some caffeine. But then I didn’t know if you even like coffee, so I got you a hot chocolate, too, just in case.” He places the tray in my hands and palms his nape. “There’s whipped cream on it.”
“That’s, um…”
“It’s no big deal. I was there, and I just thought…coffee.”
“I like coffee. And hot chocolate.” Damnit, I’ve got a lump in my throat. “Thank you, Garrett.”
His cheeks split with an explosive grin, lighting his whole face. It’s so addicting, I almost smile too. “Cool. Yeah, cool.” He flicks a hand through the air. “Yeah, no problem.”
Garrett ambles back to the lobby. With nowhere else to go, I trail along beside him.
“So, uh, where were you going?”
I hold up the drinks. “To get coffee.”
“In your pajamas?”
“Yeah, in my pajamas. You got a problem with that, buddy?”
Eyes wide, he wags his head. He hesitates in front of the elevator. “So now that you have your coffee, are you…？”
“Going back up.”
“Oh. Me too.” His eyes bounce from me to the elevator, back to me, then the floor, and when they land on me, silence stretches between us for a moment too long.
“I’m gonna take the stairs,” we both call out at the same time, bumping into each other as we turn toward the stair exit.
“You’re gonna walk up twenty-one floors?”
I prop a fist on my hip. “It’s called exercise. And you’re twenty-five floors up. What’s your excuse, big guy?”
“I’m scared of elevators,” he blurts, then flushes.
I hike a brow. “Really?”
“Yeah. Terrified.” He swallows, looking down the hall toward the stairs, and then does the oddest thing. “Oh, but actually…Ahhh.” He grabs his knee and groans. “I hurt my knee. Banged it when I was getting coffee.”
“Wow. Maybe you should take the elevator, then.”
“Might be for the best.” He rubs his knee and hisses in fake pain. “Think I could put my fear aside for one day.”
Is this really happening? Does he know he’s a shit actor?
The elevator opens when I press the button, and I shove him inside. “Thanks for the coffee. And Garrett?”
“Yeah?”
“Stick to your day job, big guy.”
The package in my hand feels insignificant next to the extravagant bouquet and extensive breakfast spread on the small table, signs that Carter’s already been here. I know Hank will appreciate the gesture anyway.
“Is that my favorite girl?”
I follow his tired voice, finding him in his rocking chair by the window.
“Just me.” I pop a kiss on his smiling cheek before taking a seat next to him. He’s got a great view, towering trees and green space, the peaks of the mountains not far off in the distance, decorating the North Vancouver skyline, even in the middle of this bleak fall.
“You are my favorite. And your mom. And Olivia. Love me some Cara too.”
“Hate to tell you, Hank, but favorite requires you to put one of us above the rest.”
He frowns. “You know I can’t. I love you all.”
“And we all love you.” I set the small box on the table, lifting the lid, and sweet cinnamon sugar infiltrates the air. “I brought you a cinnamon bun.”
His eyes glitter as I cut the sticky mess and lead one hand to the plate, the other to a fork. “You are my favorite.” He gestures behind us. “Carter made you a cappuccino before he left.”
I find the warm mug and wrap my hands around it, inhaling eagerly. I smile down at the cinnamon heart dusted over the foam. Carter’s all about big, loud gestures, but sometimes it’s these tiny, silent ones that warm me the most.
Mindless chatter fills the next few minutes, and when we take a moment to let the silence linger, Hank murmurs, “Eight years today.”
I sip my cappuccino, trying to drown the tightness in my throat. “Fifteen for you.”
He turns something between his fingers, and my heart lurches when I see the dainty gold band, the solitaire diamond set in the middle. “Miss my sweet Ireland every damn day.”