Page 26 of A Baby For Her Billionaire BFF

We walk to my car, a sleek model that speaks more of my professional image than personal choice. But today, it’s just a means to an end, the vessel that will carry us on our urban adventure.

“Have you ever been on one of the architectural boat tours?” I inquire as we slip into the leather seats.

“Can you believe I haven’t? Always meant to.” Her laughter is light, unburdened, and I feel something inside me shift, a weight lifting.

“Then today’s the day,” I say, starting the engine.

The drive to the docks is smooth, the city unfurling before us in a tapestry of neighborhoods, each with its own rhythm and story. Chicago is a city built on architecture, on the dreams and designs of those who dared to reach for the sky.

We park near the river, where boats line the docks like slumbering sea creatures waiting for their cue. I escort Nora to the tour boat, where we’re greeted by the guide, a man whose passion for the city’s architecture is evident in his eager welcome.

As the boat pulls away from the dock, the guide starts his narration, but I find myself only half-listening. Instead, I watch Nora as she leans against the railing, her eyes wide with wonder, drinking in the skyline that I’ve become so accustomed to I’ve forgotten its magic.

“Look at that,” she breathes, pointing to a particularly bold skyscraper that seems to defy gravity.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” I respond, though I’m not really talking about the building.

The wind is a playful accomplice, tugging at Nora’s hair as she laughs, the sound mingling with the hum of the boat and the lapping waves below. I reach into my pocket for my phone, a reflex to capture this moment that feels like something out of a dream, but it’s not there.

“Looking for this?” Nora teases, holding up her own device like a trophy.

“Actually, no.” And it’s the truth. A surprising calm washes over me. “I forgot mine, and it’s okay.”

“Ollie, disconnected from the world? I never thought I’d see the day.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief.

“Neither did I,” I admit, and we both know it’s more than just about forgetting a phone.

For years, I’ve been tethered to that thing, as if missing a call or an email would cause my empire to crumble. But now, with the Chicago skyline soaring above and Nora’s vibrant energy beside me, work is the last thing on my mind.

We spend the rest of the tour leaning against the rail, pointing out buildings that cut sharp silhouettes against the clear blue sky. Nora’s enthusiasm is infectious, and I find myself caught up in the stories behind each structure, each grand design.

When the boat docks and we step onto solid ground, it’s with a reluctance to leave the bubble we’ve been floating in. We head to a nearby bistro, where the clink of plates and the murmur of conversation create a cozy backdrop. Over lunch, we share plates of pasta and stories of our lives since college, careful not to tread too deep into personal waters yet.

“Ready for Millennium Park?” I ask after we’ve had our fill.

“Lead the way,” she replies with a smile.

The park is alive with the buzz of weekend activity. Kids dash through the Crown Fountain, squealing as water cascades down the giant faces and splashes at their feet. Nora and I weave through the crowd, laughing as we dodge a rogue Frisbee and pause to admire the reflections in The Bean.

“Ever think about what you want your legacy to be?” I ask her, gazing up at the towering art piece.

“Every day.” She spins around to meet my gaze. “But sometimes it’s not just about the big things. Sometimes it’s about moments like these — simple, perfect moments.”

Her words strike a chord within me, but I don’t feel like doing anything yet other than just sitting on them. She always was introspective — able to possess great insight both in and out of the classroom. It seems she’s only grown wiser in our years apart.

Nora’s laughter is a melody that weaves through the rustling leaves of Millennium Park as she recounts her dating escapades. We’re sitting side by side on a curved bench, our knees only inches away. Her stories are punctuated with dramatic gestures and wide-eyed expressions that make them come alive as if I’m watching scenes from a rom-com.

“Okay, okay,” she gasps between chuckles. “There was this one guy who thought he was a gourmet chef. He invited me over for dinner, and let’s just say… the fire department showed up before dessert.”

I laugh along with her, my earlier tension melting away like ice cream on a hot sidewalk. But beneath the mirth, there’s a strange twinge in my chest, an unfamiliar tightness that seems to squeeze whenever she mentions another man’s existence. Jealousy, I think, though I’ve never had much use for it before.

“Your turn.” She nudges me with her shoulder, her green eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What about you? Any crazy dating disasters?”

“Hardly,” I admit, shaking my head.

My romantic history could be summed up on the back of a business card — brief and uneventful. “I guess I’ve always been more focused on work. The company was my girlfriend.”

“Ollie, that’s so sad,” she teases, but her gaze softens with understanding. “You really never put yourself out there?”

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