Page 33 of Mismatched

“Guess I’ll cave and get my dog that WoofCrate subscription he’s been begging for,” I say with a laugh. “Sorry I’m no help with childcare. But I’m serious—please come by The Pooch Park. I’d love to talk more.”

Marisol lifts her daughter out of the high chair, sets her down, and gives me a warm smile. “Thanks, I’d like that too. Say goodbye, Paloma.”

“Buh-BYE!” the little girl shrieks, waving a fisted napkin.

Charlotte moves across from me to finish her sandwich after they leave, and a Bread Bowls employee comes over to put the high chair away and sweep a huge amount of crumbs off the rug.

“Have you and Anton thought about having kids?” Charlotte asks suddenly.

I nearly choke on my baguette, my hackles immediately raised, just like when my mother asks. I glance at her, wondering if it’s possible I am pregnant already and there’s some way she can tell. But when I meet her eyes, there’s no implication, just mild curiosity.

“Uh, I don’t know. We’ve... talked about it.”

She picks at her fruit salad. “I never found anyone I wanted to settle down with. Sometimes it feels like I might’ve missed out.” She looks pointedly at the mess being swept up under Paloma’s seat and shrugs. “Most of the time it doesn’t.”

I am going to hyperventilate trying to think of how to answer. Instead, I tiptoe to a safer subject. “Thanks for introducing me and Marisol. I’m excited to connect with her.”

She preens. “I enjoy seeing my fellow businesswomen succeed.” We gather up our dishes, placing them in the designated bins as we head for the door. “But next time, we dine in Cherry Creek.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Looks more promising,” Seth says as I pull my truck in front of the fourth apartment building on our list. So far, we’ve been striking out. The first place we saw turned out to be a dump. The second was great until we realized they wouldn’t allow pets. And while the third seemed to check all the necessary boxes, the property manager couldn’t explain its terrible, unidentifiable smell. Both of us are a bit frustrated at this point, but it’s so nice just to have Seth here. If I have to spend the entire weekend house hunting with him to make that permanent, I will.

I open the door of my truck, hoping the fourth time’s the charm. But when I look over, I notice my brother isn’t actually eyeing the building we’re here to see, but a high-rise across the street with a couple of cute girls standing outside.

“Hey, Casanova,” I say, pointing the other way. “This is the place we’re looking at.”

Seth glances at the dated brick building behind me, sniffs, and turns back around. “What’s wrong with that one?”

I snort, craning to look at the two brand-new, mirrored towers stretching at least thirty stories up. This is one of those neighborhoods dotted with a mix of small, older buildings and immense new luxury residences. As we stand there, a black Porsche Cayenne purrs up to the entrance and a guy in a three-piece suit steps out of the back seat, trailed by a woman taking selfies with a chihuahua dressed in a coordinating outfit.

“A little out of your league.”

Seth raises one brow like I’ve presented him with a challenge, straightens the hem of his T-shirt over his jeans, and strides inside.

“I could see myself here,” he says as I chase him through the automatic doors.

“Sure, great. Maybe as an extra for some influencer. Can we get back across the street so we don’t miss the manager at the other place?”

He ignores me, so I follow helplessly as he enters a lobby that feels like a freaking luxury hotel—complete with plush furniture, pretentious artwork, an enormous fireplace, and a concierge desk.

“Hi there,” Seth says, approaching a curly haired young white woman behind the counter. She does nothing to conceal the fact that she’s scoping him out. “I’m interested in becoming a resident. Can you tell me if cats are allowed?”

“Oh, of course.” Her face brightens. “Pets are always welcome at the Washington Park Towers. We actually have an in-house pet spa.”

“You’re kidding,” I say, though I’m the last person who should be surprised. Lydia built her businesses on exactly this sort of demand.

“Are you familiar with our brand of living?” she asks. “Our residents expect the best, and that includes furry family members.” She waves to someone over my shoulder, and I glance back to see a well-groomed lady entering the lobby with an equally well-coiffed poodle. “Do you have an appointment with our relocation specialist?”

Seth opens his mouth to answer, but I jump in. “We don’t. We’ll have to make one and come back. Thanks for your time.”

With that, I try to steer my brother out the doors. Seth’s been working with some hot-shot real estate investors in Dallas, and while he’s apparently done well flipping houses, there’s no way he can afford this place.

“Whoa, hang on a sec.” He places a hand on my chest and makes doe eyes at the girl. “Would it be possible to take a tour without an appointment? Actually, would you be available to take us on one?” He glances at the name tag on her blazer. “Eden?”

He gives her his best panty-melting smile, and when she giggles, my shoulders slump.

“Seth,” I mutter. “I doubt this place is going to be in your price range.”

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