Page 38 of Pretending I'm Yours

“So nice,” she agrees. “Everything looks so different up here. More impressive, but also…more manageable somehow. Like a girl from Maine could really move to the big city, buy a piece of the action, and make something of herself.”

“You’re already something. Something pretty great,” I say, another prickle of misgiving itching across my skin as she leans back against me with a soft, “Aw, thanks. You, too.”

I did some research on the building she’s buying this morning before she woke up. It wasn’t hard to find. I know the neighborhood and there was only one building that matched her description.

One crumbling, likely asbestos-and-rodent-infested building that might very well bleed her reserves dry before she gets everything up to code and ready to actually make a profit…

Reading between the lines, it’s pretty clear she’s putting everything she’s saved into the down-payment. That won’t leave much for repairs, especially if they’re substantial.

I push aside my worries for now, not wanting to ruin the afternoon, but I’m going to make damned sure she touches base with me between her final walk-through on Wednesday and the closing on Friday. And if she’s about to make a potentially ruinous mistake, I’ll do whatever it takes to get through to her…even if I have to tell her the truth about who I am and just how much I know about buying property in Red Hook.

I own two warehouses in the area and a building I donated to a non-profit that offers emergency housing for victims of domestic violence, not to mention the three single-family homes my family inhabits not far from the waterfront. They’re all on the same block, making that section of the neighborhood feel like a Pissarro-family compound. My cousins’ kids ride bikes up and down the street at all hours of the day and night, especially in the summer, and getting enough signatures to close the street for a block party is never a problem.

The June crawfish boil has become such a hot ticket that my uncle had to start selling tickets on Eventbrite to make sure he had enough food for everyone, and they always sell out within twenty-four hours.

I bet Maya would love that, I think, as the platform begins its slow descent back toward the top level of the observation deck. Especially if she’s a member of the Red Hook community by then. She didn’t mention anything about moving into the apartment building she’s buying, but I doubt she’ll have enough money left over to afford to live anywhere else.

As much as I hate the idea of her in a sketchy area, I like the thought of her being a part of the close-knit community that always watched out for me as a kid.

But, of course, I can’t connect her to that community or promise her a ticket to the crawfish boil without giving myself away. Without letting her know that I’m a liar who’s been abusing her trust from the moment I gave her a fake last name in the club Friday night.

But maybe she would forgive you,my inner voice whispers.If the rest of the week is as perfect as last night and today have been, you’d both be stupid to let a little bump in the road derail something with this kind of potential.

I roll the thought over in my head.

Is lying about being a male prostitute a “little” bump in the road, though? Before I can decide, we’re back on the 70thfloor and the attendant is opening the glass door for us to exit.

“Want to walk around a little more? I’d like to take a few pictures of the skyline,” she says as we move past the next group waiting in line, adding with a laugh, “I was so excited on the ride, I forgot.”

“Of course,” I say, letting her lead the way to the railing, where a gentle winter wind nips at our skin without being too brutal. “We can stay as long as you like.”

“Thanks,” she says, pulling her phone from her coat pocket and lining up a shot. “I love how clearly you can see all the different styles of architecture from up here. An art deco masterpiece next to a glass tower from the 80’s next to something brand new…but it’s all still cohesive somehow.”

“You’re an architecture fan,” I say, noting the passion in her voice and the way her eyes flash as she lines up each shot. I glance over her shoulder at the screen, impressed. “And one hell of a photographer.”

She laughs self-consciously. “Oh, no. I’m just an amateur. My friend Sully is the photographer in our group. She’s insanely talented. I like taking pictures, but I mostly use them as references for sketching and watercolor.”

“A photographerandan artist,” I say, refusing to let her talk me out of being impressed by her. “I’d love to see your sketches sometime.”

Her cheeks flush as she bobs a shoulder. “Maybe I’ll make you one before I leave. As a thank you for letting me stay at your place. I always do a little watercolor for my Gram when she sells a house. She gives them to her clients along with the keys at closing as a personal touch.”

“Add stellar granddaughter to the list, but I’m not surprised,” I say, loving that we both make family a priority. We comefrom such different worlds, but we have more in common than I would have imagined that first night at the club.

Tucking her phone back into her pocket, she turns to me with a playful arch of her brow. “Yeah? So, I’ve got you fooled, huh?”

I smile, enjoying her sassy side as much as her sweet one. “Yeah, you’ve got me, all right. I think you’re pretty great, Miss Swallows.” I pull a face. “I mean, aside from how loudly you snore, obviously.”

Her jaw drops, but she laughs as she says, “I do not snore!”

“Oh, but you do. Loud enough to rattle the pictures above the bed,” I lie. “Why do you think I was up so early this morning?”

Her eyes narrow. “Nope. I don’t believe you. I may not have slept over at a man’s house before, but I still have sleepover parties with my girlfriends all the time. They would have told me if I snore, so I could do something to stop it. They believe in tough love.”

“Good. Tough love is the best kind of love.”

“Agreed,” she says, her expression growing serious. “Truth feels way more like love to me than pretty lies. Truth means you really care.” Before I can recover from that direct blow to the conscience, she adds, “But I do have flaws, for sure. I don’t snore, but sometimes…I’m super bad.”

I frown, falling in beside her as we wander to the other side of the observation deck. “Oh yeah? Example of this badness, please?”

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