Page 56 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

No, I answer in my head. I’m love-sick for that man. “Nick is none of those things. Maybe I’m growing up and finally realized that I don’t have to be emotionally battered to think someone loves me. Maybe Nick’s goodness is what attracted me.”

“This time.”

I turn back to look at her.

“I left him in Catalina because I was in no place to see the good in anyone, much less a man. But that doesn’t mean I forgot about him.”

She leans against the bar, studying me. “I’m going to say something you’ve never heard from me before. I like your boyfriend. I think Nick is amazing, and I also think you two are pretty damn incredible together.” She raises her hands. “I know. I’ve hated everyone you dated, but there’s always an exception to the rules.”

“Nick’s my exception,” I say, the words seeping in as I feel their deeper meaning.

“Guess an old dog can learn a new trick.”

“Hey, did you just call me an old dog?”

She shrugs unapologetically. “I’m three months older than you, so what does that make me? Ancient, that’s what.” Opening the fridge, she peeks inside. “There’s nothing but cream cheese and a jar of cherries. Why do we even have those?”

“Last Christmas we made cherry martinis.” I glance at my phone, wishing I had a text from him. It’s not that I don’t understand he’s busy. I’m busy too, but isn’t it fun to blow off obligations when you get to spend time with a new love?

Studying the jar, she asks, “Do they go bad?”

I shrug even though she’s not looking at me. “Check the date.”

The room is quiet while I reply to an email. I can assume she’s looking for a best by date because not ten seconds later, I hear the jar hit the recycling bin. The refrigerator door closes, and she plops next to me on the couch. “Want to go out?”

“Yep. I’m starved.” I set my laptop on the coffee table and stand. “I could eat a family-sized platter of pasta right now.”

Heading back into her bedroom, she says, “I don’t know how you stay so thin when you eat like that.”

“Running three to seven miles five days a week helps.” I fail to mention the intense workout Nick’s given me between the sheets. How could I forget when my body remembers so well?

I know she’d love to hear all the details, but I’ll save those for now to keep the excitement of the newness to myself for a hot minute. “And good genes.”

“Martine passed down those model genes all right. I can’t walk by an Italian restaurant, which is damn near impossible in New York City, without gaining a pound or five from the smell alone. God, I miss fettuccine Alfredo so much.”

It’s true. My mom modeled for a short time in her early twenties. She was spotted in Central Park and was booked for three Paris runway shows the next week. After meeting my dad at a coffee shop in Tribeca, she quit eight months later so she could spend more time with him instead of traveling the world.

As she claims, too in love to be away from him, she also decided to help build the family business. He gives her full credit for making it a success. From marketing to financials, she’s done everything to help not only build but also to create their legacy.

I feel like a failure in comparison. She makes everything look so easy. I peek into Tatum’s room. “Speaking of the other jeans, can I borrow a pair of yours. A bunch of mine went to the cleaners today.”

Without missing a beat, denim hits my chest. “Thanks.” I toss them to my bed and then go to my closet to flip through for a shirt. Deciding I’m not in the mood to dress up, I finally just pull a red fitted tee from a hanger and toss it to the bed. After changing clothes, I slip on a pair of Gucci red heels. They’re not that high at three inches.What?Most of mine are higher.

I’d like to say I don’t worry about my makeup, but I swipe a fresh coat of mascara and lipstick on before primping my hair. Basically, I’m keeping it a low-key night.

She’ll take another twenty minutes, at least, so I return to the living room and wrap up what I was working on. Sitting there, I check my phone again, tempted to call him or text him, but I worry it will interrupt an important meeting. “He’ll contact you, Natalie,” I remind myself.

Remembering how he called me baby the other night, I feel warm and fuzzy. Although that thought amps up the loneliness of his absence.

I impatiently wait, wondering if I should get a glass of wine to pass the time or just sit here with nothing to do but wonder what Nick is up to. “Are you coming?”

Tatum comes out but stops in the entry to the hallway. “Don’t be mad.”

Popping up from the couch, I say, “You’re not ready?”As if she didn’t already know this information.

“I was thinking I would have a night in.”

“What? It was your idea to go out. I got ready . . . kind of to be seen.”

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