Page 3 of The Serendipity

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It didn’t help that my father tried to throw me under the bus. You know, as fathers do.

“You don’t mind if I take one last look around the apartment, do you?” Galentine asks. Her voice is a little hoarse, and I glance away when I see that her eyes are wet.

“Of course not,” I tell her.

Because I’m not a monster, even if I don’t relate to her need to see the spacious owner’s apartment, which is where she’s lived for the past twenty-five years.

When I walked out of my life two weeks ago, that’s exactly what I did: I walked out. No tearful goodbyes with people or sentimental last looks at places.

Goodbye, New York. Hello, Serendipity Springs. As easy as that.

But I won’t stand in the way or judge Galentine for seeking closure just because I don’t need it in my own life.

The only furniture in the apartment to speak of right now is the desk in the second bedroom Galentine used as an office. There was an issue with the furniture company, but my things should arrive first thing tomorrow morning.

Galentine crosses the empty space and walks out on the balcony. She grips the railing, lifting her face to the sky, while I grab a bottle of water and chew another ginger mint.

The owner’s apartment is The Serendipity’s version of a penthouse. The unit encompasses the whole front width of the building’s fourth floor, looking out onto the small city of Serendipity Springs.

And facing west, apparently, based on the intense sunlight beaming through the tall windows and almost straight into my eyes. Galentine doesn’t seem bothered, though a moment latershe comes back inside. She spins a slow circle in the living area, her heels echoing on the hardwoods.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I’m about to tell herIt’s nothingand drop a hint about the time when she continues speaking in the same hushed tone.

“Thank you for always giving me exactly what I needed when I needed it. You’ve been good to me over the years, just as I hope you’ll be good to him.”

She chuckles quietly. But given that this empty apartment is an acoustical nightmare at the moment, I can still hear every word as she talks to … herself? Some long-dead relative?

To the building itself?

Based on the reverent way she speaks about The Serendipity, almost as though it’s a sentient being—a character in her colorful life—I’d bet on the last option. Galentine is actually talkingtothe building.

In addition to giving me the Serendipity’s whole history today, she prattled on, sharing stories about the building’s legendary ability to bring luck and love to its tenants. A story in line with the silly tall tales I’ve heard about the city of Serendipity Springs itself.

Magical springs, good fortune, et cetera.

All nonsense, of course. About the town and the building. But clearly, some residents still hold these stories as true. Galentine being one.

“The Serendipity is the only building in town that’s still spring-fed—that’s where the magic comes from,” she told me earlier with a wink as she gestured to the fountain in the courtyard. “It’s why the town was named Serendipity Springs—because the spring water brings love and luck.”

Whenever Galentine mentioned magic, I hoped she was speaking figuratively.

Like, wink, wink—magic.

But I’m more and more convinced that Galentine believes in the stories I only half listened to. Especially now, as she carries on a one-sided conversation with an inanimate object, now dropping her voice too low for me to hear.

I wonder if it would be rude to interrupt this imaginary conversation.

Don’t get used to conversations, I silently warn the building.

Then realize what I’ve just done and silently chide myself:Don’t talk to buildings, Archer. And don’t buy into anything Galentine Valencia is selling.

“Even if he won’t think he needs your help, don’t give up on him,” she says a little louder now. “Men like him are always the toughest nuts to crack, but they’re the ones who most need a nudge. And love.”

It would take more than a magical nudge to make me think about love right now.

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