Page 8 of The Last Person
“Whatever you say.”
I rise from the chair and head over to the stove, lifting the top off the pot as my mother opens one of the double ovens on the wall.
“Coq au vin?” I ask, mouth watering at the delicious smell.
“Ryan Laurent Hardison, get your face out of that pot and put the lid back on, it’s not finished yet.”
“Sorry. I love Papi’s recipe.” I put the lid back on, not wanting to incur my mother’s wrath. Don’t mess with her cooking or she’ll mess with you. And her father’s recipes are deeply cherished in our family. He was a chef in France for years, then continued working as one in New York City once he moved there with my grandmother when my mom and auntie were little.
She smiles, a wistful look in her eyes. “I always feel him here with me when I cook it. And his ghost will haunt us if it’s not done right, so hands off.”
I put my hands up in front of me and lean against the kitchen sink. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Now, tell me what’s new with you. And what is the deal with you asking about apartments? I thought you liked where you live.”
In my attempt to handle the apartment situation so Brian doesn’t have to worry, I reached out to anyone in the area I evenvaguely know, hoping to find someone who can help. I’ve gotten a couple of hits, but nothing good enough.
“Our landlord is going to jail, and the building is being sold, so we all have to move.”
My mother laughs lightly. “Oh, let me pour some wine, and you can tell me the story behind that. It must be a good one.”
I chuckle. “Maybe. I’ve been too busy looking for apartments to get into it, though. Brian is stressed, to say the least.”
“He doesn’t like change,” Mom says.
“Not so much.”
“It’s sweet of you to try to take some stress off him. How long do you have?”
“Only a few weeks.”
She purses her lips, hands falling to her hips. “Well, worst case, there’s plenty of room for both of you here. I’m sure it wouldn’t be ideal for you, but you’re both always welcome.”
“Thanks.” I appreciate her offer, but that’s a hard no. The last thing I need is for my mother to see how close Brian and I have become and how much time we spend together. It would take her no time at all to question me about what’s going on and if I have feelings for him.
And since I don’t have the answers for that at this point, Ireallydon’t need her asking me about it. Even though she probably already suspects something because nothing gets by her.
So, I throw a little prayer out to the universe that the right thing will come along in the next few days, because I’m desperate.
Then my gaze drifts back to the stove. Though I’m itching to take the top off the coq au vin and steal a taste, I need my hands to catch a football, so I don’t do it.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, finding a text from Mark. Apparently, the universe heard my plea, and she’s acting fast.
Markie Mark: I think I have the perfect place for you. There’s just one little catch.
Me: What kind of catch?
Markie Mark: How would you feel about living with Brian… in the same apartment?
Uh oh.Something tells me I’m about to get myself in trouble.
CHAPTER FOUR
BRIAN
“When you saidyou’d find a place, I thought you meant a place with an apartment for each of us.”
Hardy grins at me as we ride in the shared penthouse elevator to the lower of two penthouses—the top one being the one Mark lives in. When Hardy mentioned what was happening with our apartments, Mark suggested this, and I’m not sure if it makes me happy or nauseous.
