we pop out as many heirs to their fortunes as they desire.”
I can’t help but laugh. There’s a kernel of truth to her ridiculous suggestion, and we both know it. What’s so wrong with wanting it all?
“Ah, fantasy.” Her cheeks are tinted with a hint of embarrassment, but she winks at me. “Between you and me, I don’t consider it settling to find a man who works hard, loves me completely, and offers me the promise of a less than perfect future, so long as it’s together.”
I couldn’t agree more. “There’s a time and place for everything, but yes. Reality is where we must all exist.”
“Speaking of reality…” Her smile is warm and inviting. All traces of skepticism from when she first answered her door are gone. “Who are you looking for?”
“Oh.” I wave my hand like a completely exhausted idiot who’s lost all sense of decorum. As if having this conversation about female fantasies isn’t enough. Then again, fantasies aren’t far from my mind these days. “It’s the Big Apple. I don’t expect you to know all your neighbors. We’re modern women after all. Can’t be too careful.”
She nods in agreement even as she shrugs. “True, but New York is friendlier than most people think. We’re not the stereotypical hardened city people who mind our own business to the detriment of leaving helpless victims to fend for themselves. Try me.”
Why not? She seems nice; she’s entertained me for a few minutes and provided a far better distraction than window shopping ever could. There’s little chance she’ll actually know him. “Ben Sharp is a dear friend of mine. We don’t get to catch up nearly as often as we’d like, but since I was already in the city, I thought I’d drop by.”
She’s not able to quite mask the suspicion that returns to her gaze, even if it’s muddled with curiosity. She opens the door wider. “Any dear friend of Ben’s is a friend of mine. Come on in.”
“That’s okay.” Awkwardness electrifies the air between us, and I’m not quite sure why. Only that I want to be rid of it. I have enough anxiety pecking at my brain lately. I was looking for refuge, not another layer of imprisonment over things I can’t control. “I’ll just move over and knock on the right door this time.”
“You knocked on the right door the first time,” she insists. “Ben isn’t here just now. He’s at a study group. He texted to say he’d be back within the hour, so you’re welcome to come in and wait for him.”
Much like earlier, I replay the past few moments over in my mind to be sure I understand correctly. “This is Ben’s apartment?”
“One and the same.” The woman holds out her hand with a formality that didn’t exist between us seconds ago. “I’m Bethany. And you are…?”
Her question stifles the air between us, far sharper than the awkwardness before.
“Tori.” I clear my throat to be sure she can hear me this time, strangely wishing I could channel Mike’s quiet confidence in the face of anything life throws his way. “I’m Tori Russo. I take it you haven’t heard my name before if you didn’t recognize me.”
Her eyebrows pop up into her stylishly sharp bangs. “I take it you’ve never heard of me before either if you seem surprised to find me here. Please. Come in.”
Unlike when I shoved Mike out the door of his own truck, I hesitate. “I really shouldn’t. I don’t want to impose.”
“I insist.” She gestures again for me to step inside.
Not knowing what the next few hours may hold, my options are limited unless I want to wait at another cafe.
The moment she closes the door behind me, I find myself in a new and untraversed territory. Ben’s apartment in college was the quintessential workaholic bachelor pad—sparse furniture, the bare minimum in home décor, and an empty fridge that only contained a nearly empty six-pack of craft beer and a few condiments left over from takeout.
I have a feeling if I was to open that door now, I’d find the healthiest, freshest produce lining the shelves of his refrigerator. Much like the plants flourishing on the few windowsills and the framed art gracing the walls. And the art books on the coffee table. He has a coffee table now! Not just old milk crates holding up lamps in the far corners of the room. Those have been replaced by stylish end tables made from repurposed old library card catalogues. On