mine. I don’t know if he truly feels better about what he does versus what his father did, but for now the conversation is tabled because we’ve reached the hotel. The driver foregoes the regular entrance and heads around back like Devlin had instructed once we were away from the theater. He’d also called ahead and asked the manager to gather our luggage and bring it to the limo.
Originally, we’d planned to spend one more night at the hotel on the Council’s dime, drinking champagne and making love in the well-appointed suite to celebrate his award.
Now, we don’t want to linger. Not when the press knows perfectly well where the Council had put him up.
Instead, we’re going to my apartment near Columbia University and Morningside Park. It’s small, but I like to think of it as cozy. And since we’d planned all along to go there tomorrow, I’d already asked Roger, my friend and editor at The Spall Monthly where I work as a staff writer, to stop in and stock it with food.
In a way, Roger’s the reason I’m with Devlin. I’d been assigned to write a profile on the Devlin Saint Foundation, located in my hometown of Laguna Cortez, California. I’d accepted the assignment eagerly, especially since I’d also intended to use my time there to investigate my uncle’s murder back when I was a teenager.
At the time, I’d had no clue that Devlin was also Alex Leto, the only boy I’d ever loved. Let alone all the rest of the secrets and drama that came with that revelation.
Now, of course, I’m planning to stay in California. And part of the purpose of this trip is to pack my things, find someone to sublet my place, and enjoy a bit of time in New York with Devlin before I become a full-time West Coaster.
As we wait, the driver opens the trunk for the valet and secures our luggage. Then we’re back on the road. “I like this better,” Devlin says. “The hotel was nice, but your apartment is a home.” He squeezes my hand. “And right now, the idea of being home with you is very, very appealing.”
“It is,” I agree, snuggling close as he puts his arm around me. I close my eyes, wishing that I had magical powers so that I could wave a wand and make it all better for him. Instead, I simply let myself be soothed by the rhythm of the limo and the feel of Devlin’s arm around me.
Traffic is light, and before I know it, we’ve pulled to a stop in front of my building. The area isn’t exactly one of the best neighborhoods in Manhattan, but it’s close to Columbia, which was great for me. And because I have rental income from the house I inherited when my dad died, with the studio’s cheap-for-Manhattan rent, I was able to cover all my personal and school expenses without having to hold down a job while I was working on my Masters.
I stayed after I graduated because even though I have a job now, I’m not exactly pulling in the big bucks. Plus, despite the dicey neighborhood, I really do love the place, and my unit is darling. Or it is now, since I spent my first few weeks in New York painting walls and sanding floors.
It’s small, but well-appointed, and there’s more than enough space for me. Even the terrible plumbing has become something I think of as character rather than an irritation. The place has improved considerably over the years, too. A new owner came in about six months after I signed the lease, and now there’s a full-time security guard in the expanded lobby, shiny new paint throughout, and rumors that an elevator may be in the works. Even the plumbing that had given me fits those first months is better, though the pipes still make a strange howling noise that I’ve come to think of as the ghosts of residents past.
Under normal circumstances, I’d be sad to leave it behind. But since I’m moving back to Laguna Cortez and Devlin, all I really care about is finding someone to take over the lease who will love the place as much as I do.
“This is it,” I say, taking Devlin’s hand. It’s dark, so it’s not as if we can see the architectural details, but the new owner added decent exterior lighting and a freshened up look for the entryway.
“Ms. Holmes, so good to have you back.” William, the