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He knows I won’t say no, but to amuse him, I say, “Okay.”

The door swings open, and he helps her with her bags. “Good evening, Mrs. Hendricks.”

She stamps her cane down as if she just claimed the moon. “Hello, Gil. I needed a few things.”

“Let me know next time, and I can help arrange a delivery service,” he offers, charming her knee-high L’eggs pantyhose right off her. And yes, I know what brand she wears because my grandmother made me run an errand for Mrs. Hendricks when I was fourteen.The memory stuck.

She waves him off and keeps walking. “Stop pawing my bags. I needed some personal things and don’t need some youngster knowing my business.”

“Point made,” he placates to settle her down because she’s always been on the feisty side.

Noticing me in the corner, she says, “Why are you always hiding, Juni Jacobs?”

“I’m not hiding. I’m watering the plants.”

“You’re wasting time.”

Moving to the third large pot, I reply, “The plants don’t think so.”

“Your life. You should be married and have a family by now.”

Soooo tempting to roll my eyes.I don’t. I don’t even bother arguing with her either. It’s not worth the sacrifice of my happiness just to feel justified. Gil puts her on the elevator, and I call, “Have a good night, Mrs. Hendricks.” When she grumbles in return, she confirms I made the right decision not to waste my time.

As soon as we’re alone again, Gil doesn’t let up. “Make a list. Big things. Small things. Live, love, laugh things. Anything. I just want you to break your routine.”

“I thought I had with the job at CWM.” I’m not trying to be snarky, but that’s more than a baby step. I mentally pat myself on the back for it.

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” he says. I stop watering so I can hear his lowered voice better. “I’ve let you blame your parents for a lot of years gone wrong, and that didn’t do you any good. It’s time you look inward to figure out what’s really holding you back.”

Raising an arm out, I ask, “What am I missing?” It’s a dumb, reactionary thing to say. I know what I’m missing in so many ways, but I try every day to be satisfied with the life I’ve created.

“That’s for you to decide.” When he sits down again, he settles in for the night shift. “Now stop wasting time with this old man. I’m sure you have something better to do than hang out with me.”

As I head for the elevators, not needing an engraved request to give him peace, I turn back and ask, “Was all this a roundabout way of saying you approve of me dating Mr. Christiansen?”

A warm smile spreads wide. “Take it as you will.”My God, he is.That is high praise indeed. I was joking when I asked that question, but I actually think that Gil thinks Andrew and I could work.

That has to be his own awesome marriage speaking. He and Nancy are a match made in heaven.Rare.Andrew’s way out of my league.

Gil’s gaze lowers to the desk, and he turns up the volume. Just when I step into the elevator, I hear the sports announcers talking about the bottom of the third. Yankees are up.

There’s so much to digest from what he said. Albeit small, my world has always held such creature comforts—the apartment I was raised in, Mr. Clark and Rascal down the hall, and Gil downstairs. It’s not like I don’t leave this place. I leave it every day, but I have a feeling Gil means more than the walls that make up this building or the invisible ones that form my bubble.As a matter of fact, I know he does.

As soon as I enter my apartment, I think more about what Gil said.

“One day, I’ll be gone, and I need to know that you’re living the life you were meant to. Whether that is with someone or alone, I want it to be your choice. Not made from fear but from love.”

Where would I be if he wasn’t in my life? I’m sure I would have felt even more alone growing up. Is that what I’m doing? Making a choice from fear to be alone? Is it my choice, or am I hiding?

Is Gil disappointed in me for not being honest with Andrew?I can’t have that. I send a text:I was thinking I could come over.

I sit down, gnawing on my lower lip, and wait for a response. Come on, don’t leave me hanging.

A message pops up:Apartment 17 B.

I scramble to get ready—a casual dress, makeup, perfume—and burn some time since he’s not expecting me to show up in two minutes. I wait around for ten and then sneak through the stairwell until I reach his floor. I’ve lived here long enough to know seventeen is one of the most expensive real estate in the building. There are only two apartments, and I’m standing in front of one of them.

Andrew opens the door and leans his head against the edge. “What brings you by?”