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“She’ll love it.”

“Natalie?”

“Yes?”

She sounds too happy to burst her bubble. I shake my head, but I’m smiling. It’s good to have Tatum’s best friend’s support. “Don’t forget to text me the code. Oh, and the address.”

“Doing it now. Good luck!”

“Thanks. I’m going to need it.” With my toes hanging over the curb, I throw my arm into the air to get a taxi.

SoHo isn’t far on a map. Throw in some major traffic and that’s an hour I’ll never get back. I have no idea if she’s still at work, but I’m going to give this my best shot. Just not empty-handed.

I turn in circles searching for a flower shop, or gift store, or anything, but most appear to be closed. I’m left with two options—coffee shop or a hot dog stand. Since the line is twenty people deep at the coffee shop, I rush to the stand, knowing this is fucking stupid but do it anyway. “Two hot dogs, please.”

Five minutes later, the elevator opens on the floor, and I walk toward the glass front door. After punching in the code, I gain entrance and start slowly scoping out the place. Pink walls, floral designs, and white desks. It’s very feminine, and I can see Natalie’s and Tatum’s tastes represented—high fashion mixed with low-key cool and pretty.

The lights are off, but as the sun sets outside, it’s easy to spy one light coming from an office down the corridor. But the last thing I want to do is scare her, so I try to figure out how I let her know I’m here.

“Decker?”

I whip around to see Tatum standing with a stack of gifts in her arms. “Hey. Hi. I got your messages. Well, there were no messages per se, but missed calls. Anyway, I’d show you, but my hands are full of wieners.”Fucking hell, why’d I say that?

Her gaze volleys back and forth between my hands. A grin wiggles across her lips, and then splits as she starts to laugh. “Do you need some alone time with your wieners?”

“Fuck, I sound like an idiot. I brought you a hot dog, but I’m not even sure if you eat them.”

She comes closer and signals toward the office where the light is streaming. “Come on.” There’s no sign of distress or urgency. Her body language is relaxed despite holding the gifts. I’m starting to think I was reading too much into a few missed calls.

I follow her into the office and look around. Although there is one, there’s no need for a name placard next to the door. This room has Tatum written all over it. The walls are painted in bold black and white stripes, her desk is white as well as the console and shelves behind her to break up the pattern. Accents of pink dot the space from bookends to pillows on the deep green velvet couch. Windows expand from one end to the other corner. “That’s a helluva view.”

She sets the boxes down on a table in front of the couch and looks out like she’s just noticing it for the first time. With her hands on her hips, she replies, “For a people watcher like myself, it’s terribly distracting.”

“I bet. Hot dog?” I offer her my wiener and then laugh inwardly because yes, I’m a prepubescent boy all of a sudden.

Her bottom lip drops on one side as she stares at the offering. Damn, I almost take the rejection personally.

Then she takes it and says, “I haven’t had a street dog since I was fourteen. I threw up for five blocks trying to get home after getting food poisoning. You can imagine what a delight I was for Natalie. Barely teenagers. Trying to be cool. And her best friend puking all over the sidewalk every thirty feet.” She sits on the couch, leaving room for me unlike how she sleeps, hogging the middle. “I was lucky it came out that way. Here goes nothing . . .” She takes a big bite.

I’m not sure if I have the stomach for it now. “You don’t have to eat it. The flower shop was closed.”

She chews, but a smile shines in the shape of her eyes. “You were going to get me flowers?” I nod, but then she says, “The dog is much more original. Way to stand out.”

I set my hot dog down on the table, and ask, “You called me?”

“Yeah, Um . . . I had a . . . moment today.” She follows me and sets her dog down, too. “Earlier. Much earlier,” she replies, waving me off.

“I’m glad you reached out to me. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really. It was silly. Nothing was actually wrong in the end. I think I just . . . hm. Did you know we’ve never texted? Well, you did a little while ago. I was going to text back when I knew what to say.”

I’m not sure what to make of her right now. There’s a frenzied pace to her words, and she bit off more than she could chew quickly, almost like she was wanting to end the conversation. “And you don’t know?”

She blinks a few times but doesn’t lose eye contact. I appreciate that. “I’m not sure it’s worth talking about anymore.”

As if she crossed that T, she appears finished with that line of questioning. That has me changing tactics.“How was your day?”

“Busy. I have a client that I can’t seem to please. He insists on meeting after meeting about the most trivial stuff. Like those boxes.”And she’s off like nothing ever happened.“He wanted to see the gift-wrapping options and how we can mix it up for him. Our wrapping is custom-made to fit the occasion, but he wants me to whip something together just to show him the bow. It’s ridiculous. His wife won’t care about the box once she sees what’s inside.”