Page 22 of Brooklynaire

He glances at her with grateful eyes, and when he speaks, his voice is rough. “Bec, it’s official.” Nate wipes his hands on a napkin she’s handed him. “You are the employee of the fuckingdecade.”

He holds her gaze for another long beat, and her heart swells with gratitude and more than a little platonic love for her favorite nerd. Once upon a time, Nate rescued her from a tight spot, and she’s been trying to return the favor for ayear.

“Drink up, sailor,” she says. “I’m going to get you a room at the SohoGrand.”

He uncaps the bottle. “Cheers.”

They each do a shot. Then she nudges the bag of food closer to him. “So. Cattacos?”

“Cat…?” His eyes widen as he realizes she’d just hit him with a new palindrome. “Have you been saving thatone?”

“Forweeks. There aren’t any tacos in this neighborhood. So I finally just decided that empanadas were closeenough.”

He laughs until his eyes get wet. Then he eats anotherempanada.

6

Nate

In midtown,I slog through meetings and conference calls. My brain still hasn’t adjusted to the idea that Lauren is covering Becca’s job in Brooklyn. Twice I catch myself yelling Lauren’s name from my desk chair, only to have one of her startled minions appear in the doorwayinstead.

They must think I’m an idiot, but I really just have a lot on mymind.

It’s seven o’clock before I make it back to Brooklyn. As the ferry bumps against the dock, I’m on my feet, eager for the ferry worker to let us off the boat. And when he finally does, I set off through Brooklyn Bridge Park toward home at a fastclip.

Rebecca may or may not be waiting at myhouse.

Inviting her to stay with me was a crazy thing to do. I know this. Since I’ve spent the last couple years wishing I could undress her with my teeth, knowing she’s down the hall in my home is going to be fuckingtorture.

But watching her struggle earlier today had a gut-wrenching effect on me. I don’t really understand it. God knows I’ve been fighting an attraction to her forever. But this was something else. And I just couldn’t claw it back. Ignoring her—my usual solution to my unhealthy Becca addiction—just won’t cut it thistime.

Maybe she didn’t even take me up on my offer. Becca is the most fiercely independent person I know. She probably walked out seconds after I lefttoday.

I have toknow.

It’s usually a twelve-minute walk from the ferry terminal to Pierrepont Place, but today I make it in ten. How long has it been since there was a woman (not counting the lovely Mrs. Gray) waiting at home for me when Ireturned?

It’s been years—since Juliet, my cheating ex-fiancée. Now there’s a shittymemory.

I wasn’t even twenty when Juliet and I became a couple in college. She was the smiling girl who likedDr. Whoand dorky jokes. We studied together in the library, then went home for dorm-roomsex.

Moving in together after graduation was an easy decision. Eighteen months later I proposed to her one weeknight in our crappy little one-bedroom in the EastVillage.

“Oh Nate. You make me so happy,” she’d said from the other side of our rickety kitchentable.

It didn’t last, though. Months later I caught her having sex on the same kitchen table, with that meathead she’d met at thegym.

Biggest shock of mylife.

That weekend she left tearful voice messages on my phone. At her urging, I met her Monday morning at a coffee shop to talk. Even then, I still didn’t understand that everything had just changedforever.

“It only happened a couple of times,” she’d wept, as if that made it less humiliating. “But you’re at work all the time. It isn’t fun being a techwidow.”

“Because I’m trying to clear my calendar for our honeymoon!” Even then, I wasn’t quite ready to throw it all away. My analytical brain was still trying to glue the pieces backtogether.

Then Juliet said, “I went to that gym because I felt bad about my belly fat. But it changed the way I look atmyself.”

“You were just as beautiful before,” I argued. And I meant it. If Juliet 2.0 was a cheater, it wasnotanupgrade.