Page 12 of Only Lovers in the Building

Blurred Lines by Kayla Clark is an age-gap romance with a significant plot hole. #mindthegap

Back at her place, Lily threw herself onto the couch, finished the novel, and posted an update. Then she reached out to her

brother. Her call went straight to voice mail, which was only right, considering she’d ignored three of his calls. However,

Patrick was decent enough to follow up with a text.

Pat: Can’t talk now. At a conference. What are you up to? Dad says you’re on sabbatical.

Lily imagined her serious brother concealing his phone like back in high school, texting from under a conference table, while

someone droned on about mortality rates or MRSA.

Lily: I quit my job.

Pat: No shit. Who goes on sabbatical? That’s not a real thing.

Lily: Are you shocked? Surprised? Disappointed?

Pat: I’m none of those things. You hated that stupid job.

Lily: How do you know?

Pat: That’s what you called it. My stupid job.

Lily: I had enough.

Pat: I get it.

Lily: Dad doesn’t.

Pat: He won’t. Mom won’t talk to you until you come to your senses. She didn’t raise a beach bum.

Lily: Can you work your magic on her?

Pat: Not this time.

Lily: Could you ask her to check in on Monster?

Pat: What?

Lily: Just do it!

Lily chucked her phone. She went to the kitchen to eat crunchy peanut butter out of the jar, then to the bathroom to file

her nails. When there was nothing left to do but sit in silence and replay her earlier conversation with Ben, a knock on the

door saved her. She opened to a stone-faced brunette with raging green eyes.

“You’re Lily, right?” she asked. “I’m Kylie from the third floor. Noah sent me your way.”

Any friend of Noah’s was a potential friend of hers, so Lily studied the woman’s unsmiling face. Kylie was pretty with short

brown hair and pale freckles scattered over the bridge of her nose. She was taller and curvier than Lily and more direct.

“Noah and I had dinner plans,” she said. “He bailed last minute. The reservation was tough to get, and I don’t want to cancel.

He said you might be free. Are you? Dinner is on me.”

Under any other circumstances than her current one, Lily might have resented this lazy, last-minute invitation. Kylie from

the third floor didn’t care who joined her for dinner: she was looking for a seat-filler. Honestly, she did not seem like

a pleasant dinner partner. That aside, Lily had no plans for the night, except sitting in silence and all that. Plus, she’d

meant to check out Miami’s restaurant scene. Now was as good a time as any.

“Sure. Why not?”

“You should know I’m a food blogger,” Kylie warned her. “I’ll take pics of everything. Some people find it cringe, and I get

it, but that’s what’s happening.”

“I don’t mind.”

Who better to discover a new restaurant with if not a bona fide foodie? Might be fun.

They agreed to meet in the lobby in an hour. Kylie had booked an Uber, and it was waiting when Lily got there. By Manhattan

standards, the Italian restaurant was within walking distance. In Miami, this was unthinkable. “Not in this heat,” Kylie said,

holding open the car door. They rode to the newly opened restaurant, which turned out to be an old New York spot. Everything

made its way south, eventually.

As soon as the bread basket hit their corner table, Kylie whipped out her phone and started snapping pictures.

This earned her sidelong glances from a couple at the next table.

She ignored them and went about her business, switching angles, moving the bottles of olive oil and balsamic vinegar until she was satisfied. This was work, not fun.

“I can’t count on him,” she said. “One text from a guy and poof! He’s gone!”

“Who? Noah?” Lily asked.

Kylie’s silence said everything.

In the books she’d picked up lately, friendships were uncomplicated. The main character’s pal was an unwavering ally who never

let them down. In real life, friends could be flaky. They followed boyfriends across country, took jobs in Europe, or quit

social media to focus on inner peace. Work friends weren’t friends at all: the competition was too fierce. There were only

so many promotions, perks, and corner offices to go around. Often, what you were left with, particularly as you entered your

thirties, was a former roommate with whom you have little in common aside from shared memories of a beloved apartment, a girl

at your gym who’s up for coffee after Pilates, the friend who travels too often to make plans, and a guy you’d love to hang

out with if he didn’t live way out in Long Island.

Their waiter set their cocktails before them. “Take all the photos you want,” he said. “Just no flash, please.”

Kylie turned red in the ears.

Lily sipped her perfectly crafted martini. She preferred the one Ben had made her, for some unknown reason, but this one was

strong enough to get her through dinner—that’s what counted.

Kylie set down her phone and picked up her glass of white wine. “So... when did you move in?”

“Over the weekend. I’m glad you stopped by. I’ve made a few friends, but they’re busy working.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Kylie’s reaction was swift. “I work!” she exclaimed.

“I didn’t mean to suggest—”

“Blogging isn’t all I do. I’m a private chef. Before that, I owned a food truck. It went bust in 2020. Before that, I was

a cook at a popular restaurant. Before that, I waitressed.”

“Didn’t mean to offend.”

Kylie deflated. “No... It’s fine. You’ve been wonderful. I’m a bitch tonight.”

“I understand,” Lily said. “My career is a sore spot, too.”

“Noah says you’re a lawyer.”

“Did he brief the whole building?” Lily asked.

“He keeps us informed,” Kylie answered. “It’s a public service.”

Every building needed an informant, Lily reasoned. Back home, she had Mrs. Appleton on the ground floor, who kept track of

everyone’s comings and goings.

“If you really are a lawyer—” Kylie started.

“I really am,” Lily interrupted.

“I know someone, this guy, Jeremy, who could use one.”

“I’m not licensed to practice in Florida. Is he in jail?”

“God, no! He’s an artist on your floor.”

“I never see anyone on my floor,” Lily said.

The fourth floor was hers and Ben’s private retreat, as far as she could tell.

“That’s because you’re at that weird dead end near the elevator,” Kylie said. “Anyway, back to Jeremy. He could use some help

with a contract. I think they’re taking him for a ride.”

“I’ll help if I can.”

“Thanks.”

The conversation was fizzling. Lily grappled for something to say. “Is it tough being a private chef? Long hours?”

“Not this summer,” Kylie replied. “My client is spending eight weeks in Italy.”

“Nice.”

“He’s on a family vacation in Lake Como. I’m so jealous.”

Lily raised her glass to the lucky bastards currently sipping Aperol spritz at posh beach clubs across Europe. Screw them!

“I recommend reading a book set in Italy,” she suggested. “God knows there are so many to choose from. It’s not like traveling

to Europe, but you’ll get the vibes.”

Kylie tapped the menu. “I recommend the lemon spaghetti.”

“Perfetto.”

“If I make tiramisu, could I join your book club?” Kylie asked. “I’m bored out of my mind.”

Lily was low-key impressed. Noah’s briefing had been thorough. However, she thought of Ben, of their cozy club for two, and

how much she would’ve loved to keep it that way. But Roxanna was right. She was courting trouble.

“I make an amazing tiramisu,” Kylie added. She’d likely picked up on Lily’s hesitation.

Oh, what the hell. “You’re in!”

“Awesome.”

“My loves!”

The familiar voice had them twisting around, searching for a familiar face. They spotted Noah making his way toward them.

He wore a slim-fitting dark suit, as was required at the jewelry store where he worked as a sales assistant. He sailed to

their table, pulled up a seat, and poured himself a glass of sparkling water from the bottle on the table.

“You made it!” Kylie cried.

“I told you I would!”

“No, you said you had a date.”

“An appointment ,” he said, correcting her. “A client called last minute. Nothing I could do. Before you give me a hard time, he bought a fifty-thousand-dollar watch.

It was his first time. He was nervous, and I had to hold his hand. For that commission, I’ll hold whatever he needs me to

hold for as long as he needs me to hold it.”

“I bet,” Kylie said.

“I thought I’d find you here alone, crying at the bar.”

“I’ve been crying on Lily’s shoulder instead.”

“Hi there,” Lily said, feeling like a prop in their two-person play.

Noah leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks for doing this,” he whispered. “Also, you smell amazing.”

Lily blushed. “Thank you.”

“One last thing.” Noah reached for the bread basket. “I wouldn’t dump you for a date. My dates are dull lately.”

Kylie expertly mixed olive oil and balsamic vinegar in a dipping dish. “What about that guy?”

“What about him?” Noah asked.

“I thought it was promising.”

“I called it after the second date. It’s over.”

“Second date?” Kylie and Lily cried in unison. Finally, something they could bond over! If there’d been a second date with

the reclusive state attorney, or anyone, they wanted to hear about it. The story was coming, they could feel it, but they’d

have to wait. Noah took his time, dipping a bit of artisanal bread in the olive oil and vinegar mix, savoring it, before he

was ready to share.

“We met for drinks this time,” Noah said. “No movies. No Timothée Chalamet. Nothing to distract us.”

Lily and Kylie exchanged knowing looks. It was the attorney.

“He wanted to talk, get to know me, know where I’ve lived, where my family’s from, whether or not I liked my job, if I had

ambitions for the future, secret passions, hobbies, pets, an OnlyFans account, my thoughts on voting, my thoughts on immigration,

my favorite song, favorite book, favorite actor, favorite movie of all time, and my dream vacation destination.”

“OnlyFans!” Kylie screeched. This earned her another sidelong look from the exasperated couple at the next table.