Page 24 of Only Lovers in the Building

The Total Package

The Italian architect, French baker, American rancher, rock star, and prince of some imaginary kingdom—what do they have in

common, aside from their height and their sun-kissed skin? These are the romantic leads, the heroes, in novels written by

women.

In my experience, holding out for the total package is a strategy that leaves you empty-handed. The architect’s career is

crumbling. The rock star has poor impulse control. The hockey player is in training and can’t commit. We’ll make excuses.

“He’s not so bad,” we’ll confess to our friends at the bottom of a bottomless-mimosa brunch. “He’s just stressed with work.”

All this to say we are not well-crafted characters but flawed human beings, and—

Lily dropped her pen and picked up her buzzing phone. There was a message from Ben: You up?

Ever since they’d started texting, he would send her the loveliest messages at all times of day or night.

Then, as a palette cleanser, he’d send her something like this—a reminder that he was just a guy and not the romance hero she was building him up to be in her mind.

Going forward, she would see potential love interests for who they were and not who she wished them to be—a mindset that would have saved her so much heartache in the past, starting with Darren.

Had she not read too much into his sweet smile and Midwestern manners, she might have seen him for the flat tire that he was.

Lily: I expect better from you.

Ben: I’m done for the night. Can we talk?

Lily: That’s better.

It was a Wednesday night, and Ben had once again filled in for Roxanna. Her baby was colicky and needed his mother. The way

Ben selflessly gave of his time only added to the myth that he was better than any main character.

Lily: Want to meet out in the hall in 10?

The hall was neutral territory. She wasn’t going to his place this late at night or inviting him over. Any friendship required

boundaries. The romance genre had taught her one undeniable truth: you can meet the right person at the wrong time, and nothing

you do can change the doomed outcome.

Ben: I’ll be waiting.

Ben had seen her in every possible state, and his hands had been everywhere.

She should feel comfortable enough to step out to meet him in the oversize T-shirt she’d worn to bed but, again, boundaries.

She grabbed her robe off the hook in the bathroom.

He was waiting outside his door, a backpack in hand.

His black T-shirt was rumpled and water-stained.

She suppressed the urge to invite him in to take a load off.

“I heard from my agent,” he said. “They’ve agreed to our terms. She’ll forward the contract in the morning for us to take

a first look.”

“Oh my God,” she murmured. “That’s fast!”

In her world, any contractual agreement took months and months of negotiating. However, this was Ben’s world, and she lacked

subject matter expertise. She took a back seat and let him spearhead the negotiations. So far, he’d done an excellent job

fast-tracking the deal. Good thing, too. The takeaway from their initial call with the producers of Pop Shop , a high-ranking pop culture podcast, was that there was no time to waste. A sudden vacancy had to be filled. They were looking

for someone to cover a few episodes over the summer with smart and fun content until a permanent host could be found. Allison

was convinced that a limited series on romance from the perspective of smart young professionals was the perfect fit. For

Lily, it was an opportunity to raise her profile in the book community and earn money over the summer.

He tilted his head to study her. “How do you feel?”

“I’m excited,” Lily admitted.

The idea had enticed her from the start, though she’d been reluctant to admit it. She’d considered the negative impact on

the future of her legal career and factored in her father’s opinion. None of that mattered now that the opportunity was at

hand.

The elevator whirred and dinged and opened at the end of the hall.

Jeremy, who Lily had yet to talk to about anything substantive, let alone his legal dilemmas, stumbled out.

This time, there was no awkwardness. Ben said, “Hey.” Jeremy waved hello as if swatting a fly and rounded the corner to his apartment.

It was enough to make Lily change her mind about the hall.

This was no safe space. “Let’s head inside. ”

Ben let her into his apartment. He switched on a soft light and dropped his backpack at the doorway. “Roxanna found a new

job at a resort,” he announced. “In a few weeks, she’ll start a day shift at the hotel bar. The new schedule works for her

family.”

This meant he wouldn’t have to cover shifts for her anymore. “Is this the end of your bartending career?”

“Could be,” he said. “I’d miss it.”

“Well... I’ll take a glass of water, please.”

“Lemon?”

“No, thanks.”

“Coming right up. Have a seat.”

Lily sat at the table. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the leather box on the bookshelf.

“Why were you up so late?” Ben asked.

“Hmm?” she asked, distracted by the box.

“Were you reading?” he asked.

She turned away from the box. “No, actually... I was working out my perspective on romantic fiction.”

“Really?” he asked, rummaging through the refrigerator.

“Yes, really,” she said. “You only have yourself to blame.”

His laugh was low, warm, and familiar. “You give me too much credit.”

“Enjoy it,” Lily replied. “It won’t happen again.”

“What is the Lily Lyon perspective on romantic fiction?” he asked.

“It’s a work in progress.”

He dropped a container onto the counter. “Let’s hear it.”

She launched into her theory. “One of the main complaints about the genre is that it sets up unrealistic expectations. One

false expectation is that men will man up , for lack of a better term. No offense, but your gender has not been pulling its weight.”

“None taken,” he said. “But please, go on. I’m intrigued.”

“The reader risks falling for a type or a trope, rather than a person,” she said.

“Not buying it. The same could be said about fairy tales.”

“Fairy tales had their moment,” Lily said. “Generations of girls hoped their prince would come.”

“Hope kills.”

“It’s a deadly drug.”

“Should we work your theories into the podcast?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she said. “But first we should come up with a concept, then break down each episode.”

“We don’t need a concept. All we need is you.”

“Are you sure you’re not a romance hero? You always say the right thing.”

“I’m no hero, Lily. You know it.”

“I know you only agreed to the podcast because of me.”

Without Ben there would have been no offer. She was no one, as far as Allison Leigh was concerned. Ben, fresh off his MacArthur

win, was the draw.

“I’m getting paid to do something I was happy to do for free,” he said. “I don’t think I made it out so bad.” He joined her

at the table with water and a bowl of grapes. “Sorry. This is all I have.”

“That’s fine.” Lily reached for a grape. “Next time I go grocery shopping, I’ll get us some proper late-night snacks.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said.

“I want to,” she replied. “I like shopping for us.”

She wished she hadn’t said that. A statement like that would freak out most guys. It made it sound as if she were ready to

move in. Ben didn’t seem to mind. After a moment, he got up and retrieved the leather box.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I saw you looking at it.”

Lily stirred uncomfortably in her seat. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh no,” he said. “You want insight into my black soul, you’re getting it.”

It was a classic case of careful what you wish for. Whatever was in the box, it was possible she wasn’t meant to see.

He dropped the box onto the table and opened it. She peered inside. It held a collection of leatherbound notebooks, a stack

of letters wrapped in ribbon, and a watch.

“Are these his notebooks?”

“His journals,” Ben replied. “He spent the last decade jotting down memories. He was working on a memoir. It’s all here, all

the twists and turns of an incredible life.”

“Wow.” That was all she managed to say.

“He died alone.”

“ Alone or just... alone?”

Although her question didn’t make sense, she was confident Ben would tease out the meaning.

“Alone,” Ben said. “He had no one.”

“He had you.”

“No, he didn’t. I visited him twice,” Ben explained. “The first time, he was asleep, drugged up on morphine. The second time,

he was dead.”

“Ben, I’m so sorry. No one deserves that.”

“He might’ve,” Ben said evenly. He reached into the box for a notebook and thumbed through the yellowed pages. “He married

for money and pushed away anyone who truly loved him.”

“Including you?” she asked.

“I didn’t know him enough to love him, and the little I knew I didn’t like.”

“I see.”

“He was alone in the end,” he repeated. “I’m trying to avoid a similar fate.”

“You?”

He laughed. “Yes, me!”

Dying alone—corpse consumed by cats—was the scare tactic peddled by the patriarchy to push women into marriage. Why should

Ben have to worry about that? He was loved by everyone.

“My track record isn’t very good, and you know what they say. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“I don’t accept that. You are your own apple.”

He drew the stack of letters from the box and dropped it on the table. “See this?” he said. “Letters from women he screwed

over, explaining how much of an asshole he was.”

“They didn’t have Block and Mute buttons back then,” Lily said.

“My last girlfriend left me a voice memo listing everything I’d done to push her away.”

“You mean Bella?”

He didn’t answer.

“What went wrong there?” she asked, guided by naked curiosity.

“We’d agreed from the start to keep it casual. A while later, I stupidly believed that agreement was still in effect.”

“This is why I don’t do casual,” Lily said. “Those agreements are tricky and typically expire after three months.”

“Do they? No one told me.”