Page 25 of Only Lovers in the Building

“At which time, the parties must return to the negotiating table and decide either to keep it casual or hash out a new deal.”

He offered her a grim smile. “I knew I should’ve hired a lawyer.”

“How long were you seeing her?” Lily asked. It had to have been a while if the whole building knew about it.

“We would’ve hit the six-month mark in June,” he said. “But there’s more to it than that. Bella is Rox’s best friend’s younger

sister.”

“No!”

“Yes,” he said gravely. “And my friend, too, I should add. What do the rules say about that?”

“It’s prohibited by statute,” Lily said. “Unless, of course, you’re damn sure of your feelings.”

“I had feelings, but not to the degree that she had.”

Lily asked one final question. “Do you still have feelings?”

When they locked eyes this time, she was trapped.

“You know I don’t,” he said.

“I only know what you tell me, Ben.”

“I’ll tell you this,” he said. “I can’t have another relationship blow up in my face.”

Most of her relationships had ended without fanfare. She blocked the man’s number and deleted any photos. Afterward, she’d

order in and open a bottle of wine. Lily wasn’t one to key anyone’s car or cause a fuss at their place of employment. She

wouldn’t have taken time out of her busy day to drop off an ex’s personal items, either. Anything left behind at her apartment

would be donated to charity or disposed of responsibly. Valuable pieces were shipped to the owner with a handwritten note.

Her mother had raised a lady.

Ben packed up the box. “That thing Socrates said about the unexamined life? Turns out he was on to something. My father could

write lyrically about power dynamics and politics and never once look within. That’s what I’m trying to do this summer. Take

some time to sort myself out.”

“Sounds to me we’re on the same quest,” Lily said.

“You’re going to be fine, Lily,” he said. “My life is an electric storm. Pulling someone else into it would be criminal.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“It’s true. I can’t risk it,” he said. “Not after the mess with Bella. If I’ve learned anything, it matters how things end.”

Lily heard the warning; nevertheless, she persisted. “We wouldn’t have to worry about that. I’m leaving at the end of summer.”

Her words were met with silence. He was thinking it over, analyzing every possible outcome. What if it weren’t that complicated? In six weeks, she’d be gone. It would hurt, but she’d be back in her city and would get over it.

“In other words, we’d keep it casual,” he said finally.

“Yes,” she said, keeping her tone as casual as possible. “And we wouldn’t have to return to the negotiating table because

I’d be gone. It would be just for the summer.”

“Where have I heard that before?”

Well, she had more in common with the horny spring breakers of his youth than she’d initially thought.

“You don’t do casual,” he reminded her.

“You’re right.” She let out a defeated sigh. There wasn’t a casual bone in her thirty-year-old body.

Ben pushed back his chair and left the table to retrieve his backpack. From it, he withdrew a copy of Around Midnight . “For you.”

He didn’t have to buy her books. She could easily download the e-book on her device. In fact, she already had. But what if

this was his love language? Who was she to deprive him?

She accepted the gift. “Thank you.”

He moved to the couch. “Come. Read to me.”

If he’d asked her to kiss him, whip him, strip off her clothes, it wouldn’t have been as erotically charged.

She joined him on the couch. He rested his head on her lap. In the soft light of a lamp, her fingers in his hair, she opened

the book to the prologue.

Neither of them was dying alone tonight.

Sabato

B.R. Journal Entry, May 19

Born in a remote town in Cuba, sent away to boarding school in Havana, and all but abandoned by his mother, these were the events that marked the early years of Sabato Romero’s life.

Clever and resourceful, he never went without.

Twenty years later, when he landed in Florida, the conditions were ripe for his rise.

Tall and handsome, with a weakness for women and cigars.

His love was a firefly trapped in a jar: it would not survive the night.

By dawn he was gone, searching for another pair of arms that could offer more.

He did not confide in anyone, but he bled in blue ink on the page.

A lover published one of his poems in a paper. From then on, his influence only grew.

I was born in Miami. Where my mother struggled and often failed, my grandmother and aunts stepped in. Much is written about

the tragedy of absentee fathers, but I can’t speak to that. I was surrounded by women who kept me warm, safe, and fed. I was

loved, my achievements were celebrated, and my every dream encouraged. Even with all that, I knew there were things only he

could teach me. Not how to shave or tie a tie—I’d managed on my own. I had bigger questions. How to enter spaces where I clearly

did not belong and claim them as my own. How to chart my destiny with only words on a page. How to leave my mark on this world.

The answers may well be buried in the box you left me, filled with your notes and papers. But how can I build on your foundation

without destroying my own? Each day, I grow more into you than myself as it is.