Page 4 of Only Lovers in the Building

@LegalLyon Four ways to blow up your life in twenty-four hours. A thread.

Quit your job. Walk out and don’t look back.

Pay a premium for a flight home, then miss it.

Book an Airbnb. Hit a bar and thirst over the bartender. Kiss him without consent and wait to be slapped with a lawsuit.

Delete.

Lily chucked her phone clear across the bed. Best to stay off The App Formerly Known as Twitter. What good was it to telegraph

to the world how badly she’d screwed up? As a sage woman once said, she could do bad all by herself.

Alone and awake at six in the morning in her strange new home, Lily was shaking with anxiety.

The events of the past few days rattled her.

What had possessed her to quit her job on the flimsiest of excuses?

Regret, hurt feelings, and bruised pride were no reason to give up a six-figure salary and top-notch benefits.

The way she’d gone about it, too... She hadn’t just burned a bridge, she’d polluted the stream beneath it.

Then to turn around and book a summer rental in the heart of Miami Beach like it was nothing!

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Now she felt lost and disoriented in this sterile white box of a studio apartment.

When startled awake in the dead of night, she’d fumbled about for the light switch for an eternity. Okay, it was just a minute

or so, but that’s a long time when a) you desperately need to pee and b) have no muscle memory of the way to the bathroom.

And then there was the mishap with Hot Bartender. She would have done better by kissing the guy in the suit. He was straight

and single, too! More likely than not, she had far more in common with that guy than him. Sad women on solo dates were most

definitely not his type. Why had she gone and made a fool of herself when she wasn’t even all that drunk? Now she could never show her face

at the rooftop bar again. It was going to be one cruel-ass summer.

Lily scrambled out of bed. She was in the throes of a meltdown and needed caffeine. The kitchenette was stark white and spotless.

A Mr. Coffee machine was tucked in a cabinet, but with no ground coffee or filters. No matter that the sun had barely peaked.

Time for a coffee run.

She rummaged through the open suitcase at the foot of the bed for something to wear. Everything she’d packed was work appropriate,

tasteful, and neutral. Even her bathing suit and other beachy things fit the bill. No cutoff denim shorts, no cute halter

tops, no bright-colored sarongs or faded T-shirts. She’d have to add a whole new wardrobe to her online cart if she wanted

to fit in. But there was no need to fit in at six in the morning. Her pajamas were fine. The classic navy two-piece with contrasting

piping had a touch of old-Hollywood glam befitting an Art Deco building. She secured her wild hair with a clip and was ready

to go. No. Wait. She wasn’t ready at all. No money, no keys, no phone, and... no shoes.

She slid on the pointy-toed kitten heels abandoned by the door and found the set of keys the property manager had given her the night before.

The official title of Property Manager was a bit of a stretch.

Dr. Jake Goldman, a clinical psychologist in his thirties, had inherited the condo from his grandmother who’d retired to Miami Beach.

He lived with his family in Sunny Isles and rented out this property, but only for extended stays.

“Fewer hassles,” he’d explained during their friendly walk-through.

Lily had struggled to pay attention to Dr. Jake.

She was still stinging with embarrassment from the elevator-ride fiasco.

Her money clip was on the kitchen counter next to the keys. As she headed out, she caught her reflection in a large round

mirror and scurried back to the bedroom for a pair of dark sunglasses to hide her puffy, bloodshot eyes. Then she was off,

on a mission to buy a gallon of coffee. She locked her door just as the door directly across the narrow hall swung open. That’s

how at six thirty she found herself face-to-face with the hot bartender.

She closed her eyes and wished him away. For a moment, her world went still, and she was fool enough to believe it had worked.

Unfortunately, his image was seared into her retinas. Dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants. Chiseled face soft with morning

scruff. This was Miami, she reasoned. There were loads of men who looked like that. It could be anyone, not just the one she’d

attacked the night before.

“Lily?”

Nothing to do now but smile. “Hey there, Ben! Or is it Benny?”

“It’s Benedicto.”

“Ha! Bet no one calls you that!”

Her smile was so tight, her neck muscles ached.

“Not even my mother. Call me Ben.”

“Okay, Ben! Good seeing you... at this early hour!”

She took a few sidelong steps toward the stairwell, preferring to walk down seven flights of stairs in heels than get on an

elevator with him.

“Did you move in last night?” he asked.

She stopped and fidgeted. “Yes. This is home for the summer.”

“Ah,” he said. “We have a landlord in common.”

Curiosity got the best of her. She moved toward him. “Dr. Jake owns your unit, too?”

“And an apartment on the tenth floor.”

“Are you kidding? He said his grandmother—”

“His grandmother was a real estate mogul. She left him several properties.”

“Jesus...”

“I know,” he said. “We should all be so lucky. All I got from my grandmother is a statue of la Virgen de la Caridad .”

They laughed rather mechanically. Internally, Lily was freaking out. How could he be so bright and shiny so freaking early

in the morning after working all evening? She was thankful for the sunglasses that ate up half her face. Quickly, she thought

of something clever to say. “All I got from my grandmother is my stupid name.”

“Don’t say that. Your name is beautiful.”

That word again! “Are you off to the gym?”

“Going for a run.”

“Me, too.” His gaze slid from her face, taking in her outfit. She prayed he thought it eclectic and cool. “A coffee run.”

“This early?” He checked the time on the watch he likely only used to count steps. “Liliana, nothing is open. The nearest

coffee shop is blocks away. Trust me, I know.”

She wondered if he realized he’d changed her name. Normally, she objected when people did that. Not this time.

“Let me make you coffee,” he offered.

“No way!”

“Why not?”

Lily gesticulated wildly at his sporty attire. “You’re headed out for a run.”

“I’m not up for it this morning,” he said. “That was wishful thinking on my part. Let me make you coffee.”

Lily considered him. She should not have lumped him in with all the losers she’d loved before. Badass bartender aura and all,

he had a certain elegance in his manners and speech. Last night, he’d said something about grad school. She hadn’t asked about

it then but was curious now.

“If you insist,” she said.

“It’s the neighborly thing to do. Come inside.”

And that’s how, at six forty-five in the morning, Lily found herself in her hot neighbor ’s apartment.

Ben’s place was the mirror opposite of hers, with more natural light and a nicer view from the kitchen window. Only his apartment

looked like a Before picture, and hers the After. The parquet floor had a yellowish-orange tint. The walls were textured,

not smooth like hers, and painted a shade of alabaster, whereas hers were a stark white. The kitchen countertop was butcher

block, the backsplash vintage tile, and the black cabinet doors were uneven on brass hinges. It was perfection, every detail.

“You have patina, and texture, and warmth, and brass, and... a gooseneck faucet!”

“Don’t get excited. It leaks.”

“My point is you’ve got character.”

“Jake isn’t done remodeling. He’ll get to my side of the street eventually.”

“Could we stop him?”

“Join forces?” he suggested.

“Yes!”

“Not likely,” he said. “Sit down.”

Lily sidled up to the breakfast bar and watched him work, stricken by déjà vu. It was like last night except with caffeine.

“How do you take your coffee?” he asked.

“Bitter and strong,” she said. “I’m a New Yorker to the core.”

If he had a standard-issued coffee machine, he wasn’t using it. Instead, he rinsed out a moka pot and filled the reservoir

with hot water. “I’m Cuban,” he said. “I take it creamy and sweet.”

When he started grinding coffee beans and the aroma filled the kitchen, she thanked the coffee gods above. “Do you always

go all out like this, or are you trying to impress me?”

He tossed her a grin and went on working. “It’s just coffee, Lily.”

“No,” she said. “Mr. Coffee is just coffee.”

He cut her a glance. “Come here. You’ve got a lot to learn.”

Now, why was that so hot?

Ben walked her through the steps of filling the reservoir with water and the little metal basket with the freshly ground coffee.

He placed a hand over hers and showed her how to tamp it down and apply the right pressure, even though a child could do it.

“Remember,” he said, “we want to pack the grounds tight.”

Lily looked up and studied his focused expression. This was who he was at the core: focused, attentive to detail. Last night,

she’d treated him like man candy. That wasn’t right. She was stressed, not in her right mind, but that was no excuse. All

the man had done was smirk at her, and she’d somehow taken that as an invitation.

He twisted the moka pot shut and set it on the stovetop. “Let’s give it a minute.”

Lily returned to the barstool and pressed her hands between her knees. There was something intimate about a man making you coffee first thing in the morning.

“This is awkward,” she whispered.

“Why?” he asked.

“I... don’t know.” Women likely jumped him all the time. Why bring it up? She switched topics. “Last night you mentioned

grad school. What do you study?”

“I said a lot of things last night and forgot them all after you kissed me.”

Lily screeched.

“Sorry!” He grinned. “Had to poke the elephant in the room.”

“Not true! We could’ve kept ignoring it!”

“Don’t you feel less awkward?”

“No!” she cried. “I can hardly look at you!”

“Lily,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”

Was he saying that to make her feel better? “It’s not. And I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “I’m not.”

Now that was a lie. “Oh, come on! You didn’t kiss back!”

“I had my reasons.”

“Such as?”

What if he wasn’t straight or single, despite what Noah from the tenth floor had attested? She hadn’t asked. Instead, she’d

taken the word of a virtual stranger... to make a move on another stranger.

“It felt to me like you dared yourself to do it,” he replied. “And that’s just not how I like to be kissed.”

“Oh really?”

Funny, she thought. You go your whole life wanting to be seen and understood. When it happens, you don’t care for it. You

feel fragile and exposed. In fact, you hate it.

The coffeepot percolated, and her phone rang at the same time. He turned his back to her, and she glanced at the screen. The name on her caller ID had her in a cold sweat. The Saint.

Lily slid off the barstool. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

“I’m almost done,” he said. “Sugar?”

“Uh-huh...” She was already at the door, phone still ringing in her hand. “I’ll be back, but honestly, I’m not sure when.

I’m really sorry!” Lily was across the hall and back in her apartment in no time. With her back to the locked door, she answered

the call. “Hello?”

“Liliane!”

Not everyone called her Lily. To her parents, she would always be Marie-Louise Liliane Lyon.

“Good morning, Dad.”

It was early, even for him. Her parents had expected to hear from her last night, a quick text to reassure them she’d landed

safely. If she didn’t answer this call, they’d alert the National Guard.

“What’s this I’m reading on BookTap?” her father said. “You’re a beach bum now? Aren’t you coming home? What about work?”

She needn’t have worried. They were up to speed.

“Dad, since when are you on BookTap?”

BookTap was the book community’s answer to social media upheaval. It provided a safe space to share hot takes on books, publishing

news, and author drama—all genres included. Founded by a former Instagram exec, members included the likes of Obama, Oprah,

and Deepak Chopra.

Her father sighed. “Liliane, the whole world is on that app now.”

Lily focused her thoughts, took a breath, and presented oral arguments to Judge Yves Lyon of New York’s Second District Court.

These were the lies she told: after working for months to close a deal, she was granted a sabbatical.

No way was she tapping into her savings: her bonus would cover the expense.

And she would put her free time to good use by signing up for pro bono work and finally learning Spanish.

Fifteen long minutes later, after promising she would no longer post about frivolous things and instead use her account to establish herself in the legal community, she said goodbye to her father, sent her love to her mother, and promptly blocked him on BookTap.

Lily slid onto the floor, weighed down by her deception. It made no sense, lying to everyone and anyone. She’d quit her job!

So what? She had savings, resources, a law license, and years of experience under her belt. She was going to see her way through.

Why couldn’t she stand her ground, own her truth, or whatever?

She spiraled back in time to the moment her career had gone up in smoke. Not smoke, exactly. Eucalyptus-scented steam pumped

out in thick tufts at a five-star Miami Beach spa, of all places. She’d stormed out of the banquet hall and sought refuge

in the spa. There, she exchanged her cocktail dress for a towel and settled in the steam room for a good cry. She mourned

her career as much as the life with Darren that she hadn’t wanted but now seemed so full, so rich. When at twenty she’d envisioned

her future with the aid of magazine cutouts of her life and legal career in the city, she could not have imagined it would

shape out like this. “I need to know what else is out there for me,” she’d told him. Well, now she knew, and it wasn’t great.

She blinked the image away. Now was not the time for a meltdown. Her neighbor was making her coffee. Although, by now, the

coffee had surely gone cold and Ben had given up on her.

Head throbbing, she set out for a caffeine fix, once again. If Ben did not come to the door, she was hopeful a coffee shop

would be open by now.

A small package on the welcome mat outside her door stopped her in her tracks. Wrapped in a tea towel was a stainless-steel travel mug along with a Ziploc bag filled with sugar packets of the type collected at random drive-through windows. There was even a handwritten note.

Love thy neighbor.

—Ben