Page 4 of The Last Person (Baker Girls #5)

CHAPTER FOUR

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“When you said you’d find a place, I thought you meant a place with an apartment for each of us.”

Hardy grins at me as we ride in the shared penthouse elevator to the lower of two penthouses—the top one being the one Mark lives in. When Hardy mentioned what was happening with our apartments, Mark suggested this, and I’m not sure if it makes me happy or nauseous.

Living next to Hardy is one—mostly manageable—thing. Living with Hardy? That’s something else entirely.

“Hey, there are two master suites, so it’s practically two separate apartments. Let’s face it, I spend more time in your living room than I do my own, so we might as well share one.”

The elevator dings, and I don’t have time to respond to that before the doors open to reveal Mark standing there. He somehow convinced the building manager to let him be the one to show us the penthouse.

“Markie Mark coming in clutch to save our asses,” Hardy says as they fist bump.

“It’s mostly selfish. If you’re stressed, you’ll be playing like shit, and we have games to win.”

“Wow, so much love,” I say.

Mark claps me on the shoulder. “Trust me, once you see this place, you’ll know it’s all love. Plus, I’m suggesting it even though that means you can show up at my door anytime, and if that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

I chuckle at that. “You mean Hardy could show up there anytime.”

“Heard that,” he says from in front of us as we walk the few steps from the elevator to the apartment door. There’s also a locked stairwell next to the elevator that’s only accessible to the residents of the two penthouses.

Mark steps up next to him and unlocks the door with a keycard.

It opens into a hallway lined with built-in benches with hooks and cubbies plus two closets. It’ll be a great place to store our gear.

We’re not even all the way inside yet, and I already know it will probably be awesome.

I love Mark’s penthouse. It’s spacious with lots of natural light, and while I don’t love how dark the aesthetic vibe of his place is, it’s not that hard to lighten things up.

What is less awesome is the prospect of sharing an apartment with Hardy.

Not because I don’t want to be around him, but because sharing space with him all day every day might kill me.

Whatever I said about the beauty in unrequited love, usually you get some space to process the unrequitedness. To be away from that person. To exist outside it. When you’re forced to face it head-on all the time, it’s suffocating.

Light floods the space as we get to the end of the hall, and as Hardy’s eyes brighten with excitement, I know I’m fucked.

The kitchen and living room are centered in the space.

The living room is long, with a brick gas fireplace at the end and a TV above it.

It’s big enough for three couches. One in the center facing the fireplace and one on each side.

The long kitchen island with eight stools divides the kitchen and living rooms while keeping them open to each other.

“This is it,” Mark says. “As you can see, even though the overall amount of space is the same as mine, the layout is different, with more defined spaces.” He points to the hallways on either side of the kitchen.

“Those hallways lead to the two master suites. They’re mostly mirror images of each other, but the one on the right side of the kitchen has an extra window to let in the south-facing light. ”

I side-eye him. “Were you a realtor in another life?”

Mark beams at that. “Nope. Frannie’s mom walked through it with me this morning.”

Frannie and Hallie’s parents are real estate agents who also own property in the city.

“Look at those windows!” Hardy exclaims. Then he turns to me. “Think of how many more babies you could adopt.”

Mark stifles a laugh, then follows Hardy over toward the far side of the apartment where a second living area is.

“This space here can be completely walled off with these folding glass doors. They’re frosted for privacy, but will still let the light through.”

“Did Cheyenne give you cue cards?” I joke.

“Uh, no. I have an excellent memory. How else would I retain all the important plays?”

“By being good at your job?” I suggest.

Hardy, oblivious to our conversation, bounds back over to us. “Can we see the bedrooms now? Please?”

Mark laughs and gestures toward the hallway. “Go ahead.”

“Race ya,” Hardy says to me.

“Sure,” I say.

“One, two, three… go!” He takes off running, and I lazily lumber behind him, putting in just enough effort so it’s not completely obvious I’m not participating.

We stop at the south-facing room first, and I’ll admit I’m blown away when I see how big it is. A king-size bed is the first thing I see when we walk in, and beyond it is a wall of windows. There’s a comfortable chair in one corner by the windows and a desk at the other.

On the wall opposite the bed are two doors.

One is closed, and I’m assuming it’s a closet.

The other is open to the bathroom. I wander inside, taking in the large space with a double-vanity sink—why the fuck do I need that?

—a large tub that my achy muscles would be happy to soak in after a game, and a large glass-enclosed shower stall with two rainfall showerheads.

“What do you think?” Mark asks, standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

“It’s great,” I say, though my voice doesn’t sound like I mean it. Why does this apartment have to be so fucking perfect? And why does Mark seem so happy about it?

“This has to be your room. You could fill the entire window with plants,” Hardy says.

I nod absently, walking back to the window and looking out at the city beyond. I could see myself living here. Staring out the window at night, watering my plant babies, writing at the desk in the corner. I swallow as I turn back to the bed. Lounging there with Hardy in my arms.

Nope. Those are the kind of thoughts I’m not allowed to have because they only lead to heartache.

“Can I see my room?” Hardy asks like a little puppy.

Pushing down everything else, I chuckle and gesture toward the door. “Let’s go.”

We head to the other room, which is similar to the one we just saw, though the closet is bigger—perfect for Hardy—the wood tones are a little darker, and there are more grays and dark blues in the bathroom compared to the white and sandstone tones of the other one.

When we get back out to the living area, I notice the dining table off to the side of the hallway that I didn’t catch when we came in.

“Where does that hallway go?” Hardy asks, gesturing to the one that runs between the dining area and the fireplace.

“To the two guest rooms, laundry room, and bathroom.”

Hardy’s eyes go wide again. “I want to see.”

“Go ahead,” Mark says with a laugh.

Hardy takes a step, then looks back at me.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

Once he’s down the hallway and safely out of earshot, I whirl on Mark.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh, helping my friends and teammates find an apartment?”

“Mhm. And how long has this place been on the market?”

He shrugs. “A few days, I think.”

“And it’s still available? I figured a place like this would’ve been snapped up quickly. Unless someone pulled some strings.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“You’re meddling.”

He leans over the counter on his elbows, tucking his hands under his chin like a perfect angel. “What would I be meddling in?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know. Hallie, Frannie, and Kennedy do, which means everyone else does. And I don’t need them meddling secondhand.”

He stands up straight and puts a hand to his chest.

“I’m offended you think I need the Baker girls to talk me into meddling. I’m an Abbott. Meddling runs in my blood.”

“Well, don’t meddle with this. It has every chance of blowing up in all our faces—our friend group and the team.”

“Why?”

Is he delusional?

“Because this isn’t happening. You’re all kidding yourselves if you think he’s magically going to fall into my arms. Living together is only going to intensify my feelings and eventually things will get awkward.”

Mark stares me down. “Then say no.”

“What?”

“When he comes back out here, say no. I’m sure you can come up with some kind of reason. Or just admit you want more space to yourself—more distance from him.”

“I can’t do that. I can’t tell him no.”

Mark walks over to me, curly auburn hair glinting in the light from those gorgeous windows, and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You can, but you won’t. Maybe instead of getting annoyed with me, you should ask yourself why you won’t say no to him.”

Hardy flies back into the room before I can respond to that.

Not that there is a response to it. Not one I’d say out loud.

Because there’s only one answer. I won’t say no to him because then I’d have to see the disappointment on his face, and I never want him to be disappointed. All I want is to make him happy, even at the cost of my own heart.

So, when Hardy asks, “What do you think? Can we get it?” I ignore the intensity of Mark’s stare as I say, “Absolutely.”

I stand in front of my bookcase, slowly pulling books off and carefully placing them in the box.

We signed the paperwork on the penthouse as soon as we were done looking at it, and while Hardy’s excitement and puppy dog eyes were part of why I said yes, it wasn’t only him.

He said he’d find another place that felt like home, and from the moment I saw the living area with the fireplace and the huge windows, my soul settled.

Like I was stepping into the place that was supposed to be my home.

Sharing it with Hardy might make my life more complicated, but maybe it won’t. It’s always easy with us, and despite the vague weirdness I’ve noticed lately, we’re still us. And I’m going to focus on that. He’s my best friend for a reason. Maybe we’ll have fun together.

Or maybe I’m completely delusional.

My hand hovers over my favorite poetry book. It’s new, only released a few months ago, but the poems live in my soul.