“He ain’t clueless. He knows. But for one reason or another, he isn’t letting you know he knows.”
It was pretty amazing that Drew had zeroed in on something I’d suspected for a long time. I’d always felt like Baldwin knew about my feelings for him, even though I’d never voiced them. And part of me believed Baldwin returned some of those feelings, even though he’d never acted on them. Which is why I’d decided to make the first move—literally—and I moved to New York. Somehow I’d gotten it into my head that since he was single now, the time was right. But all I’d succeeded in doing was torturing myself, as he brought different dates home a few nights a week.
“I thought if I moved to New York, maybe it would be our time.”
“He’s single now?”
“He’s not dating anyone seriously, no. Although it seems like he’s been through half of the women in New York over the last few months. He comes home with a different woman almost every week. The newest one is Rachel.” I rolled my eyes.
“You live with this guy?”
“No. I sublet the apartment next door to him while his neighbor is teaching in Africa for a year.”
“Let me get this straight. He walks women by the apartment you live in and has never acknowledged that he knows how you feel about him.”
“It’s my fault. I’ve still never told him how I feel.”
“It’s not your fault. The guy’s an asshole.”
“No, he’s not.”
“Open your eyes, Emerie.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I hope you’re right. But I’d put money on not being wrong.”
I could feel the anger rising in my throat and considered storming back to my office and not helping unpack the rest of his boxes, but I was getting Park Avenue space for free. So instead, I kept quiet and finished what we’d started—until I unwrapped the last item.
It was a small picture frame covered in bubble wrap. Drew had left the office to take some boxes out to the garbage compactor in the building’s maintenance room. He’d just returned when I unraveled the last layer of tape. The photo was of a beautiful little boy dressed in a hockey uniform. He was probably six or seven years old, and a golden retriever licked his face as he laughed.
Smiling, I turned to face Drew. “He’s adorable. Is this your little boy?”
He took the photo from my hand. His answer was curt. “No.”
When our eyes met, I was about to ask another question when he cut me off. “Thanks for helping me unpack. I have to get ready for an appointment.”
Drew, New Year’s Eve, Seven years ago
I stood in the little room at the back of the church, staring outside. It was pouring, and the sky was a deep shade of somber grey. Fitting. It was how I felt.
Somber.
Which was probably not the most encouraging sign that I was making the right choice.
Roman opened the door. “There you are. How many people did your father invite? There have to be four hundred people filling the place. They started ushering them up to the balcony already.”
“I have no idea. I didn’t ask.” The truth was, there was very little I’d asked about regarding the wedding. I’d chalked my lack of interest up to being busy studying in law school, but lately I’d realized it was more than that. I wasn’t excited to be getting married.
Roman stood next to me and joined my staring out the window. He reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo and pulled out a flask, offering it to me first. I took it because I needed it.
“Car is in the back if you want to bail,” he said.
I sidelong glanced at him as I sucked a double shot of whiskey out of the flask. “I couldn’t do that to her. She’s having my baby, man.”
“She’s gonna be having your baby whether she likes it or not in two months.”
“I know. But it’s the right thing to do.”