We both dressed quickly. He wrapped his suit jacket around my shoulders after I put my dress back on.
I thanked him.
He told me he loved me again.
I didn’t say it back. I couldn’t. I felt it within every cell of my body, but until I know what’s waiting for me at the end of this taxi ride, I can’t form the words.
We’re headed to the Upper East Side.
He gave the driver an address on East Sixty-Third Street.
I’m not familiar with that part of Manhattan. I don’t know if we’re going to his home or another hotel.
I don’t know anything other than how much I care for this man.
“This is it,” he says hoarsely to the driver as we pull up in front of a townhouse.
He slides some money from his wallet and hands it to the driver as I peer out the window.
This has to be where he lives. It’s a beautiful brick building.
I wait while he exits the car. He holds his hand out to help me get out. I take it, welcoming his touch.
“Do you live here?” I ask tentatively, not wanting to assume anything.
He nods. “My grandparents lived here. They left it to me.”
It’s not just rich in the history of the city. The memories it holds for him makes it priceless.
“It’s a huge place just for you,” I say teasingly, wanting to lessen the anxiety I’m feeling.
He brings my hand to his lips, kissing it softly. “I don’t live alone, angel.”
As the words leave his lips, the front door swings open.
We both turn to look at the sight of a teenager dressed in torn jeans and a dark hoodie standing just inside the foyer. The light from within illuminates his face.
His hair is blonde and curly.
He waves his hand in the air toward us, as he shouts, “Germany is home.”
A young woman wearing a blue T-shirt and yoga pants appears in the doorway too. She’s breathtaking. She must be in her late teens or early twenties. Her golden brown hair is falling around her shoulders in soft waves.
“Hey, Jer.” She smiles at us both. “Is that her? Did you finally bring Linny to meet us?”
“This is her.” Jeremy wraps his arm around my waist. “Linny, I want you to meet Breccan and Athena, my brother and sister.”
***
Jeremy closes the door behind us as we step into the foyer.
“I’m Zachariah.” A boy with a cast on his left arm approaches us. He looks like he’s twelve or thirteen-years-old. “It’s a family name. I don’t like it.”
“My name is Lincoln, so I feel your pain.”
He laughs. “Lincoln? As in Abraham Lincoln?”
I shrug. “It was my grandfather’s name.”