Starlight (The Morgans of New York)

“If you do that, you’ll have to save me a dance.” His eyes twinkle.

It’s par for the course.

There’s always something playing softly in the background in my store. More than once, Lester has taken me in his arms for a dance around the small area near the checkout counter. He’s done the same with Eloise too.

“I can’t wait.” I tap his shoulder as I take off toward the turntable that’s on a weathered wooden stand at the front of the store.

“You didn’t have to bring that.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I know you have something to knit.”

Eloise tosses her head back in laughter, sending her hair trailing over her shoulder. “What do you think is in my tote bag, Astrid?”

My gaze drifts from the pizza box in her hands to the red leather tote slung over her shoulder. “Knitting needles and yarn. I should have known.”

I step aside to give her room to enter my apartment.

I closed down Vinyl Crush a few minutes after eight when Lester left. That’s when my cousin sent me an unexpected text message.

She told me she was two blocks away with a hot pizza in her hands.

I had just enough time to change into black yoga pants and a light blue sweater before she got here. I buzzed her in as soon as she arrived at the exterior door that opens to the stairs leading up here.

I could smell the pepperoni and green peppers before she reached my floor.

“Nice sweater.” She laughs since I’m wearing one that she knit for me. “I got our second favorite. The place I went to was all out of ham and pineapple.”

“That’s your favorite,” I point out, taking time to lock the door after I close it.

“Mine. Ours. What’s the difference?” She laughs.

I start toward the kitchen to grab two plates. “Is water good, or do you want a soda?”

“Water,” she calls out. “Straight from the tap will do just fine.”

Chuckling, I reach into the cabinet to pull down two plates.

My mom collected dishes. Nothing matches, and although I briefly considered packing it all away after she died, I couldn’t.

Every dish, throw pillow, poster on the wall, and record in the cabinet in the living room is a reminder of who my mom was.

I’ve grown to cherish everything in this two bedroom apartment.

I carry the two plates to the coffee table. Just as I’m about to turn back around, Eloise clears her throat.

I glance to where she’s standing next to the record cabinet. I already know what she’s going to say.

“Astrid.” My name leaves her lips in a matter-of-fact tone as she slides her dark green cardigan off. “Why haven’t I heard about who sent you these gorgeous flowers?”

My gaze trails to the large bouquet she’s looking at.

It’s a mix of vibrant colored blossoms in a vintage blue glass vase that my mom picked up at a shop in San Francisco years ago.

I shake my head. “No one sent them to me. I got them from the flower shop across the street.”

“Wild Lilac?” Her left brow perks. “You went there and bought them?”

I hear the disbelief in her tone, or maybe it’s disappointment. Eloise is waiting for one of us to be swept off her feet by a flower-wielding hot guy.

“Athena brought them to the shop earlier.” I glance at the large bouquet. “It’s one of her sunshine bouquets.”

Eloise’s face lights up in a smile. “One of the bouquets she sends your way when she has extra inventory?”

“Exactly.” I nod.

Athena Millett is one of the kindest people I’ve met since moving to Manhattan. Her love of flowers radiates from the bouquets she arranges for her clientele. Occasionally, she’ll stop in and hand me a bunch of flowers along with a wish for a beautiful day.

She calls them her ‘sunshine bouquets’ because that’s what they are. They bring sunshine to a room.

“I saw her the other day outside her store with her fiancé.” Eloise fans her face with her hand. “Tall, handsome, and tattooed. Why can’t I find a man like that?”

“Are you telling me there aren’t any men like that at the yarn shop you’re always at?” I ask while trying to keep a straight face.

“Very funny.” She stomps her foot playfully. “Why does it feel like all the hot, decent men in this city are married or engaged to be married?”

I laugh that off as I head back to the kitchen to grab two glasses of water. “Because they are.”

Chapter Nine

Berk

They say – whoever the hell they are – that the third time is the charm.

If that’s true, I’ll make it closer to Astrid’s store this time than I did during my first two attempts earlier this week.

Common sense stalled both those journeys when I was within a block of Vinyl Crush.

I’m perceptive enough to know that Astrid Rehn is in her twenties. She’s beautiful in a rare way that reaches far beyond the bone structure of her face or the curve of her full lips.