Page 95 of Don't Leave Me

Hana Miller

“Hey babe,” Michael called out from the living room as I hit send. “Can we leave about an hour early tonight?”

I raised my eyebrows. I was always so surprised when he actually asked me something.

“Sure,” I called back, getting up and walking out to him. “What for?”

He gave me a coy grin. “It’s a surprise.”

Another surprise?!I couldn’t hide my smile as my eyes widened; it was obvious that I was excited – Michael chuckled to himself as he discreetly closed his Macbook in front of him.

“Can you give me a hint?” I raised an eyebrow at him innocently.

He sighed to himself, thinking a little bit. “It’s in Chelsea. That’s the only hint I’ll give you,” he said sternly, standing up and walking close to me.

I gave him a crooked grin, but I had no idea what his surprise could be. I looked down at my left hand at my ring; I couldn’t think of anything better than this. Michael licked his lower lip and put his hands around my waist, then softly gave me a peck on the cheek.

“Let’s go take a bath,” he whispered in my ear, then took my hand.

I smiled and followed him into the bathroom, sighing to myself about how I was the luckiest woman in the world.

In all of 25 years living in and around New York City, I had never once gone to a Broadway show; I was never interested in musicals or the theater for some reason – I guess I just thought that’s what the weirdo artists or the uptight Manhattanites do.

“What am I supposed to wear to the theater?” I asked Michael as I stared at my closet, half of my clothes still in suitcases and half of them hung up.

Of course, he had gone to a few Broadway shows himself.

“Whatever you want,” he answered, slipping on black jeans. “You don’t need to dress formally, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he teased me.

I rolled my eyes and smiled as I turned my back to him and decided on wearing all black, a common choice for me, with faux leather pants, a sweater, and black heeled boots. I put on my favorite black pea coat and wrapped a nude scarf around my neck and I was ready to go. I went out to the living room and Michael was dashing in his black jeans, a blue collared shirt that was tucked in…and he was putting on black and white high-top Chucks. He looked so fucking hot and cool.

He glanced up at me and there was a flicker of lust in his eyes.“You look beautiful, as always.”

I bit my lip from giggling about how happy I was.

“As do you, sir,” I blushed.

He eyed me as he grabbed his long black pea coat from the coat hanger and then took my hand, guiding me out the door.

We took the L train to 6thAve and started walking north. I had no idea where Michael was taking me, but he seemed giddy as he held my hand and we walked swiftly past little boutiques, cafes, apartment buildings. We stopped quickly in front of what looked like a doctor’s office –um, alright– but Michael pulled out a card from out of nowhere and slid it on the door next to the office and it quickly buzzed open; he held the door open for me with a grin. We walked in to a small lobby with mailboxes to the right and a few elevators to the left.

Michael guided me to the elevators and faint elevator music playing in the background. He hit the 7thfloor and it asked for an access code: he dialed in four numbers and we started to go up.

“Can I ask any questions yet?” I grinned up at him, his eyes forward.

“No,” he said sharply, but I could tell it was just for show.

We arrived at the 7thfloor and the doors swung open; the first thing I saw when I walked in were dark, hardwood floors and a huge spiral staircase in the middle of the room separating the kitchen on the left and the living room on the right. The living room was gorgeous: the windows were floor to ceiling throughout the entire wall, there was a fireplace adjacent to the stylish couches and coffee table and accent rug. The kitchen looked brand new: the cabinets were a light oak wood that had an island and a stainless steel refrigerator; the island separated a cute round dining table with four chairs around it. To the left was a hallway that looked like it lead to rooms.

“Whose place is this?” I asked as I wandered around, walking to the windows that showed off the vibrant city lights below.

“Come upstairs,” he ignored me, taking my hand.

I gave him a suspicious eye but followed him as we walked up the spiral stairs that led upstairs, and the first thing I noticed was a private terrace to the left, but Michael led me to the right. We walked inside a bright bedroom with a gorgeous high ceiling, large windows, a walk-in closet and a huge main bathroom. Michael opened the door at the side of the room and outside was another private terrace with lights surrounding the balcony, with potted plants and trees, chairs and a little circular outside dining table.

“Downstairs there are two more rooms: a possible guest bedroom and an office,” he raised his eyebrows at me nervously, taking my hand again.

“It’s absolutely beautiful, Michael,” I said quietly, looking out at the city skyline ahead of us.

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