Page 20 of She Was Made for Me

“It is,” I concede. “But he was vague, and said he trusted us to do what was right. I’ve known Rich a long time—”

Violet looks at me like I’m completely dense. “IthinkI’ve known him longer.”

I lift my gaze to the ceiling, trying to stay calm. “Technically, yes, but not as an adult. Not as a friend. And I think we can make this project better than even he could envision. He chose me to head this project, and he knows the way I operate. It’s a risk, but I truly believe he’ll be grateful in the end.”

She opens and closes her mouth, all the fight draining out of her. “You don’t get it,” she mumbles, turning away. And before I can say anything more, she shoves her headphones in and returns to her laptop.

8

Violet

On Saturday morning, Sadie tells me I need to take a break from work. Ever since Kyle accused me of knowing nothing about the work we’re doing—quite rightfully, too—I’ve been glued to my laptop, learning as much as I can. I try to tell Sadie that Ican’ttake a break—I still have so much research to do—but she insists that a few hours away from my laptop and Post-Its will do me good.

We take the train into Manhattan, because she wants to visit the huge Barnes & Noble store at Union Square. “They have the best range of romance,” she told me when I asked why we had to trek all the way over there. Sadie loves her romance novels.

I’m happy to oblige. She’s letting me sleep on her sofa—even if most of my nights aren’t as restful as I’d like—and besides, I haven’t hung out with her properly since I arrived. I dove head-first into work, like usual.

I stare out the window as we head across the Williamsburg Bridge, flashes of the Empire State Building and East River appearing between the steel bridge beams like the flickering of an old film reel. Something stirs in my chest at the sight of the city I grew up in, the city I left for work and returned to in a moment of desperation. I haven’t stopped to appreciate that I’m here—that I’mhome—and it’s really nice. I missed this place so much.

When we climb out of the subway at Union Square into the warm sunshine and the hum of the city, the feeling intensifies. We walk through the leafy shade of the small park, the sounds of traffic and people milling about the farmers’ market reminding me how alive this place is.

Sadie was right—taking a break from work was a good idea.

“You’re quiet,” she says, nudging me as we cross the park. “You okay?”

I smile. “Yeah. Just thinking about how much I missed New York.”

“Really?” She turns to me excitedly, her wild red curls spilling over her shoulders. “Does that mean you’re moving back for good?”

I can’t help but laugh. Sadie and I were inseparable in high school, then I went out of state for college and straight into work at DigiSwap, and our friendship faded from long-distance calls to the occasional text. My career became the center of my universe and left little room for anything else. Sure, I missed Sadie, but most of the time I was too busy to think about it.

Being back here with my friend, I begin to wonder how I could let that happen—how I could just let our friendship go like that.

I put an arm around her shoulders and squeeze. “I’d definitely consider it,” I say, surprising myself. “But…” I sigh. “I need to get a job here, and most of the good jobs are on the West Coast.”

“Most,” she agrees, grinning at me hopefully. “But not all.”

I laugh as we head into Barnes & Noble, buoyed by Sadie’s optimism. The store is huge—four floors of books that rise before us like a temple of literature right in the middle of the city. Sadie sighs in satisfaction as we step onto the escalator. This is her happy place.

“Come check out the romance section with me, will you?”

I glance away from Sadie, dragging my bottom lip between my teeth. The last thing I want to think about right now is romance. My life has been woefully devoid of it for a long time. It wasn’t something I gave much thought to until a week ago, when, for a brief moment, I thought I’d met a really nice guy; a serendipitous encounter in a random coffee shop while waiting to meet my dad. For a few minutes, I’d let myself bask in the attention of this kind and handsome stranger, imagined what it might be like to go out with him. And my heart leapt in a way that was both unfamiliar and pleasant when he opened his mouth to ask me out.

Well, that part is apparently debatable, isn’t it? I know I didn’t imagine it, and I’m still frustrated that he can’t even bring himself to be friendly to me, let alone admit the truth about that moment we shared.

So, no. I’m not really in the mood for romance.

“I might, uh, look at magazines for a while. But I’ll meet you there?”

“Sure,” Sadie says, and I wander off to the magazine section while she heads up to romance.

Ugh, I don’t want to look at magazines. My mind has strayed back to work, and the argument Kyle and I had yesterday. We’ve got the architect coming to meet with us on Monday, and we can’t agree on what to do with the place. I need some inspiration, something to prove to Kyle that we need to go modern, like Dad asked.

After several wrong turns, I find the architecture section, and hunt for books on remodeling old houses. I come across several, all massive tomes, so I pull them out and sit cross-legged in the aisle, flipping through them.

One in particular—titledRestoring a House in the City—shows a lot of townhouses similar to ours, renovated in various ways. Some are restored to their former glory, and look like they’re straight out of the mid-nineteenth century, with elaborate plaster details on the ceiling, original wood flooring, and—yup—mantels similar to ours. Others have a much more modern twist, with bright pops of color, lots of steel and glass, and no sign of the original details.

I sigh as I pore over the book, comparing the different styles, and my heart sinks.

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