Page 29 of The Likelihood Of You

I’d be lying if I said I’d never fantasised about being this close with a celebrity. It’s a like right of passage: becoming obsessed with the celebrity of the month and convincing yourself that somehow, someway, your paths will cross, and before you know it, your wedding is a featured issue ofVogue.

For me, I’d never gotten past the month-long crush on whatever celebrity had the world in the sweetest of choke holds; maybe they became my lock screen for a short while, but never anything more than that.

Right now, I’m trying to figure out a way to thank fourteen-year-old Flo for never letting her heart go beyond that point; if she had, she’d be having a heart attack if she saw where her twenty-four-year-old self was right now.

Because I’m in Jacobs apartment building. His sixty-two-story building. I’ve just been greeted by a doorman and had them offer to carry my things upstairs for me. We just got into the mirror-walled liftthat takes us up to the very tippity top of the building. I keep catching Jacob looking over at me, and every time I take a deep breath to calm my nerves, that are practically a Jenga tower that’s about to topple over.

Basically, I was experiencing and feeling things I wasn’t supposed to be. And I wasn’t sure how to act about that.

The lift starts to slow down, the mechanical noises coming to a halt, and the doors opening swiftly. Revealed to us was a short hallway with a door at the end and a shiny golden ‘22’ bolted to the front of it.

We didn’t even make it halfway before the first bark came from behind the door.

“I forgot to ask,” Jacobs’ voice came from a few paces ahead. “Do you like dogs?”

That was like asking if I liked breathing.

“Uh huh, love them. We used to have one when I was little, Missy.”

“Nice, what breed?” He asked, reaching into his jeans pocket and pulling out his keys.

“A golden lab. She was huge but such a cutie.”

He stopped twisting the key that was jammed into his lock, turning his face back to me, an alarmingly large smile on his face. “This should be familiar for you then.”

Before I could question what he meant by that, the door swung open, and Missy’s identical twin came charging towards me, so hard that she knocked me to the ground and on my arse with an embarrassing thud.

“Well, hello there!” I squeal, dodging an attack of kisses and licks and softly sharp paws. How I coped with Missy when I was barelyseven years old baffles me, because Bagel was winning whatever scrap she’d just started by a long shot, my arms ready to give way.

“Bagel, get off her!” Jacob calls to her softly, with no sternness in his voice at all. In fact, I think I hear him stifle a laugh. “I’m sorry about this. She’s a people person.”

“It’s… fine.” I manage. “Lucky for her, I’m a dog person. We’re a… match… made in… heaven.” I barely get my words out because of how sweetly I’m being mauled, but I don’t mind; she’s as big as a cutie as I remember Missy being.

“Come get your food, Bage’s!” Jacob shouts, his voice sounding so far away that I wondered where he’d gone, but once Bagel hears the word ‘food’, she shoots off in the direction of it, leaving me free to get my bearings, angle my head and catch a glimpse of him now inside his apartment.

Oh. My. Christ.

Beyond the hallway, past the corner of the brown leather couch, lay a sight that slapped me in the face with a reality check, one that I was probably well overdue.

The skyline view of New York was something I’d only seen in pictures, or movie montages. I somehow felt like I wasn’t worthy of seeing it so rawly like this. A view as grand and surreal as this was never really meant for someone like me. A nobody. It made sense for someone like Jacob to wake up to it. But me? Not so much.

I got to my feet and made my way inside, hanging my cardigan on the gold coat pegs next to the entryway table and carefully sliding off my slippers, before joining Jacob and Bagel.

“Where should I set up?” I ask, admiring Jacob’s longing gaze at Bagel as she messily demolished her bowl of food.

“Kitchens this way.” He nodded his head to the door behind him, picking up the bag I’d stuffed half my kitchen into.

I smile and follow closely behind him, but not before giving Bagel a head scratch as I walk by her.

I should have known his kitchen would take my breath away. Even the tiny kitchen in my apartment, which has two cupboards and no worktop space, made me gasp when I saw it. Because it was mine, somewhere I could bake and be happy.

I’m afraid if I gasp at how much I want to live in this kitchen, I’ll lose my voice.

“How do you not spend all your time cooking in here?” I wondered, running my hands along the glossy wooden countertops of the island and ogling the midnight blue tiles that lined the wall behind the stove.

I catch Jacob smiling at me as I straighten my back and turn to face him. “I do… when I’m not working. Or if Wes lets us go early, I’ll put some extra time into making dinner.”

I tilt my head and smile at him, and only then do I clock the blurry silhouettes of even more skyscrapers through the window behind him, above the sink. I try to ignore that overwhelming feeling that I shouldn’t be here, in Jacob Emerson’s kitchen, chatting about cooking and about to spend the night baking for him. But I can’t.

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