Page 206 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

“Another word of advice,” she adds as if she’s doing me a favor, and I’m not still reeling from the last comment. “You should have slept with Casteleone. You’d be running his gallery in Madrid by now.” Her expression lightens as if she’s not full of rage toward me. “Instead,” she says, shrugging and raising a self-assured styled eyebrow. “You have a boyfriend while I have a new investor in the gallery.”

“Guess honing your skills paid off.”

“They always do, my dear.” She walks away like someone actually summoned her. They didn’t. She just needs the last word.

Normally, that would be me, but this conversation is already in the gutter. How much lower can we go? It’s just best if I leave as well.

Lola gingerly approaches, sympathy woven into her features and holding a large envelope for me. “I’m sorry, Marlow.”

“Don’t worry. I get it. You’re only doing your job.” I want to tell her to watch her back, but suddenly burning bridges doesn’t sound so appealing. I’ll sell more bags, which can get me by until I figure out my next step. I take the envelope.

She says, “You can drop by or mail it back. I’ll make up some excuse instead of holding you here to fill it out.”

“I appreciate that.” Sighing, I look around once more. This gallery has been a second home for years, and now I’m losing it, just like the apartment. I hear things come in threes. I think I’m on my fifth or sixth hit. A break would be nice.

We come together and hug. I say, “Thank you and stay in touch.”

“Keep me posted with what you get up to. I know you’re going to do great things.”

“Thanks.”

When she returns to her desk, I take the scenic route and walk the gallery one final time before pushing into the sunshine of this unseasonably warm January day.

Jackson has moved closer to the corner of the building out of the way of foot traffic. Staring down at the phone in his hands, he doesn’t see me yet, which gives me a chance to study him.

I once heard Rad say Jackson was six-three. He used to be lankier. Athletic with lean muscle. He’s gotten bulkier in all the right places with broad shoulders and hard bicep muscles. Strong and long legs. I don’t know why I find it so hot how hisbody engulfs me. It must be the desire for the knight in shining armor fantasy. I don’t need it in real life, though he’s been exactly that. I’ll happily take it in the bedroom, though . . . every single inch.

He didn’t shave, which I don’t mind anymore. By the way he rubs his hand over the side of his jaw, it seems to bother him. It’s funny how much he’s changed over the years. Sometimes, I still get a glimpse of that beer and flip-flop guy I’ve known since college. But lately, in the past year or so, he’s changing—becoming more serious, maturing maybe, stressed from work. It’s not like I miss the hard time he used to give me regarding my taste for champagne or the men I would date, not that that matters anymore, but the little remarks about me being only concerned with myself . . . wait . . .dammit. I thought I had changed. Although I’ve been knocked down all these pegs, the errors of my ways weren’t as prevalent to me.

As for the man who’s been standing on a street corner waiting for me for no other reason than to make sure I’m all right, I don’t think I’ve ever known how to love until he showed me, still showing me every day through his actions, words, and praise, the way we navigate any conflict. That’s how couples become great. They work through life’s troubles together.

So whatever has him scowling at his phone, I want to be there for him and fix it, just like he’s been here for me.

He looks up and sees me, a smile following automatically. I grin because I can. I survived what I thought would be a challenge. Amelia made it easy for me to leave, even if she didn’t intend to.

I hold the orange folder in the air and waggle it. He says, “You’re still fired?”

“Sure, if she wants to call it that.”

His large hands slide around my waist and settle on my lower back. “What do you call it?”

“A move in the right direction.” I lift to kiss him. His lips are warm from the sunshine despite the slight chill in the air. When I lower back down, I say, “Thanks for waiting.”

“Always.” He takes the envelope to carry for me and to free my hand to hold it before we start walking down the street. He says, “You’ve had quite the start to the new year.”

“No one can ever say I don’t go big.”

“That’s my girl.”

He’s right.

Iamhis girl and so completely under his spell.

CHAPTER 24

Marlow

“What are you doing?” Jackson asks, cutting through to the kitchen while wearing nothing but a dark-gray towel that seems to be refusing to stay tucked.

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