Page 64 of The Thinnest Air
My mind plays a devastating scenario ... the cadaver dog finding human remains ... me hearing about it on some cable news show before I so much as get a phone call from anyone here.
He motions toward the reception desk, and the woman behind the counter hands him a pen and sticky note. I scribble my number, write my name in full, and thank him profusely for what anamazingjob he’s doing on the case.
He folds the sticky note in half, placing it in the pocket covering his left breast. A million dollars says he forgets all about it until he finds it in the washing machine, soggy and illegible.
“Thank you,” I say again, extending my hand one last time. “I appreciate your help with everything.”
Turning to leave, I make my way outside toward the waiting cab.
With everything going on today, I haven’t had the chance to tell Harris I’m coming back. He hates surprises just as much as I do, but he’ll just have to deal.
Besides, I want to see the look on his face when I show up.
That just might be the only thing that’s going to get me through this red-eye.
CHAPTER 29
MEREDITH
Seventeen Months Ago
New York sans Andrew is ... different. But ever since the trust fund letter came to light, he’s been loosening his tether on me, giving me space like he’s afraid he’ll lose me if he holds on too tight. He hasn’t come out and said it, but he knows I could walk out the door at any time if I wanted to, and I think that’s made him reevaluate everything.
Last week over dinner, I casually mentioned that I wanted to visit my sister for a week. The next morning his assistant booked my flight, and Andrew put me up in the presidential suite of our favorite hotel.
When I arrived in the city yesterday, there was a package on my bed with a note from him. He’d had my favorite local treats delivered, as well as a Chanel handbag to mark the occasion, an advance copy of the newest Diane Chamberlain novel—autographed—as well as a list of reservations he’d made for me at various wait-listed restaurants and high-end day spas.
He’s almost trying too hard now. The pendulum has swung in the opposite direction.
I just want to pal around the city with Greer, eating hot dogs and pretzels from carts near Central Park. Popping into our favorite little shops. Grabbing frozen hot chocolate from Serendipity if the mood strikes. Riding the subway for hours with the sole intention of people watching, just like we did when we were younger.
The bells on the door of Steam jangle when I pass through them that morning, and Harris glances up from a noisy cappuccino maker. For the first time in forever, he doesn’t groan or sulk or sigh or furrow his brow when he sees me.
We’ve been talking on the phone almost nightly for the past month. Most of the time I wait until Andrew’s in bed, and I sneak out to sit in the car or tiptoe to the guesthouse under the veil of night.
I’m not cheating.
I’m not emotionally attached to Harris or fantasizing about him in any way.
He’s 100 percent just a friend.
Andrew wouldn’t understand. And despite our differences, I trust Harris. I trust his brutal honesty because he has no skin in the game.
“Hi,” I say, stopping short in the middle of the crowded coffeehouse while some indie rock band plays from the ceiling speakers. This feels like a scene from a movie.
I smile. He smiles.
“Hi,” he says.
This is ... new.
“Where’s Greer?” I ask. For the first time in forever, I’m not actually surprising her. Being in town for an entire week, I had no choice but to fill her in so she could make time for all the things we were going to do together.
I take a seat at the edge of the bar, watching as Harris whips up drinks with the help of a part-time barista whom I’ve never seen before—some guy with dyed black hair, a nose ring, and tattoos covering both arms. He’s young enough to still have the bane of dealing with acne, and he keeps his head down and works his ass off, probably because he knows Harris is watching him like a hawk.
“Who’s the new guy?” I ask.
“Oh, him? That’s my protégé,” he says. “Little Harris.”
