Page 77 of That Fake Feeling
“You’llsee.”
Weturn to head up the third flight.
“What’sgoing on?” she asks. “Arewe eating in my room for some reason?”
“Nope.”
Wepass her door, andIkeep going up the final flight of stairs.
“Oh,” she says with surprise. “What’sup here?”
“Haven’tyou taken a peek?”
“Ofcourse not.Ithought it might be your attic or somewhere personal or something.I’mnot a snoop.”
Ipull open the door at the top of the stairs and hold it back for her.
Hermouth drops open and her eyes widen as she looks from side to side and takes it in.
“Aroof terrace?”Sheturns to me, delight written all over her face. “You’vekept this secret the whole time?”
“It’snot a secret.Youcould have come up here any time you liked.”
Shewalks out to the center of the space and does a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn.
Awarm halo of low evening sun glows around her. “Amazingview.Whoknew rooftops were so beautiful?Andthe green spires over there.Stunning.”
Iput the food down on the table in front of the low sofa and take the bottles from her, allowing my fingers to brush against hers. “We’reonly five floors up.But, yeah, the rooftops are pretty cool.”
Shewalks over to the edge, leans on the chest-high wall, and peers over. “Feelshigh to me.”
Sheruns her fingers over the potted plants lining the walls as she makes a full circuit, gazing out like she’s never seen anything so magical before.
“It’sa whole new perspective on the world.”Shesniffs her fingers. “Lavender?Theseare all lavender plants?”
“Noidea.Someonecomes to take care of the yard and all this once a week.Idon’t pay any attention.Ihardly ever come up here.”
Shelooks at me likeI’vecommitted a heinous crime. “Youhardly ever use it?IfIlived here,I’dbe up here the first day it was warm enough in spring and then every day until it snowed.”Sheturns back toward the rooftops. “Actually,Ibet the snowy city looks amazing from up here.”
It’slike watching the joy of a kid with a new toy.
Isit on the sofa and pull cartons of food from the box. “Comeon, let’s eat before it gets cold.Wedeserve a good feed after all our hard work.”
Asshe slides onto the sofa beside me, her knee comes tantalizingly close to touching mine, but she pulls it back just in time.
“Thankyou for giving me the best dayI’veknown in ages.”Irub my paint-splattered shoulder. “Myarm’s still aching from stretching up to finish off the xylophone though.”
IfonlyIcould think of someone to massage it for me, with their mouth, while naked.
“Well, thank you for making the kids so happy,” she says, her thoughts clearly not as much on massage as mine are. “I’mnot surprised the ice cream was a success, but who knew they’d find painting bagpipes so much fun?”
Sheopens a box of pea and mint risotto and another of fettuccine with cremini mushrooms, truffles, andParmesan.Hereyes drift half shut as she inhales the aroma that wafts out. “Hmmm.Amazing.”
Iopen the caprese salad and the fusilli with slow-roasted heirloom tomatoes and garlic.
“Igot a bunch of stuff for us to share, so dig in.”
Rosestabs a fork into the fettucine, swirls it around, and holds it up high to pull the dangling strands into her mouth with her tongue.
