Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(26)
“Take over…You mean, the whole thing?”
Elise paid Neve $600 a month to sleep on her sofa bed and share the bathroom and kitchen. She knew for a fact that Neve paid $1200 for her private bedroom, which meant that Elise would have to come up with $1800 a month to stay. Even with the extra Ethan Frome money, $1800 a month was a fortune, an impossible sum.
“I can’t,” she said, searching her roommate’s eyes with desperation.
“Well,” said Neve, having the decency to look uncomfortable, “I always said it was a month-to-month sublease. I was clear about that. I mean, I knew I needed to keep my options open. Plus, come on. You have ten days. It’s not that bad. I’m sure you’ll figure something out. We’ll, uh, we’ll move this stuff to my room so you can go to sleep.”
“Neve…” she started.
“I’m sorry, Elise. It’s a done deal. I’ll be gone in the a.m.. You can, um, you can have my room until you move out.” Neve turned to the two men awkwardly watching the exchange and gestured to the boxes. “Grab this stuff. Let’s finish up in my room.”
Feeling dazed, Elise lowered herself to the sofa, staring at the empty bookcase across from her where Neve’s books used to reside. She’d lived in this apartment for over a year, and it wasn’t much, but it was her home. Neve had left a gaudy pillow bedazzled with the words “Staten Island” on the couch and Elise grabbed it, hugging it to her chest.
How in the world was she supposed to find a new apartment and move her meager belongings into it when she had non-stop rehearsals from now until June? Between rehearsals, Bistro Chèvrefeuille, and weekend nights with Preston, something was going to have to give so she could devote some time to an apartment search and get herself moved…and her heart ached because it only took an instant for her to know which of the three she was going to have to sacrifice.
Chapter 7
Preston had to run the last four blocks to Lincoln Center because it was already six o’clock and he didn’t want to be late for Elise. It was Friday night. Her night. He didn’t want to miss a minute of his time with her.
It had been an extra-long six days this time, and twice Preston had considered “stopping by” Bistro Chèvrefeuille for dinner, just to see her, but they were taking things slowly, and stopping by her place of work uninvited didn’t feel appropriate quite yet. He knew that she essentially worked from nine in the morning until midnight from Mondays to Thursdays; he couldn’t ask for more from her. And yet, he missed her. After three weeks, Friday and Saturday night dates just didn’t feel like enough.
Running up the steps toward the Metropolitan Opera House, he scanned the crowd around the fountain to be sure she wasn’t waiting for him. He didn’t see her so he took his usual seat and caught his breath, reviewing the plan for tonight and hoping that she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. He’d hired a personal chef to make them dinner in his apartment, and of course he would walk her home after dinner if that’s what she wanted, but last Saturday when she’d said, “Someday soon…I will” his heart had leapt at the idea of them spending an entire night together and not having to say goodbye. Ergo, dinner at his place to possibly pave the way, with a chef in attendance to act as chaperone, so that she wouldn’t be completely alone with him…at least, not at first.
Checking his watch, he saw that it was just six and watched concert-goers bustle in and out of Avery Fischer Hall, which was hosting a jazz concert tonight. Some evenings, he actually heard music coming from one of the elegant buildings in the complex, but not tonight. He kept his eyes trained on the northeast corner of the Hall, knowing that Elise would walk around the corner any minute, coming from the Claire Tow Theater, and he tried to ease the thumping of his heart as their reunion grew closer.
Generally, he saw her first—saw her break through the crowd, beelining for the spot where he was waiting for her. The first weekend, they stood awkwardly in front of each other with huge smiles before he took her hand and guided her back down the steps. Last weekend, he’d opened his arms and she’d hurtled her body into them both evenings, greeting him with a full body hug and deep sigh of contentment. Tonight? He was hoping that she’d fall into his arms again, but that she’d tip her face up to his to start their evening with a kiss before he told her where they were going for dinner.
He was so distracted by his daydreaming, he missed her.
“Preston?”
He jerked his head up to find her staring down at him and felt his face explode into a smile as he jumped to his feet. But one look at her kept him from reaching for her. She had her arms crossed over her chest and stood back about a foot from him, her eyes searching his face with…with what? What emotion was that? he wondered, panic seeping lightly into his blood. She glanced down at her shoes, drawing her bottom lip into her mouth. Why wasn’t she making eye contact with him? What was going on?
“Hey,” he said, reaching out to touch her arm. She didn’t lean away from him, but she didn’t step forward either. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, though she clearly wasn’t. “I just… I can’t hang out tonight.”
“Oh.” He pulled his hand away and let it drop uselessly to his side. “Um, what’s going on?”