City Love(59)

The elevator stops on the eleventh floor. The doors glide open smoothly. I am so nervous my body parts insist on sweating again, despite the perfectly regulated microclimate.

We walk down the pristine hallway. There’s not one flaw on the textured wallpaper, not one bit of dust on the floor. The building’s staff must vacuum constantly. Why am I thinking about vacuuming when I should be thinking about how to handle this situation? I feel like Darcy, going with the flow instead of making a rational decision. Yeah, it’s fun, but am I ready for this? I don’t even know what this is. What’s going to happen when we go inside?

“After you,” D says, holding his front door open for me.

When I step into his loft, I cannot believe what I’m seeing. I cannot believe I know someone who lives here. There are no words to describe this man’s apartment. It could be featured in Architectural Digest’s urban living issue. My whole apartment could fit in his grand foyer. A large open area to the right is the kitchen. The living room is a wide-open space to the left. He has an enormous sectional sofa with one of those big coffee tables fancy people put vases of flowers and stacks of art books on. One whole wall of his living room is floor-to-ceiling windows. The city shimmers as far as I can see.

“Is it cold enough for you?” D says.

I nod. The air-conditioning feels nice coming in from the hot night. “How is it already cool in here?”

“My thermostat is programmed to turn the air conditioner on about fifteen minutes before I get home.”

Of course it is.

“What can I get you to drink?” he asks. He’s standing so close to me I can feel the summer night heat radiating from his body.

If I didn’t know myself better, I’d think I was about to do something I’ll regret for the rest of my life.

“Um,” I stammer. “Just water, please.”

As D opens his massive refrigerator to get our drinks together, I try not to gawk at his kitchen. Black wood cabinets run along the entire length of the longest wall with lighting underneath. The appliances are all stainless steel. There’s a huge sink on the main counter and another sink on the kitchen island. Lots of counter space and drawers. He even has a dishwasher, something Sadie says is rare in Manhattan.

D hands me a glass of cold water with little ice cubes in it. “Ready for the grand tour?”

I nod. There are no words to describe the magnificence of this apartment.

After he shows me what his architect and designer did in the living room and kitchen, I notice a hallway leading back to more rooms. This is in addition to the guest room and bathroom off the living room.

“It goes all the way back?” I gasp.

“Not that far back. Just to the master bedroom and bathroom and my home office.” D shows me his perfect home office. Then he steps into the bathroom from the hall and turns the light on. The bathroom is done in the same black as the kitchen with shiny silver fixtures. Starting every day in this shower must be freaking awesome. It’s in a corner with glass on the side near the sink. The fourth side of the shower is open. You can walk right in. The far wall has a window to allow for convenient viewing of the city as you take your shower. It’s one of those overhead rain showers you see in pictorials of famous people’s homes. I’ve always wondered if it really feels like you’re in the rain when you take a shower in one of these. Will I eventually find out? Will I be taking showers here at some point? My face gets hot just thinking about it.

D goes over to a computer screen in the shower that’s flush with the wall. “You can program your settings here. Computerized shower experience, anyone?”

Was that an invitation? My face gets even hotter.

We’re done with the bathroom. That leaves only one more room.

“This is my bedroom.” D walks in. I tentatively follow him. The bedroom windows run along the same wall as the windows in the living room. They have that same incredible view. You could fit my room plus Sadie’s and Darcy’s rooms in here and still have space left over. D’s bedroom is so lavish I don’t even know how to act. Like all of his other furniture, the furniture in here is clearly expensive. Naturally he has a king bed with night tables on either side. Each night table has a lamp perfectly positioned on it. There’s one of those plush benches I always thought would be decadent to have at the foot of the bed. His white comforter is as puffy as a cloud. D’s bedroom is basically a Crate & Barrel ad. I can’t believe how grown-up he is. He must have a cleaning lady. His entire apartment is immaculate. Everything is so beautiful and clean and shiny. It’s like he’s living in a real home with real things. Not the temporary discount stuff we have at our place. Not the kind of ratty secondhand thrift-store junk I grew up with.

“What do you think?” D asks.

“Your whole apartment is gorgeous.”

“Wait until you see the best part.” D touches my lower back, gently guiding me out to the living room. When I saw the living room before, I thought it only had huge windows. I didn’t notice the balcony stretching along the entire length of them. Now I see the door leading out to the balcony.

“Whoa,” I say. “You even have a balcony?”

“Not just any balcony.” D opens the door for me. I step out and he follows me. “The balcony.”


The view takes my breath away. I know people are usually exaggerating when they say something took their breath away. But I’m serious. The view actually makes me stop breathing. This is sort of like how the view at Press Lounge took my breath away, only more magnified. Everything that’s been building up to this moment, all of my wishing and hoping and dreaming about New York, all of it comes rushing in right here and now. D’s view is familiar to me in a completely illogical way. I’ve never been here before. This is my first time on any balcony in New York. But in my heart, I already know this view. I am connected to this exact place in a profound way. It feels like I was meant to be here. Not only here in New York. Here with Donovan Clark.