Chapter Six
New York City, 2½ years later
October
It was her. He was sure of it this time. Unlike the dozen or so other occasions when he’d been certain the woman he had spied dashing across the street or entering a restaurant was Lauren – only to realize it had been merely wishful thinking on his part – this time he was convinced it was really her. Who else walked with that particular swagger, or had hair that exact shade of light brown – like creamy, melted caramel? And unlike some of the other women he’d spotted over the last months, this one was dressed as he’d imagine Lauren would be on a crisp autumn day in Manhattan – tight jeans, long-sleeved thermal top, quilted down vest, and high-top sneakers.
And then she was gone as quickly as she’d appeared, swallowed up in the sea of humanity that seemed to be a constant here in the city. Ben cursed himself silently for not having moved faster, at having remained frozen in place as he’d tried to determine if the girl he had glimpsed was really Lauren. Now it was too late.
But, no. It had been too late to run after Lauren more than three years ago. Less than twenty four hours after sneaking out of her cabin like a gutless coward, he’d regretted his actions, had waged a fierce internal battle with himself about whether to retrace his footsteps and run back to her, begging her to forgive him and doing whatever he had to in order to make things right.
But each time he’d reminded himself that he still had nothing to offer her, that his bank account was shrinking alarmingly with each passing day, and that he didn’t even know if this current article he’d spent so many weeks researching would even sell.
So he’d stayed away, had forced himself not to contact her, and thus ensure she would have the opportunity to have the sort of future she deserved. He’d forced himself to finish the article, even though his heart hadn’t really been in it ever since he had left Big Sur.
But to his surprise the article had sold, and rather quickly at that. Outdoor Magazine had liked his writing so much, in fact, that they’d offered him a staff position at their headquarters in Santa Fe. The pay hadn’t been great, and most of the assignments he’d received not especially exciting or challenging, but at least he’d gained both a steady income and enough experience to pad his resume. He’d continued to live frugally, sharing a house with three other guys, and trying hard not to feel like he was back in college again.
But it was now two and a half years later, and he had a relatively healthy bank account as well as a much better paying job with Conde Nast here in New York City. He’d moved in May, and was currently living in a tiny Brooklyn apartment that wasn’t much bigger than a walk-in closet. But given that he’d had precious few belongings to move in, Ben hadn’t minded, especially since he still kept himself on a strict budget. Not to mention the fact that he seemed to be traveling on assignments three weeks out of every five, and hardly spent any time in town.
It hadn’t been a requirement of the job to live in New York, but given the amount of time he spent at the magazine’s offices or at the airport, moving here had made sense. Despite the conveniences, though, Ben knew he could never make New York his permanent home. There had really only been one place that he’d wanted to call home for the rest of his life.
The memory of those ten life-changing days in Big Sur were still as vivid as ever, and scarcely a day went by when he didn’t long to be back in that magical cabin by the sea. And as for Lauren – well, the memories of his feisty, passionate young lover alternately thrilled and tortured him. In the years since he’d last seen her, there had been no other women for him, not even the temptation to hook up for a night or two. That little green-eyed witch had ruined him for other women, had captured his heart and refused to release it, even though they hadn’t seen each other for more than three years.
He’d told himself on more than one occasion that he was just too busy these days to date, much less have a relationship, even joking to co-workers that he was married to his job. But the real truth was that he simply didn’t want anyone else, no matter how lonely he felt at times. Any woman that might briefly catch his attention would just as quickly be dismissed when he realized she wasn’t Lauren. That was one of the reasons, perhaps, why he thought he’d seen her so many times since moving here. He knew that her aunt lived in Manhattan, and that her grandparents had owned a home in the city before their deaths. It was entirely possible, therefore, that the slim, graceful girl he’d just spotted striding along with a confident swagger a few moments ago had really been Lauren this time – in town, perhaps, to visit her aunt.
The quiet, discreetly appointed restaurant he entered a couple of minutes later was very much like the person he was meeting here for lunch. Ben was only two minutes late, but he knew from past experience that Elle would have arrived at least five minutes early. She was already sitting at the table he was ushered to, her napkin already spread neatly across her lap. As usual, she looked perfectly put together, the epitome of the sophisticated, ladylike professional. She wore one of her typical work outfits – crisp, white linen blouse, slim navy skirt, sensible leather pumps. Her glossy black hair was drawn back from her lovely face into a neat chignon, her pale gold skin and large, dark brown eyes subtly made up.
Her face lit up with pleasure as she saw him approach, and she reached out a hand to him in greeting. “Ben, it’s so good to see you,” she told him with a warm smile. “How was Antigua?”
He returned her smile, giving her hand a brief squeeze before taking his seat. “Hot, humid, and crowded. But the new resort was pretty spectacular so I suppose it was worth it. How’s everything been here?”
Her dark eyes twinkled. “Cool, drizzly, and crowded.”
Ben chuckled as he took a sip of water. “I could see that for myself when I landed a few days ago. More specifically, what’s been going on with you? Write any interesting articles lately?”
Elle was always eager to talk about her job at The New Yorker, where she was a staff writer. “Only an interview with Harold Fielding,” she declared triumphantly. “An interview that might just land me a few rungs higher up the ladder for that promotion I’ve been angling for.”
“That’s great, Elle,” he told her sincerely. “I’ll look forward to reading the interview with Harold, uh, Fields.”
Elle gave him an indulgent smile. “You have no idea who he is, do you?”
Ben returned her smile sheepishly. “Guess I’m not very good at faking it, am I? The name sounds familiar but - ”
“His latest book has been on the New York Times bestseller list for six months,” clarified Elle. “He writes political fiction, and he’s brilliant. Just brilliant. It was a real coup for me to snag that interview.”
As they ate lunch – a strawberry kale salad and herbal tea for Elle, grilled salmon and mineral water for Ben – she talked at length about the interview she’d done with the famed writer that he had honestly never heard of until now. He feigned polite interest in her recounting, making comments or asking questions from time to time, but nearly half of what Elle said went over his head as usual, as it had from the very first time they’d met.
He’d only been in New York a couple of weeks, still learning his way around not only the bustling, perplexing city but the maze of offices occupied by the Conde Nast Group as well. The publishing conglomerate owned more than twenty different magazines, including the famed literary magazine that Elle worked for.
Ben had been searching for the Human Resources Department to drop off some additional forms they’d asked for, and somehow got rather hopelessly lost in the process. Elle had been walking past as he’d been wandering the hallways and taken pity on him. She had personally escorted him to HR, and then surprised him by waiting outside until he was finished.
“Just to make sure you don’t get lost again,” she’d teased. “By the way, I’m Elle Kimbrough, a staff writer for the New Yorker.”
Ben had shaken her slim, elegant hand. “Ben Rafferty. New travel writer for Conde Nast. Nice to meet you.”
They’d wound up having coffee – herbal tea for Elle – at the employee cafeteria, where Ben had gratefully listened to all the advice she’d eagerly imparted about the company, and New York City in general. He had learned that Elle had been born and raised in London, the only child of a British father and an Indian mother. She’d graduated from Cambridge with a double major in English and political science, before getting her master’s degree in journalism from NYU.
It had been very obvious from her elegant designer suit, posh accent, and flawless manners that Elle had come from a very upper crust family. As they’d continued to chat, she had told him that her father was a top ranking executive at British Petroleum, while her mother’s family was actually descended from royalty in India.
She’d wrinkled her aristocratic little nose in mild distaste to learn he was living in a tiny apartment in Brooklyn, but hadn’t commented otherwise. Elle and a former NYU classmate shared a floor in the brownstone her parents owned in one of the toniest neighborhoods in Manhattan.
And it had also been obvious to Ben right from that first casual meeting that Elle was very interested in him. Oh, she was far too well-bred and reserved to have done something as crass as make a pass at him, but he hadn’t missed the way her dark eyes held all sorts of hidden promises, or the rather deliberate way she kept smiling at him.
Elle’s interest, however, had been completely one-sided and continued to be so. There was no denying that she was a very pretty woman, of medium height and almost ethereally slender. She was highly intelligent, a skilled conversationalist, and overall a very pleasant, likeable person. But Ben had yet to feel anything for her beyond friendship and admiration, had never had the slightest urge to become intimate with her or even hold her hand. She was his friend, his colleague, but she would never be more as long as his heart still belonged to someone else.
Elle knew that he’d been involved with someone a few years back, and that the relationship had had a profound, intense effect on him. And when he’d told Elle that he was still very much in love with this woman, she had backed off on her subtle efforts to mold their friendship into something deeper.
So now they met for lunch or coffee every couple of weeks, exchanged texts once in awhile, discussed their current work assignments. Elle was always giving him suggestions about where to get his hair cut, where the best restaurants in his neighborhood were, made a point of introducing him to other colleagues. And on a handful of occasions they had seen a movie together and once a Broadway play. But Ben persisted in keeping their interactions as low-key and casual as possible, treating Elle solely as a friend, and even teased her about the continual stream of eligible bachelors that her family and friends set her up with. And while he sensed she still wanted more, she seemed content to keep things status quo – at least for now.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Elle said in a bubbly voice. “My boss was so pleased with the Fielding interview that he gave me tickets to the new Brian Stokes Mitchell musical. Would you like to go with me? All of the reviews have been glowing.”
Ben hesitated. Musicals and plays really weren’t his thing, but he knew how much Elle adored the theatre. The one and only time he’d accompanied her to a play he had felt like an unschooled idiot, not understanding half of what was going on, and he’d struggled desperately not to yawn in boredom.
“Uh, sure,” he found himself agreeing automatically, aware that she was gazing at him expectantly. “When is it exactly?” He pulled out his phone and scrolled to the calendar function.
“A week from Thursday. I thought we could catch an early dinner first,” she ventured.
Ben forced himself to sound regretful as he shook his head, though in truth he was silently relieved to notice the entry on his calendar. “I’m sorry, Elle, but I can’t make it. I fly out this Sunday to Russia and won’t be back until the following weekend.”
“Oh. Drat.” Elle looked crestfallen. “I wouldn’t have thought they’d send you out again so soon, given that you just returned from Antigua.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been home for a week, and still have five more days until I leave again. That’s a pretty standard timeframe in between trips. Plus, there’s been something of a rush lately to get as much traveling done as possible before the winter months.”
She nodded. “I get it. Maybe some other time, then.”
Elle continued to look so disappointed that he felt compelled to offer, “Hey, why don’t we try and get together this Friday? One of my co-workers offered me tickets to the Knicks game. It’s still officially pre-season but it should be a good game anyway.”
She wrinkled her nose in that odd little way she occasionally did. “What is that – baseball?”
He smiled indulgently. “Basketball. And I’m guessing you aren’t a big sports fan.”
Unwillingly, he recalled that Lauren had been an avid sports enthusiast. Baseball had been in full swing during his time in Big Sur, and she’d been glued to the TV each time her beloved San Francisco Giants had played. When she’d learned that Ben was a lifelong Cincinnati Red fan, she had ribbed him unmercifully, especially when the two teams happened to play each other. She’d made him a bet on the outcome of the game, and he had to stifle a groan as he recalled the terms.
“Tell you what, Blue Eyes,” she’d drawled in that lazy, seductive voice that had never failed to turn him on. “If my team wins, then I get to be on top tonight. And if your boys somehow manage to steal the victory, then I’ll let you be on top.”
He’d chuckled, pulling her into his arms and nuzzling her neck. “So in other words, no matter what team wins tonight, I can’t lose.”
Elle gave a brief shake of her elegantly coiffed head. “Especially not of American sports. I do enjoy watching tennis and golf, and occasionally European football. But otherwise it’s not really my thing.”
“Okay,” he conceded, taking pity on her. “So no Knicks game. We could catch a movie instead, I suppose.” He kept his fingers crossed that she wouldn’t suggest seeing one of the foreign or art house films she loved. He already knew she despised the type of action/adventure or suspense movies that he favored – the very sort that Lauren had adored.
‘Jesus,’ he thought angrily. ‘Why does everything always come full circle back to her?’
Fortunately, Elle suggested a comedy that they could both agree on, and they arranged a time to meet for a quick dinner beforehand.
She had an appointment after lunch, and so they bid each other farewell outside of the restaurant. Ben ignored the hopeful look in her eye, knowing that she’d eagerly welcome a kiss on the cheek or a hug good-bye, and merely gave her hand a light squeeze instead.
As he walked briskly back to his office, turning up his jacket collar against the chilly autumn air, Ben resolved to make sure he continued to treat Elle strictly as a friend. The last thing he wanted to do was give her any sort of encouragement, to lead her on in any way – even unintentionally. He had to make sure she was always aware that their friendship would never progress beyond this point. At least not as long as a feisty little seductress continued to hold his heart captive.
***
February
Ben followed Elle through the spacious, high-ceilinged rooms of the brownstone gingerly, half-afraid he’d knock over one of the undoubtedly priceless sculptures, vases, or figurines that seemed to cover every marble-topped table in the place. And even though Elle had assured him that he didn’t need to leave his boots at the front door, he was still doubtful on that score as she continued to give him the grand tour.
He’d never been inside her home until now, though he’d shared cab rides with her before and had seen the exterior of the place. He should have expected Elle’s home – technically, her parents’ home – to be as posh and elegant as the woman herself, but nothing could have truly prepared him for the intimidating grandeur of the house. Everything here shrieked money, lots of it – the plush carpets, gilt-framed artwork, a mixture of modern and antique furnishings.
He followed her into the huge, gleaming kitchen – all white cabinets, white granite counters, and professional grade stainless steel appliances.
“This is really something,” he told her in awe. “You must like to cook a lot with a kitchen this size.”
Elle smiled sheepishly. “You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you? The truth of the matter, though, is that I can boil water for tea but not much else. I grew up with servants, never had to worry about cooking or cleaning or doing the laundry. And my parents employ a housekeeper here for me as well. She leaves ready to cook meals for me so that I don’t have to eat out all the time. Do you like to cook, Ben?”
“Some. Though it’s been a challenge to get creative when all you have to work with is a two-burner hot plate and a microwave,” he admitted.
She beamed. “Well, you’d have all the space in the world if you decide to move in. This kitchen has every gadget, appliance, and convenience you’d ever need.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
Ben intentionally remained non-committal as he continued to follow Elle on the tour of the multi-level house. The ground floor included the living room, formal dining room, a library/office, the huge eat-in kitchen, and a pantry that was bigger than his entire apartment.
The second floor consisted of two separate suites, almost like self-contained apartments. Each suite included a bedroom with a walk-in closet, a spacious bathroom, and a sitting area/office. The third floor, which was used exclusively by Elle’s parents when they visited New York every couple of months, had an identical layout to the second.
In addition, there was an attached garage and a rooftop garden that offered up incredible views of Manhattan. Ben couldn’t even begin to calculate how much a property of this size would be valued at, especially given its prime location within the city.
“So what do you think?” Elle asked eagerly as they returned to the living room. “I mean, I’ve never seen your place but I have to imagine this is at least a step or two up from that.”
“A step or two?” Ben shook his head in bemusement. “More like a few hundred miles. Or a whole world apart. I honestly don’t think this could work, Elle. I appreciate the offer but I’m just not sure I’d ever fit in a place like this.”
Elle shook her raven head in denial. “You don’t have to “fit in” anywhere, Ben. I mean, you’d just be my roommate, free to come and go as you please. And given how much time you spend on the road for work, you’d hardly even be here.”
When Elle’s roommate Delia had decided to accept a job in Paris, Elle had eagerly offered the empty suite of rooms to Ben. She’d been quick to clarify that their relationship would continue to remain strictly platonic, that they would be nothing more than roommates and good friends.
Ben’s initial instinct had been to gently refuse her kind offer, not entirely convinced that Elle truly meant what she said. But when she told him he wouldn’t be expected to pay rent, merely his share of the utilities and his own groceries, he’d agreed to at least look at the place. The thriftiness that had been instilled in him from youth by his blue-collar family was tempted by the possibility of being able to save some money while making a considerable upgrade to his living conditions at the same time.
Now that he’d had the grand tour, however, all of his doubts returned full force. Despite the obvious beauty and grandeur of the house, it all left Ben feeling more than a little cold. And the place certainly didn’t call to him, didn’t feel the least bit like a home. Not at all like the way he’d felt the first time he’d walked inside the cabin in Big Sur.
There was really no comparison between this elegant Manhattan brownstone and the rugged, laidback oceanfront cabin. Even the much larger and more formal McKinnon home in Carmel Highlands was far more casual and welcoming than the Kimbrough residence. And while Ben had easily been able to envision himself living in either of the coastal homes, the same couldn’t be said of the intimidating city dwelling.
He hesitated before telling her, “I just don’t know, Elle. I’ve never lived in a place like this before, you know?”
She laughed softly. “It’s just a house, Ben. And you’d have your own things around you, after all. I mean, Delia did leave a few pieces behind but we could store them in the garage. Though the computer workstation she left in her office might be something you’d like to use.”
Ben looked around the very formal room they were standing in, afraid that if he made one wrong move some priceless collectible would tumble to the floor. “I suppose the suite is more or less like a separate apartment,” he mused, as though to himself. “And I guess you’ve got a point that I’d only be here half the time at best.”
“I hardly ever saw Delia,” offered Elle, obviously pulling out all the stops to convince him. “Most of the time I didn’t even remember I had a roommate. And when my parents were here, Delia pretty much stayed in her rooms.”
And that was yet another concern for Ben. “What are your parents going to say if you have a male roommate?”
Elle gave a careless shrug. “I’m twenty-nine, you know, and I’ve been taking care of myself for quite some time. My parents trust my decisions. And, yes, they’re rather old-fashioned about certain things but they also trust my judgment. If I assure them you’re strictly my roommate – my platonic roommate – then they’ll be fine with it.”
But Ben still wasn’t convinced, still felt a niggling sense of doubt about the whole situation. “And if I do agree to this, Elle, it needs to be understood upfront that roommates is all we’d be,” he reminded her in a gentle but firm manner. “I like and respect you too much to ever lead you on, or to let you hope we’ll ever be more than friends.”
The smile she gave him didn’t quite reach her eyes, but her tone was confident and casual as she assured him, “Well, of course. All of that goes without saying, Ben. After all, I’m dating Marcus now while you – well, sometimes I’m afraid you’ll never get over that woman who broke your heart, whoever she is.”
He had yet to tell Elle any specific details about the woman he continued to pine after, including her name or where they’d met or how long their relationship had lasted.
“That woman,” he said quietly, “wasn’t much more than a girl when I knew her, only twenty years old. And I never said that she broke my heart. It was actually the other way around.”
Elle stared at him, the surprise on her face evident. “You left her? You were the one to break things off? Then why - ”
“Why am I still so hung up on her if I was the one to end things?” he finished. “Because I left her for her own good. I had nothing to offer her back then, while she had absolutely everything to look forward to, all sorts of dreams to fulfill. I left so that she could do exactly that.”
“And has she?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but I’d be shocked if she hasn’t. She was a force to be reckoned with, even at twenty years of age.”
“You haven’t tried to get in touch with her then?” asked Elle thoughtfully. “Or even looked her up on social media?”
“No.” He shook his head firmly. “I’ve resisted the urge to Google her, or see if she’s on Facebook, that sort of thing. If I did – well, I’m not sure how much longer my good intentions would last. And while I’m in a better place financially and job-wise now, I doubt she’d ever want to see me again after what I did to her.”
Elle looked as though she wanted to quiz him further on the subject, but Ben guessed that the look on his face must have warned her off.
“I get it now,” she assured him. “You still love this girl and probably will for a long time, maybe even forever. And you aren’t ready to move on. So I get it, really I do. You and I are just friends. Friends and hopefully roommates.”
He hesitated for long seconds before finally giving a brief, decisive nod. “Okay. Friends and roommates. I’ll give my landlord notice tonight. Good thing I’m on a month to month lease.”
As he and Elle exchanged a brief, friendly hug, Ben only hoped he wouldn’t come to regret his decision. Because in spite of her repeated assurances to the contrary, he still wasn’t convinced that all she felt for him was mere friendship.