Page 78 of Trust Fund Baby

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Roxie,

Today is one of those days when I wish you were here. Something big happened that I wanted to share with you, but my own actions have prevented me from getting that moment with you. After watching you chase your dreams, even though it pains me that I can’t celebrate your achievements with you, I think I’ve figured out what I want to do with my life.

It’s something big and scary, but I know in my heart it will be worthwhile.

Maybe one day you’ll get to see it if it ever comes to fruition.

First, I have to convince my father that the idea is worthy of his investment, and you and I both know how hard of a task that will be.

Sebastian xx

29

Roxie

The air, crisp with the bite of early December, made my breath puff like smoke and my ungloved fingers throb with cold. Nate and I walked side by side down Eighth Avenue, our coats brushing every few steps. He was talking about a real-estate venture his family was working on—some big deal they’d closed that week that would give them sole responsibility for selling all the units in a newly finished high rise in the city—but my mind was having a hard time wanting to stay interested.

I nodded when he glanced at me, offering a smile that felt polite more than genuine. Every word out of his mouth was polished, like he’d practiced it in the mirror. He had the confidence that filled the silence before it settled. Hallie had told me I needed someone steady. But steady was feeling a lot like … boring.

True to his word, Nate had reached out a few days after we’d met at Whiskey Locker. I’d nearly forgotten I’d given my number to him as I’d tried to block out most of that day, if only to protect my heart from the memories in the bathroom. So, when I received his first text, asking me out to dinner, I’d made the excuse that I needed some time to get the business up and running. It wasn’t a complete lie. But once I finally agreed to see him, the first date had turned into two, and then three, and now four. I’d kept telling myself to keep giving him a chance and that maybe I’d feel a spark.

And yet, here I was. On a proper date. The sort of date normal people had all the time. Giving it a fourth chance.

So why do you still feel so wholeheartedly unexcited about it, Rox?

The thought had bounced around in my head the entire afternoon as we’d strolled through the art district in the West Village before venturing into the city to look at some of the real estate projects that Nate was working on. I hadn’t expected to feel so completely inept after Sebastian Whittaker steamrolled back through my life.

We stopped at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Across the street, scaffolding covered a building, which had fresh paint on the brick facade and a banner strung across the entryway.

FUTURE HOME OF EAST SIDE FOOD BANK

My steps faltered. “Oh,” I breathed, pulling my coat tighter against the chill.

Nate followed my line of sight. “Ah. That one.” He tugged his gloves tighter at the wrist, like the building had personally offended him. “We put in a bid for it. Got passed over.”

I glanced back at him, brows rising. “Really?”

“Mm.” His mouth flattened. “Shame, honestly. The location’s prime. Could’ve been a great spot for something more elevated. A private club, maybe. Or a Michelin-starred restaurant.” He gestured vaguely toward the facade, where volunteers were coming and going with boxes. “Instead, it’s just … a food bank.”

Just.

The word lodged like grit beneath my skin.

“Right,” I said, forcing my tone to stay even, though it tasted bitter on my tongue.

Nate kept talking, rattling off square footage and potential resale value, but his words blurred against the wind. I looked again at the banner, the bold letters flapping in the wintry breeze. Just a food bank. I thought about mine and Hallie’s website, of the stories we wanted to collect like jewels—highlight parts of the city that would show its heart in the unlikeliest places. I pictured the families that would enter those doors, their lives forever changed by this new space.

The light turned green. Nate started forward, and after a beat, I followed. My steps felt heavier than before, like the city itself had turned into a reminder that I was trying too hard to live someone else’s version of normal.

Beside me, Nate launched into another anecdote about a developer dinner at The Social Eatery, all polished charm and surface sheen. I nodded when he looked at me, but something had shifted. The cold in the air wasn’t just in my fingers anymore—it was in my chest.

We cut across the street, and Nate steered us toward Central Park. The faint smell of roasted chestnuts wafted over from a cart nearby, and every gust of wind slipped beneath my coat, reminding me how unprepared I’d been in leaving my gloves at home.

“Hot chocolate?” Nate asked, nodding toward a vendor at one of the park’s many entrances. He smiled as if it were a casual offer, but it had the same practiced charm as every other move he’d made today. Still, warmth sounded too good to pass up.