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Her head whips my way. “Oh my God, what?”

“It’s just something Max said once.” Though I believe his exact words were “a giant, unhappy glass dick.” I don’t think it looks remotely phallic. Or like a half-deflated chub. Even if it’s tall and long . . . before it folds over the roof of the next building.

We climb out—she doesn’t wait for her door to be opened for her, thank fuck—and make our way in through the entrance doors.

“No doorman?”

“Is that a deal-breaker for you?” I ask as Aziz, the guy on duty today, rounds the desk, intent on taking Clara’s bag. I wave him away.

We cross the lobby, and at the elevators, I press my access card to the panel. We get in, the doors slide closed, and we begin our swift ascent.

“No going down?”

I doubt she meant that as it sounded. “To the basement?” I ask. “Or are you asking if I live in hell along with Uncle Satan?”

She gives a tinkling laugh. “I guess I meant that the building gives off secret-bunker vibes. Glass and steel and a swanky lobby, but it’s all a cover. In the basement, foreign spies are being interrogated.”

“Your mind is a curious place.”

“No, it’s really not. It can be loud and chaotic and . . .” She gives her head a quick shake.

I don’t remember this about her, the way she puts herself down. Before, she always seemed like the most confident person in the room. What’s changed? Other than she’s been pulled down a peg or two by circumstances.

As for what she said about an ADHD diagnosis, I guess I can see it in hindsight. There were signs, not that I would’ve realized back then. I was a kid, and Clara just blinded me. But she was impulsive, either full-on or kind of distracted. Forgetful sometimes. Blind to time, come to think of it. Just like I was blind to the person she really was.

The doors glide open to the sight of a hallway, the scent of paint and new wood, and the sound of power tools. Or progress, as the contractor calls it.

“Welcome to Crazy Town,” I say, pushing on the door. I fucking love coming home.

“I take it back. There is no bunker.” She stares at the sheet of thick plastic covering the hallway to the right. “This place is more serial killer vibes.” Her attention tips to the protective matting underfoot.

“You got me. Now I got you.” The latter I say in my most dastardly tone, then clear my throat. “Kitchen.” I pitch my voice louder over the sudden burst of power tools. “Don’t worry about that. It’s just the team grinding up my last victim.”

“Environmentally responsible.”

I drop her bag to the floor and my keys to the island. Clara carefully lays down her bouquet, trailing her hand across the marble island. “This is beautiful. Calacatta, right?”

I make a vague gesture. “Living, dining.” I point to the open-plan space straight ahead with views over the Hudson. “Still waiting on the delivery of furniture.”

“Oh, so you weren’t aiming for bachelor pad chic?”

“That was last season’s look.” The decor is a little sparse, though the furniture cost a fuck ton. “Down that hallway,” I say, pointing left, “is the home office, my bedroom, and some other stuff. Guest suites are to the right. Which is where all the noise is coming from.”

“And that’s where I’ll be staying?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry. They just put up the sheeting this morning to contain the dust.”

“I can handle a little dust.”

I don’t immediately answer, and I don’t stare at her mouth for too long. “I’ll make sure they leave a bedroom and a bathroom until last. And they don’t work after four.”

I roll my lips together as though I can still taste hers. It was just a photo op. No need to get all twisted up about it.

“Are there doors down there or only plastic?” Her eyes go to the sheeting again, her voice lifting above what sounds like a chainsaw.

“Last time I—” The noise suddenly drops out. “Last time I looked,” I repeat at a normal volume. The doors aren’t staying, but that’s a worry for later. It’s not like I’ll be creeping around, trying to catch her naked. Clara naked in my place. I’m not gonna think about it. “Like I said, one side of the place is done. The other is still a work in progress.”

The place was two apartments originally, two penthouses, when a developer picked them up a few years ago. While I loved the fact that Battery Park feels like its own little village on the edge of the hustle and bustle, I didn’t love the interior. Hence the remodel and the refit, installing a gym, refurbishing the patios and stuff. “Seven should work, right?”