HREE HOURS LATER, I was alone in the very comfortable sitting room of the Roosevelt Center, Coco snoring on my lap. She was happy—she ate a cheeseburger as big as she was, then morphed into a therapy dog, charming the residents with her tricks of paw-raising and leaping straight up and down. Nick had been busy getting his father settled, then had to go off with the director to fill out forms, receive apologies, inspect the alarm system and God knew what else.

I sighed, bone-weary. It was hard to believe today had begun with Nick and me in bed together, somewhere in the heartland. Yesterday (yesterday!), I’d seen my mother. Less than a week ago, my sister had gotten married. My father was getting divorced, and God only knew what would happen to BeverLee.

I thought of my little house in Menemsha, of sitting on the deck with Kim and a glass of wine, the sound of the water splashing against the hulls of the fishing boats, the wind shushing in the long grass. It seemed like a lifetime since I’d been home.

Apparently, those thoughts were just too much to be wrangled with, because I dozed off. Next thing I knew, Nick was kneeling in front of me. “Hey,” he said with a smile.

“Hi,” I answered, lurching upright. “How’s your dad?”

“Sleeping. He’s doing okay. He was a little dehydrated, but otherwise, fine.” He looked at me, and the clock seemed to stop. “You were great today, Harper,” he said. Then he put his head in my lap and closed his eyes, and a wave of love washed over me so big and strong it took my breath away.

“Well, chasing after pantsless men has always been a hobby of mine,” I whispered. “There’s a website for us. PantslessMenLovers.com.” I stroked Nick’s hair, and as always, the glints of silver in the dark brown gave me a pang. Who took care of Nick? I wondered. He looked after everyone else…Christopher, Willa, his father…and, for this past week, me. Well, for tonight, anyway, I’d take care of him.

“You ready to go home, big guy?” I asked.

Nick looked up, his eyes crinkling. “Yeah. As fun as it’s been, I’m ready for this day to be over.”

We got a cab, and when Nick gave the address, my mouth fell open. “Really?” I asked.

He shrugged. Maybe he blushed, though it was hard to tell in the erratic light as we headed downtown. Coco yawned, then jumped as a horn blasted.

Twenty minutes later, I saw that it was true.

Nick had never moved from the building where we’d lived together.

As I got out of the cab, the screech of the subway split the air, just as it had so many years ago. Coco twitched and shivered in my arms.

Still a little stunned to be back in the neighborhood, I stared at the building as Nick got our bags from the trunk of the cab. Same pillars, same tall, narrow windows. Nick hit the code on the panel and opened the front door, and as I stepped into the foyer, the same cool smell of stone greeted me. And cabbage. “Don’t tell me Ivan still lives here,” I said.

“I’m afraid so,” Nick answered.

We went up the stairs—four flights, same as when we’d lived there. My heart pounded at the memories…a lot of lonely days, a lot of doubt and fear and homesickness.

A lot of missing Nick.

Inside, though, everything was different, and that…well, that was a relief. I put Coco down, and she trotted off to explore and sniff.

Previously, the apartment had occupied a quarter of the fourth floor in a cramped, awkward design, but the co-op builders had made what had been four apartments into one. Gone were the graying plaster walls, the linoleum that peeled up in the corner of the kitchen, the tiny closet where we’d had to stuff our coats.

Instead, the apartment was much more what you’d imagine for a Tribeca co-op—exposed brick walls, distressed hardwood floor. Nick had always suspected that under the cheap carpeting lurked oak, and while he’d planned to find it, he’d never had time. At least, not while I was around. There was a generous galley kitchen with stone counters and stainless-steel light fixtures, a counter with two very modern-looking stools. A small but comfortable office, impressive computer screen and an entire wall of books on architecture. Dark leather couches in the living room punctuated by steel and glass end tables. On one wall hung an old black-and-white subway sign listing the stops of one of the lines.

“Pottery Barn?” I asked.

Nick shot me a look. “Original, thank you very much. So. This is it. What do you think?”

“It’s very nice, Nick. Very…you.”

“Thanks.”

And it was…or I guessed it was. Back when I knew Nick, he’d wanted all this so much—to prove himself to his father, to be successful at the job he loved, to be financially secure, well regarded. But it was freaking me out a little, too, to be in the home where we’d been, forgive the honesty, so miserable.

We looked at each other for a minute. “You hungry?” I asked. “I’m excellent at making peanut butter sandwiches.”

“That’s okay,” Nick said. “I ate at the nursing home.” Drat. I’d kind of been looking forward to cooking for him. So 1950s of me. “Do you want anything?” he added.

“No, I’m good.”

We stood there another beat or two, and it occurred to me that maybe Nick felt a little uncertain, too. Should we cuddle? Shag? I was fairly grimy. “Well, how about a shower?”

“Absolutely. Right this way.” Down the hall—we’d had no hall, it was too small for that—and into a wicked awesome bathroom tiled with speckled brown granite. A glassed-in shower area, a sink that looked more like a piece of modern art than somewhere to spit toothpaste. “Towels are here,” he said, and there they were, plush and inviting. “Anything else you need? I’ll put your suitcase in the, um, in the bedroom.” So he was nervous. For some reason, I found that quite the turn-on. Aw…he was blushing, and his hair was standing almost straight up, so many times had he run a hand through it in frustration and fear this long day. Right now he looked both hopeful and weary.

I turned on the water and stood for a second, watching it gush out of the generous showerhead. “Nick?”

“Yeah?”

I undid the first button of my shirt. “Wanna save water?”

He looked at me for a second, then smiled, that flashing, transforming smile. You see, back when he was a grad student and I was in college, back before so much had gotten in our way, that had been our little joke—save water, wash up and oh, yes, maybe indulge in a little steamy sex, as well. “We are in a drought,” he said, then crossed the small distance between us, wrapped his arms around me and moved so that we were both in the shower, fully clothed and now soaking wet. I smiled against his mouth and then unbuttoned his shirt and did my best to take care of him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE NEXT MORNING AFTER breakfast (bagels, of course… New York did have a few things going for it), Nick called the nursing home to check on his father. While he was on the phone, I booted up my laptop and checked my messages. There was my real life, waiting for me to return. Tommy was still in wedded bliss with his faithless wife and had attached a picture of the two of them standing in front of the Gay Head Light. He was smiling. She was not. I grimaced, wondered if it would be crass to advise him to get checked for herpes, and typed a brief, noncommittal reply. Theo was curious as to when I’d grace the office with my presence (code for get your ass back here). I reminded him that I had nine weeks of time off accrued and would be happy to point out the firm’s policy on vacations in the manual I myself had written a few years back. I also wrote Carol a note with a cc to Theo, telling her that if Theo didn’t relax, she was free to slip him a few horse tranquilizers and we’d just see what that did to his golf game.

There was nothing from Dad—that wasn’t a surprise…I don’t think the man had ever sent me an email or called of his own volition. But nothing from BeverLee, either, which was unusual. And nothing from Willa, which struck me as ominous.

With a glance down the hall at Nick, who was speaking now to a doctor, I logged in to my credit card account. Just for the heck of it. There, dated yesterday, was a $108 charge to Bitter Creek B&B in Rufus, Montana. Huh. Well, good. The kids had left the great outdoors for a shower and a bed. Couldn’t blame them.

In the past when she used my credit card, Willa was always very specific about what exactly she’d be doing…not asking permission, but letting me know she wasn’t going wild, either. This was a first.

My computer beeped; an email from Carol. Horse tranquilizers administered. Miss your grouchy ass. Where the hell are you?

New York City, I typed back. Yankees fans everywhere. Will do my best to cull the population. See you Monday.

Then I dropped a note to Kim, asking her to water the one houseplant I owned (a cactus, go ahead, make the joke) and if she wanted anything from the Big Apple. Another inbox chime. Is Derek Jeter available? she wrote. And why are you in New York? You still with your ex-husband? Are you sleeping together? I’m calling you right now. On cue, my cell phone rang—Ozzy’s “Crazy Train,” Kim’s favorite song. I opted to skip the call and kept typing.

Can’t talk now, long story. Will be back this weekend. Gotta run. Sorry.

“Want to come in to the firm? See where I work?” Nick asked, appearing in the doorway with a cup of coffee in his hand. The man was irresistible, and damn if he just didn’t improve hourly. Dressed in a crisp white shirt and tan pants, he hadn’t shaved today. Sigh!

“Sure, I’d love to.” I snapped down the lid of my laptop, then remained seated. “But Nick, I have to get back to Martha’s Vineyard, too.” I paused a second. “This whole…um, trip wasn’t on the calendar. I need to think about home.”

“Oh, sure. But not today, right? I mean, yesterday didn’t really count. You should stay till Sunday. Actually, traffic sucks on Sundays. So stay till Monday.” He paused and looked into his coffee cup. “Or longer.”

The first warning bell chimed, far off but still audible. “Well, I have court on Tuesday, and I need to prep for that. And you know, my regular stuff back home.”

“Right. Unless…well. Never mind. Let’s go.”

“BOSS! YOU’RE BACK!”

Within seconds of walking into the fifth floor of the Singer Building, Nick was swamped by employees. He greeted everyone by name, shook hands, answered questions about the wedding. I recognized Emily; she offered a tentative smile, and I gave her a little wave back, feeling oddly shy.

“This is Harper,” Nick said. “Willa’s sister.” His hand rested lightly on my back—a message, perhaps, that I was to be treated well. The seven or eight people clustered around the reception desk fell silent. Ah.

“Holy shit,” said someone. “I don’t believe it.”

I found the owner of the voice. “Hi. Peter, right?”

Pete Camden had worked at MacMillan with Nick. They’d been the two anointed rookies, the wunderkinds. Though I had met him only once, his name was burned into my memory…the night of our big fight, Nick had gone to stay with Peter Camden.

“Jesus Humphrey Christ. It really is you.” He gave me a cold look.

“Pete, you remember Harper,” Nick said.

“Oh, I remember, all right,” Peter answered. No one else said anything for a second.

“Want the tour?” Nick asked, then took my hand and started to lead me away from the gaggle.

“Nick,” Peter called, “stop in my office when you have a sec, okay? I’ve got something on Drachen.” He slapped Nick on the shoulder. “Great to have you back, buddy.” He ignored me.

“So my legend precedes me?” I asked Nick as we went down the hall.

He shot me a look and didn’t answer. “Here’s my office,” he said, opening a door. The room was spacious and open, decorated with blond wood furniture and a red leather sofa. An antique drafting table anchored one end of the room, a large desk and ergonomically graceful chair on the other. The windows overlooked Prince Street, and I could see the wrought-iron facade for which the building was rightly famous. In the center of the room was a huge smoked-glass conference table laden with neatly rolled blueprints and a model of a ten- or twelve-story building.

“So this is the Drachen model?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Nick said. “What do you think?”

It was like a really sophisticated dollhouse, charming and detailed. I bent to get a better look, smiling at the little details inside, the models of people outside, the trees and walled gardens that would line the entryway, should Nick get the job. “It’s beautiful, Nick.”

“Thanks,” he said with a smile. “Here are some of the other buildings we’ve done.” He pointed me to the photos hanging on the wall.

They were stunning. I didn’t know too much about architecture other than what I’d absorbed during my time with Nick, but I could tell his stuff was special, modern yet not ridiculous, if you know what I mean. Nothing was shaped like a penis, in other words. Nick’s buildings echoed the surrounding architecture of the neighborhoods, but they were unique, too, in some indefinable way. I looked long and hard at the photos, aware of Nick’s eyes on me. “I like the curves on this one,” I said, pointing to one.

“That’s a little hotel in Beijing,” he said. “I wanted it to feel soft, you know, since it overlooked the botanical garden. The foyer is done in the shape of a gingko leaf…see?”

I nodded, charmed.

“And where’s this one?” I asked, pointing to the next photo.

“That’s a private museum in Budapest. That one was really fun. We used this curved facade out here, and again over here. There’s a solar-powered waterfall in the café, over here…” He moved on, pointing and commenting, like a kid during show-and-tell, his enthusiasm and love of his job lighting up his face. He belonged here, doing this.

“Nick? Gotta sec?” Peter appeared in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt.” He flicked his gaze toward me, obviously not sorry at all.

“Go ahead,” I murmured. “I’m fine.”

“Okay. Back in a flash,” Nick said, leaving me alone.

Behind the desk were a few other framed photos that caught my interest—a nice one of Nick and Christopher, both in tuxes. Maybe at Nick’s other wedding.

Crikey. I’d almost forgotten about that. Somewhere in this city was the other former Mrs. Nick—and her much adored kid. Sure enough, here was another photo— Isabel, if I recalled correctly—standing next to Nick in front of the Guggenheim. And voila, another one. Nick, an attractive woman with a sleek blond bob, and Isabel, perhaps twelve, all smiling on a white-sand beach. A family vacation.

Guess Nick wasn’t always a workaholic.

Stifling the flash of jealousy, I stuck my head out the door. No sign of Nick. I wandered down the hall to the foyer. Two of Nick’s employees, a man and a woman, were in a huddle over the reception desk, their voices low.

“So apparently,” the man was saying, “they used to be married, and she cheated on him, broke his heart.”

“Are you serious?” she asked.

“I didn’t cheat on him,” I said clearly. They jumped, totally busted. “Anything else I can clarify for you?” I tipped my head and smiled my angel-killing smile.

The woman scuttled back to her desk. The man, unfortunately for him, was the actual receptionist. Nowhere to run.

“Worked here long?” I asked cheerfully.

“Five years,” he mumbled.

“So you know my sister, then?” I asked.

“I sure do,” he said. “Sweet kid.” He paused. “I’m Miguel. Sorry about the gossip. It’s just…well, we all love Nick.” He gave a rueful smile.

“Nice meeting you,” I said, opting for the high road (and considering it my random act of kindness for the day). I offered my hand, and Miguel took it.

“You don’t seem nearly as evil as Pete says.” He cringed. “Jesus, what’s wrong with me today? I’m not even drunk.”

I laughed. “So, Miguel, how many people work here?”

“About fifteen. We subcontract out a lot, depending on where the job is.”

I nodded. “So did Chris Lowery work here, too?”

“Sometimes,” Miguel readily answered. “Nick gets him stuff with our finish carpenters once in a while. He worked here full time a while back, but Nick finally fired him and wouldn’t take him back until he got sober.”

The word slammed into me like a cannonball, but the receptionist didn’t notice and kept talking. “He came back, let’s see…a year ago? A little less? Yeah, it was just after Christmas, and he looked great, you know?”

“Christopher’s an alcoholic?” My voice was flat and hard.

Miguel’s eyes widened. “I…did I say that? I…um…you know, maybe you should ask Nick.”

I stared at Miguel unblinking, my heart rolling in slow, deliberate thuds. Vaguely, I recalled Nick saying something about Chris having a hard time lately. Ah. Mystery solved. Did Willa know about this?

“Nick!” Miguel chirped nervously. “Speak of the devil! Hi! You guys going to lunch? Want me to make a res somewhere?”

Nick looked between Miguel and me. “Hungry?” he asked me.

I didn’t answer.

“Harper? Want to go somewhere?”

“Sure,” I said.

Nick cocked his head and frowned at me. “Okay. Let’s go, then. See you, Miggy.”

“Have a great time! Boss, will you be back later?”

“No,” Nick said. “I’ll check in, though.”

I didn’t speak as we left the building.

“Harper?” Nick asked as we walked down the street. “Everything okay?”

“Not really,” I said.

“Yes, I get the impression you’re ready to murder a kitten,” he said, taking my arm to steer me around a broken chunk of sidewalk.

I pulled my arm back. “I’m not going to murder a kitten, Nick. I’m just…”

“Just what?”

“Sucker-punched.”

He stopped. “How?”

“I just learned that my sister married an alcoholic who hasn’t even been sober a year.” It was difficult to keep my voice calm. “I have concerns.”

Nick looked at the sidewalk. “And somehow this is my fault, yes?”

“It would’ve been nice to know, Nick.”

“Come on. Let’s not fight on the sidewalk.” He steered me into a restaurant. “Table for two, please,” he said to the young woman at the counter.

“We’re closed,” she muttered, turning the page of her magazine. She had a tattoo on her shoulder—Hello Kitty wearing an eye patch. “We open at 11:30.”

“It’s 11:29,” I pointed out a trifle sharply.

“Fine.” She snatched up a few leather-bound menus and led us to a table under a large clock, then stomped away.

I took a breath, then another. Nick didn’t look at me, just began building a tower out of sugar packets.

“All right,” he said, “Christopher checked into a program last winter. He’s been sober for about ten months.”

“And how long has he had a drinking problem?” I asked, calmly. Felt as if I was in a deposition.

“Since high school.”

Crotch. Half his life, in other words. I took a long sip of water, not able to look at Nick.

“Harper, I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it’s not really your problem, is it?” Nick asked. “Chris has a good heart, and he’s trying really hard.” More sugar packets were put to use.

I unclenched my jaw. “Nick, Willa’s been married twice before to good-hearted men who tried really hard. Husband Number One tried really hard to stay out of jail. That lasted three weeks. Husband Number Two tried really hard not to be gay. That lasted about a month and a half.”

“She knows how to pick ’em,” Nick said, glancing up with a grin.

I bit my lip hard, started to say something, then broke off. “Nick,” I said in a harsh whisper, “I don’t want to see my sister go through another divorce. Divorce sucks, as we both know. It’s not funny. She has terrible judgment when it comes to men.”

He added another layer to his tiny building.

“Will you stop doing that?” I said, reaching over and grabbing the packets.

“You just wrecked Taipei 101,” he said. Then he sighed, sitting back in his chair. “Look, Harper, I don’t know what to say. I know you want to protect Willa, but she’s an adult. So is Chris.”

“Really, Nick? The inventor of the Thumbie and the girl who hasn’t held any job for more than two consecutive months?”

His mouth tightened. “Not your call, Harper.”

“And here’s the other thing, Nick.” I tried to keep my voice neutral. “We’re…together now. Sort of. You slept with me, but you didn’t tell me about this, and I just feel…blindsided.”

“There hasn’t been a lot of time, Harper,” he said.

There’d been time. That dinner in Aberdeen when he made me the house out of French fries. Last night, when we’d raided the kitchen around midnight. “Well,” I said, opting to let those go, “would you have told me eventually?”

He didn’t answer. Which was, of course, an answer. “So you have no problem sleeping with me, but I’m only privy to some things,” I said. “And you decide what those things are.”

He held up his hands. “Okay. Just…stop. Just for a minute, okay?” He looked up, smiled his thanks at the waitress. “We’re not quite ready to order,” he said.

“Fine,” she said. “You guys were, like, the ones beating down the door to get in here.”

“Back off, missy,” I snapped.

“Fine,” she repeated, rolling eyes and storming away yet again.

“You know she’s going to spit in our food,” Nick said.

“Nick, back to the subject at hand,” I ground out.

He sighed. “Look. Let’s not argue about Chris and Willa, because that gets us nowhere.”

“Does Willa even know?” I asked.

“You mean, did I sit her down and tell her about Christopher’s drinking? No. I didn’t. It wasn’t my place.”

“Are you aware that concealment of addiction can be grounds for annulment, Nick?”

His mouth tightened. “Harper, their marriage and issues and problems are theirs. Not ours. So please, let’s not ruin things by talking about another couple.”

I tried not to grind my teeth. “Nick, two things. First, given the fact that I constantly bail Willa out of disastrous situations, I think I should’ve known about this. And I’m feeling a little…hurt that you didn’t see fit to tell me. But I’ll let that go. Or I’ll try. Secondly, their issues do affect us! These are our siblings, Nick. Not some strangers. If they get a divorce, that matters to us.”

“You’re such a cynic.” He shook his head.

“Don’t start. I’m a realist, okay? Don’t forget what I do for a living.”

“As if you’d let me.”

We stared at each other across the table. The feeling of impasse was very familiar.

“Let’s change the subject, okay?” Nick suggested gently. He reached over and took my hand.

“Sure,” I said briskly. “What would you like to discuss? The weather? Baseball?”

Nick grinned. “The Yankees beat the Sox last night. Ten to three.”

“You’re hardly getting on my good side, Nick.” But I allowed a small smile.

His smile grew. “Okay, well, let’s talk about your law practice. You could pass the New York bar exam in a heartbeat, don’t you think? Or would you even have to, since you’re already practicing in another state?”

And sucker-punched again. I blinked. “The bar?”

Then Nick’s phone chimed gently. “This might be the nursing home,” he said, pulling his phone out. He glanced at it. “Nope. It’s just Pete.”

“Take it,” I replied without thinking.

“It can wait.”

“No. Go ahead. I could use a minute anyway.”

He hesitated, then stood up. “Okay. Be right back.” He went outside, and I watched through the window as he talked, then listened. He glanced at me, then spoke some more. Shook his head. Looked my way again, waved, kept talking.

The New York bar exam? That one came right out of left field. My knees were still buzzing with surprise. The electrical current that ran between Nick and me…it had always carried the danger of electrocution.

I took a shaky breath. The last time we were together, Nick had rushed ahead with a lot of plans. Get engaged, quick wedding. He’d found our apartment and signed the lease before I even saw the place, saying that to wait would’ve meant losing it. And of course, when we were married, it had been all about his plan, his schedule, his career.

This time…this time would have to be different. The last thing I wanted was to make the same mistake twice.

Nick came back to the table and sat back down. His knee started bouncing.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Sure. Everything’s great.” He hesitated. “You know the Drachen project?” I nodded. “The company’s CEO is in New York. Peter managed to pin him down for a late lunch.”

“Great,” I said.

“I won’t go,” Nick said. His knee continued to bounce. “Do you want to order?”

“Um…no.” I took another deep breath. “Nick. You should…you should go. To the lunch.”

“No,” he said quickly. “I’m with you today.”

“No, you should go. You really wanted this one. This is your chance.”

He didn’t answer.

“I’ll be fine,” I added. “Does the CEO come to the States that often?”

“No,” he acknowledged.

“So you should go!”

Nick just looked at me, his dark eyes assessing, and as ever, time seemed to stop. Except it didn’t—the clock above us chimed softly.

“I have a million emails to return,” I said, “and Nick, you know you want this deal. So go. Okay? I’ll see you back at your place.” I stood up, kissed his cheek and left.