“Oh, to have a concierge!” Manda moaned. “I need one of those so badly. And a cook. And a nanny. And a masseuse.”
“How much do you think this place goes for?” I lowered my voice as we approached the front doors, Zara pulling us ahead. Manda pushed the stroller with a newly awake and irritated Dane and a hollering Polly.
“The real question is, when do you have to start picking up the tab?”
I held the door for Manda and the screamers and took a deep breath of the white tea fragrance that floated out from the foyer. “He said the first six months were on him. Until I feel completely settled.”
Manda shook her head. “Love it and live it up, girl. Tomorrow has enough troubles of its own.”
The concierge rose from his chair at an elongated desk. Two striking arrangements of cherry blossom branches arched upward from each corner of his workspace.
“Welcome,” he said, nodding slowly. His trim goatee, clean-shaven head, and meticulous bow tie suggested two screaming little people and another punching the elevator buttons without pause might not be his typical social situation. “Ms. Garrett?”
I thought I saw a flicker of relief in his eyes when I reached out to shake his hand instead of Manda, who was starting to fumble for the clasp on her nursing bra.
“We are pleased to welcome you to Silverside Lofts. My name is Omar, and I am the head concierge at your service. Please do not hesitate to contact me with any questions, concerns, or needs.”
“I’m Manda,” she said, introducing herself and jostling Polly at the same time. “I’m Charlie’s best friend. And I really, really, really appreciate all you do. Do you freelance?”
Manda was grinning, but Omar looked a little nervous. I took the key from his outstretched hand. “Thank you for the warm welcome, Omar.” I looked toward the elevators, where Zara was now spinning cartwheels and singing a song from Frozen. “Can you tell me which apartment number is mine?”
“Of course, Ms. Garrett. You have the penthouse apartment. Our top floor, the twenty-fifth. Your key will also access the fitness center, the executive lounge, and the rooftop terrace. But perhaps the executive tour should wait for another time when you are a bit more, ahem, settled in?” Omar’s eyes bounced from Dane’s five-alarm tantrum to Zara’s Idina Menzel imitation to Manda’s muttering at her tangled bra strap. Omar was not built for this moment.
“Sounds great,” I said, already striding toward the elevator. “Thank you,” I called over my shoulder before pointing to the up button for Zara. After a stomach-dropping, rapid ascent, the elevator chimed for the top floor, and we stepped directly into the apartment.
“Holy catfish!” Zara squealed and took off at a run.
I let my bags drop with a thud onto the polished marble floor. Vaulted ceilings and walls of windows made me feel as if I was perched eye-level with Mount Rainier, which presided like a snowy watchman in the distance. A clear day in Seattle was money, and I felt like the girl with the Midas touch. I walked to a far window, past a gleaming kitchen with not one but two Dacor ovens, thank you very much, past a long, kitten-soft gray sectional, past a flat screen television that was sure to catch every nuance of Colin Firth’s face when I curled up with him and Pride and Prejudice later that night. I kicked off the infernal high heels and stood before the window. A southern view of the city lay before me—water, sky, the Space Needle, Puget Sound—and I felt the exhaustion and worry seep out of my shoulders. I did it, I thought. It might be crazy and I have to unpack and make lists and stock my kitchen and find Avery’s restaurant and make supply lists and develop a menu and get to know my staff … I sighed. But I did it. And the view sure is lovely from up here.
“I’m moving in.” Manda’s voice tugged me out of my reverie.
I turned and saw her curled in the corner of the sectional, Polly’s little fist clutching the top of her shirt while she ate. Dane was sitting at one of the barstools by the kitchen counter, sucking applesauce out of some sort of vacuum pack and looking a bit less hostile.
“I’m moving in and leaving the kids with Jack.”
“Mommy!” Zara rounded the corner, looking offended. “You can’t leave us with Dad. He doesn’t know how to braid!”
“You’ll adjust,” Manda said. “Braiding isn’t that hard.”
Zara narrowed her eyes for a moment until her face relaxed into a toothy grin. “You’re joking, Mom. You won’t leave us with Daddy. He’s tried braiding, and he’s super bad at it.” She skipped back down the hallway to what looked like the master bedroom, outfitted with a tall, narrow mirror perfect for aspiring vocalists.
I lowered myself onto the couch, smoothing the fabric slowly with my hand, lining up my heels on the dense area rug. Closing my eyes and letting my head fall back on the cushion, I heard Manda thump Polly’s back to burp her.
“You made it,” Manda said. I could hear the smile in her voice without looking at her face. I knew she wasn’t just talking about a cross-country move.
I felt a smile pulling at my lips. “Let the adventure begin.”