Sarah Morgan - Sleepless In Manhattan

Jake thought about his date for the night. Then he thought about Paige. Paige, who he tried really hard only ever to think of as his best friend’s little sister.

Little sister. Little. Little.

If he repeated that word often enough, hopefully his brain might eventually believe it.

He could refuse, but then he wouldn’t be able to help her and he had every intention of helping. The situation was complicated by the fact that he knew Paige wouldn’t want to be helped. She hated being protected or smothered. She didn’t want to be the focus of other people’s anxieties.

He understood that. He understood her.

Which was why he was determined to structure his help in a way that was acceptable to her.

And the first thing he had to do was move her past the shock stage, into the action stage.

“I’ll be there.”

His Friday night of mindless physical entertainment evaporated into the ether.

Instead of spending the night with a stunning blonde he’d be behaving in a brotherly fashion toward a woman he made a point of avoiding whenever he could. Why did he avoid her?

Because Paige Walker wasn’t little. She was all grown-up.

And his feelings toward her were far from brotherly.

“Thanks.” Matt sounded relieved. “And Jake—?”

“What?”

“Be nice.”

“I’m always nice.”

“Not to Paige. I know you two don’t really get along that well anymore.” Matt sounded tired again. “Normally that doesn’t worry me because—well, you know why. There was a time when I thought she might be in love with you.”

She’d been crazily in love with him.

She’d told him as much, in a breathless hopeful voice, her eyes full of happy endings.

And she’d been naked at the time.

There was a sharp crack, and Jake glanced down and saw that he’d broken the pencil in half.

“You don’t have anything to worry about. Paige definitely isn’t in love with me now.”

He might not have been able to fix her heart, but he’d fixed that.

He’d been careful to kill any soft feelings she might have had for him a long time ago. Now the only emotion she ever felt in his presence was extreme irritation. It was an art form, winding her up. There were days when he even pretended he enjoyed it.

He kept her annoyed.

Kept her irritated.

Kept her safe.

“That’s good to know because you are the kind of trouble my sister doesn’t need in her life. You promised not to lay a finger on her. Remember?”

“Yeah. I remember.” That promise had handcuffed him for a decade. That, and the knowledge that Paige wouldn’t be able to handle the realities of a relationship with him.

“Hey, you’re my closest friend. You’re like a brother to me, but we both know you’d be bad news for my sister. Not that you’d be interested. We both know she isn’t your type.”

“That’s right.” Jake kept his voice monotone. “Not my type.”

“Do me a favor? Tonight I need you to find your sensitive side. Don’t poke at her or take bites out of her. Be kind. Can you do that?”

Kind.

He yanked open the drawer on his desk and took out a new pencil. “Sure I can do that.”

He’d be kind for five minutes.

Then he’d make up for it by driving her crazy.

He’d do that for Paige because he cared about her and he’d do it for Matt, because he was the closest thing Jake had to a brother.

And he’d do it for himself because love, in his opinion, was the biggest lottery on earth and the only risk he wasn’t prepared to take.

When life closes a door, you can always break in through a window.

—Eva

“You need to burn your lucky shirt.” Paige stood on the roof terrace of their Brooklyn brownstone, staring blindly through softly waving grasses toward the glittering high-rises of Downtown Manhattan. The shady garden provided a lush, fragrant oasis in a city dominated by steel and glass.

Her brother, a landscape designer, had seen the potential others hadn’t and purchased the run-down brownstone for a fraction of its market value. He’d proceeded to turn it into three apartments, each with its own charm. But the jewel in the crown was the roof. Matt had magically transformed the weathered, unused space into a calming haven. Tall conifers surrounded the bluestone deck, sheltering custom-built wooden planters overstuffed with juniper, crepe myrtle and roses. It was invisible from the streets below and unimaginable to any one of the thousands of tourists trying to breathe in the crush of Times Square. It wasn’t until she’d moved to the city that Paige had discovered New York’s secret rooftop world, a myriad of elevated gardens topping the towering buildings like the decoration on a wedding cake.

In the summer they all met up here after work, sprawled on the loungers and deep cushions and drank and talked. Saturday was movie night and they invited friends over and watched on an improvised screen while the world passed by far beneath them.

It was Paige’s favorite place.

Candles flickered in mason jars and the air was scented with lavender and jasmine. It was a peaceful summer scene that felt a million miles from the urban madness of Manhattan. Being up here almost always soothed her.

Not today.

Unemployed.

The word filled her head, leaving no room for anything else.

In front of them, the table was loaded with delicious-looking dishes. Chickpeas roasted in spices, raw vegetables dressed in good olive oil and herbs. When she was stressed, Eva cooked, and she’d been cooking all afternoon. The fridge was full of food.

No one was eating.

“I threw the shirt away.” Eva’s voice was thickened. “I probably shouldn’t have because heaven knows when I’ll be able to afford to buy a new one. I don’t know why I feel so miserable. I didn’t even like the job that much, not like you. I only did it for the money, and because you were both there and I love working with you. It wasn’t my dream or anything. My dream is to turn my cookery blog into something big that people actually read. But this was your dream and you must be so upset.”

Paige stared across the rooftops, trying to sort her feelings into order and label them. Everything felt out of control. “I’m fine.” She accessed the smile with the ease of someone who had faked it a thousand times before. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Frankie was on her knees tending the planters. She watered, snipped, deadheaded, trimmed and said nothing.

Paige knew what that meant.

When Frankie was upset or angry, she raged.

When she was scared, she was quiet.

Tonight she was quiet.

Because of her upbringing, the ability to support herself was everything to Frankie.

Paige felt the same way, but for different reasons.

Claws, her brother’s rescue cat, sprang from nowhere, and Eva spilled her drink.

“Why does she always do that? The animal is deranged.” She stood up and Paige passed her a napkin.

“I know. That cat is the reason most of my clothes are covered in marks.” She reached for the cat but Claws stalked off with a flick of her tail, disdaining physical affection. “Why didn’t my brother rescue a cute puppy?”

“Because cute puppies need attention and Claws is the ‘The Cat that Walked by Himself.’” Frankie quoted Kipling and Claws rewarded her by taking a detour and rubbing briefly against her leg. “I’m in favor.”

“If she stopped scratching and jumping on people she wouldn’t be the cat who walked by itself. She’d have friends.” Eva mopped at her dress. “I thought animals were supposed to be able to sense when someone is traumatized and offer comfort.” Her voice wobbled. “Tonight was all about celebrating Paige’s promotion and now none of us have jobs. I don’t feel so good. How can you both be so calm?”