style="font-size:15px;"> They made the necessary arrangements and Keira hung up the call, feeling a little dazed from the speed with which it had all happened. It really did feel like fate.
Keira left the subway, finding herself in an unfamiliar but rather pleasant part of New York. It was one of the things about the city she loved so much, how it changed, evolved, and developed so constantly it was always reinventing itself. Not that long ago this area must have been a bit rundown and the public hadn’t yet caught on, because there was no way she’d be able to afford to rent a place here otherwise!
She hurried along the sidewalk, scanning the door numbers as she went, searching for the correct building. As she drew closer to the correct number, she noticed a woman standing ahead in a fuchsia pink two-piece and matching heels, smoking a cigarette. That must be the real estate agent she spoke to on the phone.
The woman turned, presumably at the sound of Keira’s footsteps, and threw her cigarette to the ground. She put it out with the toe of her shoe and headed toward the door, gesturing for Keira to follow her, blowing smoke from the side of her lips as she went.
“Let’s get inside,” she called out when Keira was still a few paces away. “I’m freezing my butt off out here.”
Keira blinked in surprise at how rapidly things continued to move. Without even introductions, she followed the woman inside the apartment building.
Inside, it was as dingy as Keira had expected, but the staircase was in one piece and the elevator smelled fine. They went up to the thirteenth floor and Keira was pleased to see there was no graffiti anywhere in the corridor they emerged into.
The real estate agent put a key in the lock of a plain white door and then pushed it open.
The smell of dust wafted out. It smelled like the condo hadn’t been vacuumed for years. They stepped inside.
“The landlord lived here for a bit before moving to another place and renting this out. He’s a bachelor,” the agent said, wiping her fingers across the balustrade and picking up dust. “You can probably tell.”
But Keira didn’t care about the layer of dust. She didn’t even care about how much smaller the apartment was in real life compared to the pictures, or how the wallpaper was covered in smudgy handprints. She could see past all of that. The condo to her meant freedom, independence, the beginning of her life. A reboot. An anchor.
“I love it!” she cried, clapping her hands.
The agent didn’t seem moved by her gushing. “Good,” she said simply. “Bedroom’s through there. That’s the reason it’s cheap. Not enough room for a proper double, just one of those European-sized ones. But you’re short so you’ll fit fine.”
Keira peered into the bedroom. It was indeed little more than a closet. But what else did she need from a bedroom than a place to sleep? It wasn’t like she had a partner to share her bed with, it would just be her. Her and maybe a cat…
“Looks big enough for me,” she said. “I don’t actually own a bed so it will just be a case of getting something that fits.”
The real estate agent nodded in her characteristic lackluster way. “Great. Wanna rent it?”
Keira needed a moment to think. This was happening too fast. She ducked back out of the bedroom into the living area and walked over to the large windows, looking out at the view. She could see Central Park from here.
Suddenly she could imagine herself sitting by this window, gazing out at the streets, drinking coffee, writing. It was like her own Paris hotel window. Perfect for her. She didn’t need anything fancy, not when she was abroad for work so often. She just needed somewhere to call her own. A fresh start.
She swirled to face the fuchsia-clad real estate agent. “Yes. I’ll take it.”
CHAPTER THREE
Mallory leaned across the table and filled Keira’s now empty glass with more rosé. Keira grimaced. She didn’t care for the sickly sweet pink wine her mother favored, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. When it came to Mallory Swanson, refusal was futile.
Bryn caught Keira’s eye from across the table and smirked. She hated the pink wine just as much as Keira did. At least it provided them with a private joke they could share.
“So Keira,” Mallory said, addressing her youngest daughter.
Keira broke her gaze from Bryn to regard Mallory. She could tell by the way her mother’s eyes were slightly narrowed, and the way her wine glass was askew in her hands, that she was slightly tipsy. Which meant that she was about to ask something very personal, as was her way when she’d had a glass or two.
Keira braced herself. “Yes, Mother?”
“Have you heard from Cristiano?”
There it was. The gut punch.
Before Keira had a chance to even groan, Mallory flinched and flashed angry eyes at Bryn.
“Don’t kick me, young lady!” she exclaimed. “If I don’t ask she doesn’t tell. How else am I supposed to know what’s going on in my daughter’s life? One minute he was Mr. Right and then he was Mr. Gone. I want to know what happened.”
Petulance was another one of Mallory’s tipsy habits.
Keira sighed. “It’s okay. It’s about time I talked about what happened.” She put her wine glass down. At least if she was the one commanding the conversation she’d have an excuse not to drink any more rosé. “I haven’t heard from him since I broke it off. I really thought we’d be friends. It felt like a mature separation, you know? Like we could both tell it wasn’t right. But then he disappeared off the face of the earth. No communication whatsoever. I mean, am I an idiot for ever thinking you can be friends with an ex? The same thing happened with Shane.”
“Oh, darling, I’m not the one to ask,” Mallory replied. “You know too well how disastrous my love life has been.”
If Keira had a bingo card for things her mom discussed when she was drinking, she’d probably have ticked all the boxes by now. Career. Tick. Painful broken heart. Tick. And now, the real kicker: Dad.
Keira knew the story all too well, but that didn’t stop Mallory from bringing it up constantly. He was her one true love, they were young but thought it would work, he couldn’t handle the responsibility of children, he’d left her destitute in a big city with two young kids. Though she’d never met her dad, Keira was absolutely certain his absence played a role in her own inability to sustain a happy relationship. And he was definitely the reason Bryn was setting up house with an old man.
Mallory waved her glass in front of her face, sloshing some pink liquid onto the table in front of her. “I will say this though. Broken hearts, like broken bones, are stronger once they’re repaired.”
Keira quirked an eyebrow. That was actually quite insightful coming from Mallory.
“Who are you quoting that from, Mom?” Bryn piped up. “Oprah Winfrey?”
“I don’t remember who,” Mallory snapped. “It might have been in a fortune cookie. It doesn’t matter. The point is, you will get over this and you will learn something and you will heal and your heart will go on.”
“Ooh,
