Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“Don’t worry about it.” He smiles, seemingly unfazed. But then, he has way more experience with “dating” strangers than I do. “And who wants to be normal anyway? Normal is boring.”
“It is,” I agree, anticipation fluttering in my stomach as I glance past him at the lights twinkling in the trees ahead. “Normal people don’t get to eat Christmas dinner in an enchanted garden.”
“No, they don’t,” he agrees as we start down the path, where thousands of tiny white lights wrap every tree trunk and branch, creating a canopy of stars beneath the darkening sky. “This is beautiful.”
“Magical,” I breathe, taking in the pristine snow covering the flower beds behind the trees, the crystalline silence. If it weren’t for the faint buzz of traffic from the street, I wouldn’t believe we were in the city. It feels like we’re the only people at the edge of the world, alone together in a fairy realm full of lights. “How did you make this happen?”
“I know people who know people,” he says. “One of the benefits of being born and raised in a giant family that’s been in the city forever. If I don’t know someone, I usually know someone who does.”
The opening to ask him more about his past is too perfect to resist. “Did you always live in Manhattan?”
He shakes his head. “No, I lived with my grandmother in Queens until I was seven. When she passed, I moved in with my uncle and his family in Red Hook, Brooklyn. I didn’t move to Manhattan until much later.”
I stop dead, my jaw dropping. “No way. Red Hook? The apartment building I’m buying is in Red Hook!”
He turns to me, his eyes widening. “Really? You’re buying an apartment building?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’ve been saving up for years for my first property and when this one came on the market, it ticked all my boxes.”
“Tell me about these boxes,” he says as we start to walk again.
“Oh, I don’t want to bore you,” I demure, knowing I can be obnoxious when it comes to talking real estate. Elaina finally had to tell me I was boring her to tears and was only allowed to talk property stuff for half an hour every other Sunday morning, after she’s had her coffee.
“You won’t,” he insists. “I love this kind of stuff, and I helped a friend find a condo down there a few years ago. I might know your place.”
“That would be cool,” I say, ridiculously excited that we have this in common, though I know loads of people follow their local property listings. I give him the cross streets before adding, “It’s a pre-war building that needs some work, but it has great bones. It’s three stories, six units, all with dependable, long-term renters, so there’s a decent profit margin to finance the repairs. I think it will be a great investment, assuming there aren’t any surprises during the walk-through with the inspector Wednesday morning.”
“Who’s your inspector?” he asks, a sharpness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “You want to make sure you have someone good. A lot of those old apartment buildings are riddled with asbestos or other issues that could tank your return. I have a few contacts in that world. I could call in a favor, if you’d like, make sure you have someone you can trust.”
I smile, touched by the offer, and his concern. He really does seem like a good man, the kind who wants to make sure people are treated fairly, even if that person is a woman paying him to show her a good time in the bedroom.
“I’m using Greer and Mackey,” I say. “They have great reviews, but if you don’t think they’re—”
“Oh no, they’re great. Mackey’s lived and worked in Red Hook for decades,” he says, relief softening his features. We turn right, leaving the canopy of lighted trees, following a snow-dusted sign pointing toward the Japanese Hill-and-Pond Garden. “They’ll take good care of you. But watch your back on your way there. Parts of Red Hook are still dangerous.”
“I will, thank you,” I say, nibbling at my bottom lip. “I haven’t actually been to the property yet. I couldn’t get away from work long enough to come down and see it in person before I made the offer. I did a virtual tour with my realtor, and she said it’s on an up-and-coming street, but I won’t see for myself until the final walk-through.”
“That’s a decent area,” he says, “but head five blocks east and you’re in a neighborhood with barbed wire over the windows and a heavy police presence that still can’t get a handle on the gang violence. I don’t like the thought of you anywhere near there. I’ll text you a list of subway stations to avoid.”
“Thank you,” I say. “That would be great.”