Page 3 of Smash

“It feels…wrong.”

“Your mom would’ve never let you stay.”

I smiled sadly. “Your life doesn’t stop because mine has changed,” she’d said.

But it felt like it should.

We drove in silence for a few more minutes, until the GPS chimed and directed us to turn left at the light. Busy Eastern Parkway gave way to narrower side streets that barely fit one car, yet somehow allowed two. The brownstones felt closer together here. Tall trees arched overhead, filtering the late-afternoon light. It felt less like a big city and more like a neighborhood.

Nat slowed the car as we arrived at the address Calder had given me and sighed, coming to a stop. “It’s beautiful, Talia.”

I couldn’t argue with that. This wasn’t the skyscraper-and-yellow-cab version of New York I’d somehow expected, even though I’d read up on Park Slope. This block looked like a movie set. A woman next door was watering plants on her stoop, and farther down an older man wearing a newsboy cap and cardigan swept the sidewalk. It felt lived in. It felt…permanent.

My chest tightened again. Not in panic this time, but in anticipation.

“You’re on the third floor, right?” Nat asked.

I nodded. “Calder’s best friend’s aunt owns the building, but it’s split into three apartments. She lives on the first floor.”

“Who lives on the second?”

I shrugged. “A tenant, I guess.”

“Is there an elevator?”

I smiled. “Walk up. I think most brownstones are.”

A sudden burst of water sprayed across the front steps of my new home. A guy I hadn’t noticed stood from a crouched position, holding the wand of a power washer. His wet T-shirt clung to his body, and his long, wavy hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck, showing off a razor-sharp jaw and model-like high cheekbones. If my boyfriend was All-American clean cut, this guy’s look was rockstar and edgy. He was lanky, but muscular in that effortless way—like he should be walking the runway for some Bohemian clothing brand, not power-washing a Brooklyn stoop.

Nat leaned over. “Now that’s the welcome to New York I’m talking about.”

“He’s not even remotely your type.”

“Speak for yourself.” She squinted. “I could use a shower. Think he’d wash me next?”

I laughed but neither of us looked away. The guy sprayed the bottom step of the stoop, then turned off the machine and set down the wand. Lifting his arm, he wiped the back of his wrist across his forehead. And then—like he knew he had an audience—he grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and peeled it off in one smooth motion.

Nat sucked in a breath. “Damn. I think I need an I Love New York shirt after all.”

We kept staring as the guy wrung his shirt out, twisting it before tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans. Without so much as a glance in our direction, he checked his watch and walked down the block, leaving the equipment sitting right where it was.

My phone buzzing from the cupholder broke us out of the haze.

“Let me guess,” Nat said. “Vanessa?”

I turned the screen toward her.

Calder: Welcome home.

Home. The word hit differently than it would’ve thirty-five hours ago. I took a deep breath. “Come on. Calder is on his way down.”

The front door to the brownstone opened just as I lifted my first suitcase from the trunk. A smile that felt a little like sunshine spread across Calder’s handsome face, and he jogged the rest of the way to get to me. He scooped me into a bear hug and spun me around.

“Welcome home, baby.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing him all over his face. He smelled like cologne and laundry detergent, same as he had in college.

Nat cleared her throat behind me, and Calder laughed before pulling her into a hug, lifting her off the ground, too. “Welcome home to you, too, Natalie.”