The restaurant where I'm meeting Nate for lunch is on Park Avenue, and it's filled with white collars. The space is huge, spread over half a block, and has high, arched ceilings. This is new for me. I don't always go to formal restaurants where executives wine and dine. But being the sports editor, I guess Nates knows all kinds of places.

The light music playing in the background reminds me of the elevators of decent hotels. The clattering of utensils and murmurs of the customers echo all around the space, making it feel fuller than it really is.

I hang my coat over my arm, and fix my red, turtleneck sweater. Christmas is around the corner, and I'm feeling the spirit. We all need a splash of color in the city, right? Especially when it's dark and gloomy outside in December.

Walking around the tables, I crane my neck to find Nate... And there he is! He stands up when our eyes meet, and shoots me a grin across the room. Is that...? Fuck is that a plastic tooth? I pull the turtleneck over my mouth not to burst out laughing. Yes it is! His new tooth is longer, and whiter compared to his other teeth. His swollen lip seems better, and the bruises around his eye has faded into a lighter shade, which is a relief. And yeah... He looks great in a black v-neck sweater with his white shirt's collars sticking out. The dark fabric makes the green in his eyes spark and pop.

"Welcome back to the city!" Nate greets me with open arms, and I run into them. Giving me a tight hug, he kisses the top of my head. Then he introduces me to his friend who slowly rises from his chair. "This is Eric. My estate agent and soon-to-be ex-neighbor."

Damn, I thought Nate was tall, but next to Eric, he seems like a kid. Eric is super-tall, but not intimidating—thanks to his warm and genuine smile.

Nate continues while I shake Eric's hand, "I filled Eric in with all he needs to know. He's ready to show you a couple of apartments this afternoon."

"Wow! That's fast!" I say as I take a seat around the table, between the gentlemen.

"I have a couple of places that made me think of Nate the moment we hung up the phone," Eric says, crossing his legs. "We are looking for a three-bedroom apartment with a terrace, a view, and a big closet..."

"Yeah, about that," I say, then turn to Nate. "What if you don't like what I like?"

"Then I won't make an offer." Nate shrugs with a smile, and I press my lips together to stiffle my laughter. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he can smile without wincing in pain, but God—he looks like a cartoon character with that plastic tooth!

Nate chuckles when he notices where I'm staring at. "Eyes up here, buddy." He points at his eyes with a fake furrow, then chuckles. "You'll be jealous of my new tooth when doc pops it on Wednesday."

"Sorry." I pout, caressing his hand.

"The only thing I'm sorry about is not kissing you that night. I doubt you'll let me kiss you anytime soon."

My cheeks start burning immediately as my gaze falls on the glass of water in front of me. I let go of Nate's hand to touch my ear. Nate is right. I have some healing to do.

"So, Abby," says Eric and snaps my attention back to him. "Anything else you want to add to Nate's criteria?"

"Something south-facing would be nice...right?" I turn to Nate for assurance, and he nods. "That way, he'd always have natural light."

"Noted. You afraid of heights?" Eric asks.

"Nope, not at all." I grab the menu and wiggle in my place. What am I supposed to say, anyway? It's not like I'm moving in with him.

Nate takes the menu out of my hands, turns the right side up, and hands it back to me. Now, my cheeks flare even more.

"Why don't you show her what you have, Eric? We'll go from there," Nate suggests.

Eric nods with a friendly smile, and then we order the best chicken Milanese I've ever had.

After lunch, we part ways with Nate before Eric takes me to Billionaire's Row. The apartments in glass skyscrapers leave me gasping with a state-of-the-art interior design and striking views of Central Park. I gape every time Eric asks me what I think, because I don't know what to think! What is Nate's budget, and what the hell am I doing, viewing these seven-figure apartments? Am I even dressed up for the occasion? One must wear ballgowns and tuxes everyday if they live here!

"He is renting, right?" I ask Eric.

"Yeah," he assures me, and I let out a relieved sigh.

By the time Eric takes me to a buiding around Columbus Circle and opens the doors to the fifth and the last place for the day, I'm sweating like a pig. I'm not cut out for this! I can't pick an apartment for Nate if these are his standards.

Eric sees my blood-drained face and sends me a warm smile over his shoulder. "This one is more...humble," he says, making way for me. "I have a feeling it will be your favorite."

I blow some strands of hair out of my face, then walk in through the doorway.

The ceilings are high, but not exaggerated. The dark, hardwood floors give the place a warm, welcoming feeling. I tie my hair into a bun as I cross the entrance in a few steps and walk through an archway into a long living room. My imagination rapidly starts filling the space. Right here, by the fireplace, should be two gray sofas facing each other. The TV should be mounted on the wall, centering the couches. A set of bulky, rotating armchairs would be perfect in the corner under a large painting—something midnight blue, with red fishes! A bar, or a glass bookshelf filled with books, alcohol bottles and Nate's prizes would fit perfectly into the next corner, and would complete the modern, homey look this place deserves.

I walk across the living room and stop by glass sliding doors that open to a terrace. We're not as high as the other apartments we've seen today, but nevertheless, the view of Central Park is breathtaking. To my left is a kitchen island—the dining table should be here, right where the living room ends and the kitchen edges.

"This place only has two bedrooms. But there's a small study," Eric says, leading me to the bedrooms. They don't have the same stunning view as the living room, but there is plenty of space between the next building's walls and this one.

"You are right!" I look over my shoulder and smile at Eric. "I like it here."

Eric's smile lights up his entire face. "I'll let Nate know, and we'll discuss the details."

I shuffle my bangs again, leaning against the doorframe. Would Nate blame me if something turns out shitty?

"He can always say no if he doesn't like it. Don't worry," Eric says, showing me the way out.

***

Later that night, when Nate calls, I'm lying on my bed in Tribeca. My voice is shaky, and I'm gulping all the time as we speak. "I mean, I like it. But you don't have to. You must go and see it too, Nate. But it's really, really nice. I know your penthouse has a view of the park too, but this one feels like you're in the park. You know? Like it's your park. You can smell the freshly cut grass from the terrace—I mean—who can smell anything but piss in Manhattan?" Letting out a chuckle, I roll on the bed face down and stuff a pillow under my chest. My voice isn't shaky anymore when I continue, "The bathrooms are cute. I never thought such water pressure existed. The shower heads blast water—they blast, Nate! The space is not as big as the other two I've seen today, but it's everything you need. I don't know, though. You should see it."

"I will," he says, then asks, "What are you doing on Friday night?"

Well, looks like I'm meeting him! Along with Olga and Daniel.

The four of us meet at a member's club in Soho. I run into Olga's arms, and finally congratulate her in person about her pregnancy. Her tummy is still flat—I can't believe there is a tiny human brewing in there.

We head to a dim quiet corner and take a seat on the leather sofas. Nate sits next to me, but then his phone chimes and we lose him to his emails. The rest of us dive into a heated conversation about apartments—now that everybody is searching for one.

I'm not sure when Nate has left, but the couch creaks and sinks under his weight when he's back with a mischievous grin. Stretching an arm comfortably on the sofa's rim, he begins circling a spot on my shoulder. I scoot closer to get under his arm. Is he up to something? Nate distances his face from mine and grins wider, looking into my eyes.

I can't believe I hadn't notice it before! He has a new tooth! And it is perfect! I tap it with my nail. Snapping his mouth shut playfully, he tries to bite my finger. I let out a chortle and squeeze his leg.

A waiter is carrying a bottle of champagne to our corner. When Nate gives him a nod, he hands him the bottle, and sets four glasses on the coffee table. Nate grins, and pushes himself up to stand.

"I've put in an offer for an apartment today," he announces with a proud glow in his eyes. "And the landlord accepted it. I officially have a new place now."

The bottle pops open, and the cork falls onto the floor. So does my jaw.

"Nate... Did you think it through?" I squeak, sweat beads covering my forehead.

"Yeah, I love the new place. Thanks, babe—I mean, Abby." He quickly bends over the coffee table to pour champagne into our glasses and hides his face.

I mechanically take a glass out of his hand when he hands me one. Did he just call me—

"To babes and apartments!" Nate cheers with a dirty grin on his face.

I burst out laughing as we all cling our glasses...except for Olga. I hurry to sip mine, then sip from our baby mama's glass too, on her behalf.

When the bottle is finally empty and the bubbles are flowing through our veins, we follow Daniel and Nate to a majestic pool table at the far end of the room. The guys pick up a couple of cues and rub them with chalk while Olga and I lean against the edge of the table.

"What are your plans for Christmas?" I ask Olga. "Are you coming to Philly this year?"

She shakes her head, shooting her man a glowing gaze. Daniel is leaning forward on the table now, biting his tongue ambitiously as he moves his cue back and forth.

"I'm meeting Daniel's parents on Christmas Eve," she says.

The balls on the table's green surface scatter around with multiple clicks when Daniel strikes. A couple of them shoot straight into the holes. Daniel straightens up, pointing his cue at the lined balls with a cocky smirk.

Nate hands me the chalk, then starts circling the table like a hawk while his muscular friend leans on the table to take his next shot.

"How do you know he's the one?" I ask Olga. Is there such a thing as the one? My hand twitches to scratch my ear. Will I ever be able to trust anyone to call them the one?

"I don't know," Olga confesses with a shrug. "And I'm scared—as hell. But Daniel feels like home, you know?"

I don't, but I nod anyway. I call Philly home, but frankly, I feel like a guest in Dad's house. Ever since the night of my birthday, my apartment doesn't feel like home either. Then there is Nate—and I don't know what he feels like. He is...like my pajamas. Someone I can get comfortable with. We don't have the spark or whatever Olga has when with Daniel, and I'm not crazy about him like I was for Roman. I doubt if anyone will make me feel the way he did. Maybe it was wrong, toxic and doomed from the start, but my love for Roman was instant, raw and real. I touch my ear again, and stand up when Nate nudges me to move aside.

"Abbs?" he calls, leaning forward on the table. "I'm going to need another favor from you."

"What is it?"

"I need you to decorate my new place."

This makes me chuckle. "I'm a film editor, Nate, not an interior designer."

Pulling his cue, he shoots me a glance. Next thing, his target is rocketing into the hole across the table. Something solid in my chest softens and starts dripping into my gut as Nate releases my gaze and stands up. I can't name this warmth, but I smile and decide to enjoy it while it lasts.

Nate takes me under his arm, and we start circling the pool table. My hand is wrapped around his waist, and our steps are synchronized. Left, then right, and left again. His perfume smells different tonight—sweeter...or it might be the champagne in his breath.

"I'll send you a couple of designer's contacts," he says. "Go crazy." His lips curl into a crooked smile when we stop. Then he leans forward to take his next shot, parts his legs, and nudges my knee with his. Whipping me another green gaze, he pulls his cue and sends a blue ball flying into the corner hole.

"Hey!" Daniel yells. "Lucky charms aren't allowed. Abby, out."

"What?" I protest, trying not to laugh.

Nate grins and reaches for the chalk.

"I mean it!" Daniel says. "I'm not talking to Olga. Though, I love you, baby." He blows her a kiss. "But she is not allowed in my perimeter. You too. Out. Now!"

I raise my hands in surrender, get into Olga's arm, and drag her out of the library.

Men...and their stupid superstitions.