It Takes Two

by Jenny Holiday

  A few minutes later, his sister was oohing and aahing over the view of the courtyard and private garden his apartment had—as she did every time she visited. He was trying not to smirk as he watched Wendy press her lips together and take in the living room that opened onto a small nook he used as an office. It was a lot of square footage for Manhattan. He didn’t bother telling her that the neighborhood was actually pretty affordable—or at least it had been back when he bought. You didn’t become a public prosecutor to get rich, but with this apartment, he could put up a good front.

  “I’ll change the sheets on my bed,” he said. “That way each of you can take a bedroom, and I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  “We can share the guest bed.” Jane dumped her computer case on his desk. “We totally sprung Wendy on you.”

  “Hey, she’s doing Josh Groban duty. She deserves a bed.”

  “You have two bedrooms?” Wendy’s tone was a little too carefully neutral.

  “Yup.” Noah was still working on suppressing the smirk that was threatening. Which was dumb because even though they were always competing, it wasn’t like having a bigger apartment than Wendy equated to any kind of moral superiority.

  Wendy strolled over to the window to take in the view. “Your plants are all dead.” Well, maybe not to take in the view but to criticize his horticultural failings.

  “Yeah.” His ex Clarissa had brought them over. They were part of the slow drip of her stuff that had accumulated at his place and had ultimately led to their relationship-ending “are we moving in together or not?” reckoning. She hadn’t taken the plants with her when she left, but thanks to his negligence, they were now as gone as she was, a pathetic metaphor for his inability to ever pull the trigger and settle down permanently with a woman.

  It was odd, though, when he thought about it. He kept the rest of his apartment in perfect order. He was usually pretty good with responsibility. The dead plants were kind of an anomaly.

  Or…they were just plants. They held no symbolic meaning.

  “I guess I don’t have a green thumb.” He grabbed the women’s bags. “Let’s get you two settled.”

  He hesitated outside the door to his bedroom, which was the first doorway along the hallway. Rationally, he should put Wendy in the guest room and stick his sister in his room. Not that he had anything to hide, but there was something kind of intimate about having someone sleep in your bed. The logical thing would be to assign it to Jane.

  He walked in and dropped Wendy’s duffel on his bed.

  * * *

  Noah’s bedroom smelled like him. Which meant Noah’s bedroom smelled like Christmas trees.

  Which was irritating.

  Wendy had retreated to Noah’s room to get ready for dinner—for her solo dinner with him, the concept of which was freaking her the hell out—but because she was done a bit early, she’d laid down fully clothed on the bed and closed her eyes. She took a lot of deep inhales. Maybe if she did that enough, it would desensitize her. Prevent her from trying to sniff him while they were out.

  Jesus. She needed to get a goddamn handle on herself.

  She opened her eyes. They landed immediately on a hook on the wall on the other side of the room. His Yankees cap hung on it.

  That did not help.

  She remembered another time she’d been ambushed by that cap.

  Seventeen years ago. The day before Thanksgiving.

  It had been Noah’s freshman year at NYU. Canadian Thanksgiving fell on a Monday, as it always did, but since the holiday was different from its American counterpart, he didn’t have it off. It was just a regular school day for him. So he wasn’t coming home.

  Which was more than fine by Wendy. She wouldn’t be here otherwise, helping Jane make pies for tomorrow. She and Mary and Jane and Jane’s mom were planning a feast the next day—Wendy’s mom was, as usual, working at the store. Wendy would bring her a plate after the dinner was done.

  The doorbell rang. Jane, her arms covered in flour as she readied the counter for rolling out the crusts, said, “Can you get that for me?”

  Wendy did as instructed, jogging to the entryway and swinging the heavy oak door open…to reveal Noah.

  In a Yankees cap.

  “Wendy Lou Who,” he drawled. He was wearing the most self-satisfied grin. When she didn’t say anything, or move, he added, “Surprise.”

  She was surprised. She was stunned really, unable to speak. But only for a moment. To her relief, surprise receded to make room for…anger?

  She hadn’t seen him since before the prom last spring—by design. She’d managed to avoid him the two weeks after the dance before school was out and he left for New York—he’d headed there early because he had a summer work-study job.

  She’d been a little worried about what it would be like to be in his presence again. Would she be awkward? Nervous? Make a fool of herself in some way she hadn’t yet imagined?

  No. It turned out, she’d just be pissed.

  He opened his arms. Like she was just supposed to step into them? Squeal in delight that the great Noah Denning had returned?

  No, thanks.

  Jane stepped into them, though—she’d come from the kitchen to investigate. “Noah! Oh my God, Noah!”

  Adrenaline surging, Wendy turned and walked back to the kitchen. Walked right over to the blob of dough on the floured cutting board and slammed her fist down on it. Listened to Jane shouting for her mom and then to the two of them flipping out over Noah.

  “I happened to see a posting on a ride-sharing board for someone making a quick trip,” Noah said as they made their way into the kitchen. Wendy wondered if there was any way she could credibly make her way out of the kitchen. Instead, she grabbed a rolling pin and started aggressively flattening dough. “So I was able to tag along for the price of gas. I’ve got to head back tomorrow afternoon, though.”

  “Whoa! Wendy! That’s way too big.” Jane came over to where Wendy had indeed rolled out a circle of dough large enough to make a pie for a giant. “That was supposed to be four crusts’ worth.”

  Wendy had to bite her tongue not to snap at Jane. It wasn’t Jane she was mad at. She let herself be pushed aside.

  “What’s up with you, Wendy?” Noah asked as he dumped his backpack on a kitchen chair.

  “What’s up with that Yankees hat?” she shot back. There was more of an edge to her voice than there had been when she and Noah had sparred in the past. But she didn’t mind. She kind of liked it, truth be told. Anger was better than humiliation. Anger was a buffer. It could protect her. Remind her that she wasn’t the same person he had hurt so badly last spring.

  “I don’t know.” He took the cap off and threw it on a counter. “I’ve kind of become a fan.”

  “How can you be a Yankees fan all of a sudden? You just moved there like five minutes ago.”

  His expression turned bewildered. Probably because of that edge in her voice. She usually gave as good as she got with him, but she wasn’t mean. Historically. But, honestly, that stupid Yankees hat was almost the worst thing about his unexpected arrival. She didn’t expect him to be a Blue Jays fan like she was, but he’d never cared about baseball at all, and now he was on the freaking Yankees bandwagon? Like any self-respecting Jays fan, Wendy hated the Yankees. But apparently, Noah had blithely moved on to a new team, a new city, and a new life.

  Noah just blinked.

  “What time do you have to leave tomorrow?” his mom asked, the question preempting the awkward silence that had begun to unspool in the kitchen. She looked at Jane. “Can we bump dinner earlier?”

  A discussion ensued, the result of which was a decision to move tomorrow’s big meal to noon so Noah could attend. Wendy let it all play out, then said, “Mary and I have to serve meals at her church.” Which was a total and complete lie. “For the homeless,” she added, because who could argue with the homeless?

  Noah started to demur, to insist that they leave their plans the way they’d been.
r />   “No, no.” Wendy summoned an authoritative, no-nonsense tone. “You three have your noon meal. Then Mary and I will come by later for leftovers and dessert.”

  To her surprise, everyone agreed without further argument.

  Damn. Maybe the whole “become a new person” thing she’d decided to do after the prom was working. Maybe being angry at Noah was working.

  Something was working. Because she wasn’t that hurt, humiliated girl from last spring anymore. Her anger had somehow deflected her pain. She had become a person who could bend the world to her will.

  A person who could be in the world with Noah Denning and remain unaffected.

  A knock on the door jolted Wendy from her memories. She wasn’t in Jane and Noah’s kitchen; she was in Noah’s pine-scented bedroom.

  “Wendy?” It was Jane. “Noah’s ready, but he’s too nice to harass you. Luckily I don’t have that problem. Are you ready?”

  Wendy leaped off the bed. “Yep. Be right there.”

  She was still a person who could be in the world with Noah Denning and remain unaffected.

  Right?

  * * *

  Wendy hated to admit it, but it was actually better that Jane had stayed home.

  “It’s actually better that Jane isn’t here,” Noah said, and Wendy barked a laugh.

  “What?” He smiled even as his brow furrowed in confusion.

  “Nothing. I was just thinking the same thing. She would hate this.” Noah had taken her to a little Cajun place in his neighborhood, and they were sitting at the bar sharing a bunch of dishes including grilled oysters and an odd but delightful Creole-seasoned osso buco. “Oysters and bone marrow—neither of those are really in your sister’s wheelhouse.”

  “Big Macs they are not.”

  “But delicious they are.” Wendy had been working a ton lately, so it had been a long time since she’d had a really superb meal. And the restaurant was charming. It was dark but candlelit, and there was a pleasant background din that made her feel satisfyingly cozy with Noah at the center of a crowd.

  Which was kind of a problem. Because she was supposed to remain unaffected. She wasn’t sure satisfyingly cozy was a phrase she could safely associate with Noah Denning. Usually, in a situation like this, she’d be braced for battle, relying on the stream of anger inside she had tapped into years ago to fuel her.

  The problem was everything was just so delicious. And two glasses of wine had mellowed her right out. They hadn’t even argued about anything all evening.

  She sneaked a glance at him, studying his face in the warm, flickering candlelight as she tried to figure out why. She’d only had to see him a handful of times in the past seventeen years, and even then she’d avoided actually looking at him as much as she could. In some ways, he didn’t look that different than he used to. He had the same dark-brown hair, though it was short now. He’d worn it down to his collar and tucked behind his ears in high school. The intelligent greenish-brown eyes were the same, though there were a few lines around them these days. He had been wearing a suit when he picked them up at the airport, having just come from work, she assumed. It had been impeccably tailored, slim, and light gray, and she’d had to bite her lip when she caught sight of him. But it turned out he filled out casual clothes just as well—he’d changed into jeans and a burgundy T-shirt that should have been nothing special, and yet…

  Stop it. So she was temporarily running low on anger. Okay. But that didn’t mean she needed to sit here and catalog his gorgeousness like she was a teenager again.

  It must be the wine. That was the only reason she could think of that she felt so…agreeable.

  “Hey, Noah.”

  A man wearing chef’s whites and a big grin came up behind them. He clapped Noah on the shoulder.

  “Wendy Liu,” Noah said, “this is my friend Bennett Buchanan. He owns the place, and he lives in my building, too. Wendy’s an old friend from Toronto.”

  “Hi, Wendy.” Bennett turned a big grin on her and shook her hand.

  “Everything is so delicious,” she said truthfully. “I’m going to dream about this sausage when I’m back home.” The restaurant was called Boudin, named after the iconic New Orleans sausage.

  Bennett nodded at the array of plates before them. “I’m glad Noah finally found a dining companion with some taste.”

  “Hey!” Noah protested. “Don’t defame Clarissa. She might not have had an adventurous palate, but she was all right.”

  Ugh. Thinking of Noah in this circle of candlelight with someone else made Wendy strangely uncomfortable.

  Bennett must have mistaken her discomfort for confusion, because he explained, “Clarissa is Noah’s most recent ex.”

  “Most recent?” She tried for a teasing tone. “Do you have a collection?”

  “He’s a serial monogamist, this one,” Bennett said. “Dates a woman for years sometimes. I keep expecting him to pop the question to one of them one of these days, but he never does.”

  “He probably works too much.”

  “For sure, he does. Feels personally responsible for putting away every criminal in Manhattan. Which turns out to be surprisingly time consuming.”

  “Hello. I’m right here. I can hear you guys.”

  Wendy ignored Noah. She was enjoying this little psychoanalytical foray into his dating habits. It was certainly better than all the psychoanalytical forays she’d been doing on herself lately. But she also understood about the long hours of a legal career, so she had to defend Noah. “It’s hard to be in law and not work too much. I suffer from that problem myself.”

  “No time for love for you either?” Bennett asked.

  “I’m sure I could make the time if it was a priority.”

  “Aww,” Bennett teased. “Who doesn’t want love?”

  Wendy shrugged. “Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?”

  “Excuse me, what?”

  She turned to face Noah, whose eyebrows had hit the ceiling. “What what?”

  “Don’t turn the question back on me,” Noah said.

  “Don’t ask disingenuous questions, then. Maybe your problem is that you should stop with the long-term dating and start…” She made a vague hand-fluttering gesture.

  “Ha!” Bennett threw back his head and laughed. “Good luck with that. Noah’s way too uptight for casual sex.”

  “Oh, like you’re any better,” Noah said to Bennett.

  “Well, my reasons don’t stem from being a control freak.”

  “What does that mean?” Noah said, just as Wendy was about to ask the same thing. This was getting interesting.

  Bennett held up his hands. “I was just teasing. You’re the kind of person who likes to be in control of a situation. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  Noah didn’t respond beyond rolling his eyes. He put his hands on the bar and swiveled in his stool to face Wendy. “So, what? You just sleep your way through Toronto? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I don’t sleep my way through Toronto. God. And even if I did, it wouldn’t be any of your business. I’m just saying that not everyone believes in happily ever after, so why waste your time—and your prime—in long-term relationships that are almost certainly doomed to fail when you could be…” She raised her eyebrows and made the same vague hand-fluttering gesture.

  “Could be what?”

  “Oh, come off it.” He knew what she meant.

  “No, really. What does this”—he copied her gesture—“mean?”

  “It means meaningless fucking. Is that what you want to hear?”

  He must not have thought she’d take the bait, because he blinked rapidly. At least she had shut him up. She couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Anyway,” Bennett said. Wendy had kind of forgotten that he was there. And now it was awkward. “The point regarding Clarissa is that she and Noah are doing the Gwyneth Paltrow–style conscious uncoupling, stay-friends-with-your-ex thing, so he defends her”—Bennett rolled h
is eyes—“but she had no taste.”

  It was just like Noah to stay friends with his exes. Wendy imagined a harem of beautiful, accomplished ex-girlfriends of Noah Denning. Women he was once sleeping with on a totally not-casual basis.

  “I can forgive pretty much anything,” Bennett went on, “except people who willingly choose bad food over good food. Clarissa once had the nerve to ask me if we had any fat-free half-and-half. I do this exquisite New Orleans–style coffee and chicory mixture, and she wants to pour liquid chemicals in it?”

  “Fat-free half-and-half?” Wendy echoed, genuinely disgusted. “Is that actually a thing? How do they even do that? Isn’t fat the whole point of cream?”

  “I like her,” Bennett said to Noah. “Hold on to her.”

  Wendy was pretty sure Noah was about to object, to explain that Wendy was only a friend, and of his sister’s at that, but Bennett was no longer paying attention—he was signaling the bartender.

  “What are you two drinking?”

  “The Grenache,” Noah said.

  “Which is excellent.” It was a magical anger-diffusing elixir, too, but she didn’t say that part. The harem of ex-girlfriends aside, she was feeling all warm and loose, the way she always did while traveling, when she got away from her daily grind. It was strange to have company, though. Usually the travel warm-fuzzies were a solo experience.

  “Wendy, you are a woman of exquisite taste,” Bennett declared. “Another round for my friends on the house,” he said to the young guy behind the bar.

  Noah looked at his watch. “We can’t. We’re headed down to walk the High Line, and it closes at eleven.”

  Wendy almost suggested they forget the High Line and just keep sitting here in this warm circle of candlelight drinking wine and talking about what good taste she had, but that would be stupid. When Noah had asked her what she’d wanted to do, she hadn’t hesitated. She wanted to visit the High Line, which was a park built on an old elevated rail line. It was the one of the few New York things she hadn’t done.

  “Well, then, another round for my friends to go.” Bennett winked at them, and before Wendy knew it they had been disgorged onto the street with a pair of travel mugs full of eighty-dollar-a-bottle wine.