Summer in the City

“I thought you were afraid of heights.”

He’s not looking at the city. He’s not looking at the tower. He’s looking at me.

“When I’m with you, I’m not scared of anything,” he says.

“Which hotel is this?” I say, looking for a sign.

“It’s not a hotel,” Parker says. “It’s my house.”

“Parker,” I say very slowly, trying to remain calm, “did you buy the coffee shop?”

He’s leaning back casually in his chair, not a care in the world. “No,” he says.

I melt in relief. “Oh, good, I thought—”

“I bought the chain.”