As much as Lark wished Trip were taking her to the Caribbean, too, she wouldn’t have wanted to share him or to disappoint her own family by breaking their plans. Truthfully, it still felt too soon to bring him home for the holidays. Next year would be a different story.
This time, she was prepared for the weather in Chicago, with a puffy down jacket, UGG boots, and a faux-fur hat with hilarious earflaps. Not exactly sexy but she didn’t figure they’d be spending much time outside.
Standing in line for a rental car with her thumbs poised over her phone, she couldn’t suppress a grin. It was time to find out whether Trip was truly as spontaneous as he seemed.
You free? she texted, using the exact two words he’d deployed during his surprise visit to LA.
He didn’t answer right away. In fact, she’d initialed the clerk’s tablet with her forefinger and was halfway across a wind-blasted parking lot outside O’Hare when his response finally came through. She had hoped his response would be, To talk?—proving he remembered their exchange word for word and that he knew instantly what was up.
Instead, he wrote, What’s up?
She located her assigned car, slid behind the wheel, turned the key in the ignition, and cranked the heat before she answered: For a date. I’m in Chicago.
Are you serious? he wrote after a brief pause, with no emojis or anything to indicate whether he was pleased, displeased, or merely surprised.
She forged ahead. Picking up a rental. Meet me at Bavette’s?
Though she hadn’t known anything about Chicago’s dining scene, online searches had informed her that reservations at this hip, romantic steak house were booked months in advance—which made her only more determined to pull it off. Daily calls during which she’d become first-name-friendly with the maître d’ had finally paid off when, relenting, he’d called her back to inform her of a prime-time cancellation with a week’s notice to spare. It was hers, and now theirs.
She synced her phone to the car, opened Google Maps, and waited. She knew the restaurant’s address, but she didn’t yet know his.
I wish you’d told me.
She caught her breath, froze, and felt a jolt of adrenaline as for the first time it occurred to her that she might have made a big mistake.
Unfortunately, I have a business dinner I can’t cancel . . .
Waves of feelings crashed over her. Disappointment. Embarrassment at her presumptuousness. Regret at wasting all those calls to Bavette’s.
. . . but don’t worry! This is going to be FUCKING AWESOME. I’m so happy you’re here.
Her eyes misted over as warm relief trickled into her body.
He gave her the address of his building and told her the doorman would be expecting her. He wished he could leave the dinner early, he added, but real money was involved, so dessert, coffee, and even a nightcap were distinct possibilities.
But it will all be worth it knowing I’m coming home to you, Lark, he concluded. I love you so fucking much.
She could more than live with that. And they’d have dinner somewhere nice tomorrow. So what if it wasn’t a surprise anymore?
The drive downtown was almost as slow as anything she’d experienced in LA, giving her time to watch Chicago’s skyline growing taller in the windshield, the glassy buildings wreathed by exhaust and glittering red in the setting sun. She’d never been to the city and couldn’t wait to see some of the sights with Trip tomorrow. Lark liked to see all the touristy stuff on a first visit but imagined that double-decker buses and boat rides would have to wait for warmer weather. There would still be plenty of museums, stores, and restaurants—not to mention one-on-one indoor sports.
After getting off the expressway, she navigated choked city streets, including a twisting, video-game-like detour through a sunken street with the improbable name of Lower Wacker Drive, before resurfacing in the heart of the city. Trip’s condo was in a silvery high-rise a block from Michigan Avenue, where there were so many pedestrians and so many things to look at that she missed the garage entrance, and it took her ten minutes to get around the block again. Finally, she parked, found the tastefully decorated lobby, and gave her name to the doorman, who provided her with a spare set of keys and gave her the unit number.
“In town for long?” he asked as he buzzed her in.
“Just the weekend,” Lark said.
He grinned. “Hope they don’t work you too hard.”
Which was a weird thing to say. But a doorman probably saw so many people every day that his small talk was on autopilot. He probably didn’t even think about half the things he said. As the elevator whooshed upward, Lark once again tingled with anticipation: no, Trip wouldn’t be there to greet her, but she would finally see where he lived. She could take her time taking it in before giving him a warm welcome home.
Maybe wearing just her fur hat and boots.
The thought made her laugh. He deserved some sort of surprise tonight.
The first thing she noticed was the view. Twenty-seven stories above Millennium Park, the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling window drew her right across the living area, where she pressed her nose against the glass and saw lawns and a concert pavilion white with snow, traffic on what must have been Lake Shore Drive, and an abrupt black edge where Lake Michigan began. In summer, in sunlight and thronged with people, it would be truly amazing.
The second thing she noticed was how clean the apartment was. And the third thing
