“Four bedrooms,” Dave said. “Which one is mine.”
He was standing in the empty hallway of the eighth floor apartment on a Saturday morning with both hands in his pockets and his head tilted slightly, the way he stood when he was assessing something he intended to take seriously. Sophia was three steps ahead of him. She had already been into two rooms and come back with opinions.
Eleanor was at the door behind them all with the key and the particular satisfaction of a woman who had made a good decision and was watching it land.
Cloe stood in the middle of the main room and turned in a slow circle. High ceilings. Wide windows. The city laid out through the glass in a way that made it look like something worth looking at. The floors were real wood and the walls were clean and the space had
