“It need not be the same thing every day. But I’ve come to the realization that denying ourselves daily joy is to live a half life. And where is the fun in that?” She raises her glass and salutes before drinking. A satisfied sigh leaves her lips. “Wonderful.”

I make myself a chicken salad sandwich on pumpernickel, accepting a knife from her to cut it in triangles. “Some people would argue that indulging in whatever you want leads to recklessness. That it’s safer to pace yourself and refrain sometimes.”

Mrs. Goldman smears some cream cheese onto her bagel. “Safer, huh?” She smiles but her dark eyes gleam when she looks up at me. “How alike you and Jax are.”

“Me? Like Jax?” I laugh shortly.

She isn’t at all thwarted. “To a tee. Both following the safe plan in life.”

Another shocked laugh bursts out of me. “Oh, come on, Jax never plays it safe. His whole life is one big indulgence.”

One iron-gray brow wings up. “You think so?” She adds a few slices of tomato to her bagel and sprinkles capers over it. “You realize that what one person considers a risk can be familiar comfort for someone else. That boy’s lifestyle has the appearance of living on the edge, but for him, it might as well be a cradle.”

“I guess I didn’t think of it that way.” I take a bite of my sandwich, mainly because I suddenly don’t want to talk. But even though it tastes delicious, I find it hard to chew past the lingering lump in my throat. I swallow with difficulty and take another long sip of champagne, grateful for the way it fizzes in my mouth.

Quiet descends as we eat. But I feel her curious gaze on me. Mrs. Goldman, while not my age, or even really a friend, is the kind of woman you know you can talk to and she’s not going to sugarcoat a thing. Even better, she’s obviously good at seeing clearly in places I cannot.

With a suppressed sigh, I set down the remains of my sandwich. “I’m attracted to Jax—John. I think of him as John.”

Both brows lift this time, but Mrs. Goldman isn’t surprised. “Of course you are, dear.”

My cheeks heat, and I know they’re bright pink, damn it. “Okay, obviously I always was. But it’s more now. I like him. A lot, and …” I press my hot hand over my burning eyes, a pained, wry smile pulling at my lips. “I can’t ignore it anymore, you know? I think … I think I either have to acknowledge it with him, or move on. Because I’m not one to stick around”—who are you kidding, Stells? You never stick around—“being moony over a guy who might not like me in the same way.”

I bite my lip, internally wincing at my emotional spew. From behind the shade of my hand, I hear Mrs. Goldman make a noise of amusement.

“Oh, I have a feeling he likes you just fine, dear.”

I sneak a peek at her through my fingers. How would she know?

She smiles broadly. “The notorious womanizer—yes, I know his reputation well—is spending time with you. Men like him don’t do that unless they are hooked.”

I slump against the table, resting my forehead on my bent arms. “God. I sound like I’m in high school, worrying if a boy truly, really, actually likes me.”

Delicately, she slides my plate out of the reach of my hair. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in school, but I do remember how to pass notes.”

I groan and lift my head. “I’m scared.”

The tremor in my tone softens her expression. She leans forward, closer to me. “Of what?”

What indeed? The hottest, funniest, strangest, most unpredictable man I’ve ever met. Before I saw him in that sadly depleted, pre-blizzard grocery store, I would never have thought of John as my ideal or even dating material. He exists on a plane that mere mortals like me never reach.

“He isn’t safe,” I whisper.

Mrs. Goldman sits back, crossing one slim leg over the other. She takes another sip of champagne, considering me, and I find myself desperate to fill the silence.

“I’m not going to lie. I’ve had celebrity crushes. Hell, every time I see an Avenger’s movie, I want to put my two Chris loves on slow motion and repeat. And I’d think, oh, if I were alone in a room with one of those hotties, what would I do?” I force a pained smile. “But when I’m actually faced with the real thing? This wonderful man who also happens to be extremely famous? He’ll never be like other men. He’ll always be more.”

“I’m certain Jax believes he’s just like other men.”

“I’m sure he wants to be,” I say. “But what we want and what we get isn’t always the same. He’ll always have the public and the pressures that come with it.” I run a hand through my tumbled hair. “Then there’s his …” I can’t say it. I’m ashamed to even think about it.

Mrs. Goldman’s dark eyes don’t blink. “His illness.”

Again my cheeks flame. “Yes. No.” My shoulders slump. “I feel like a jerk for even … especially when I have no idea what will happen. But it’s not exactly like I have my shit together. Half the time, I’m a mess, and I’m afraid I’ll fail him by not knowing what to do.” He’s had enough people bumbling in his life.

I press a hand to my hot forehead and sigh. “I don’t know what I’m even saying. I’m all confused. I just can’t help thinking the deck is already stacked against us. From both outside forces and inside ones.”

“It is,” she says simply. “Stacked against you, I mean.”

I’ve just said as much, but her instant agreement hits me straight in the chest, and I plop back against my seat, deflated. I haven’t had much experience being on the receiving end of advice, but I’m fairly certain the person is supposed to bolster you. Aren’t they?

“Fear will do that to a relationship.” Her smile is thin. “I’d kill for a cigarette, but I’m trying to cut back.” She pours us more champagne before she speaks again. “I told you I grew up on the Lower East Side. But I spent all my married life living Uptown. Eighty-second and Madison. I loved that place. I’d walk to the Met for lunch on my rare days off.”

She toys with the stem of her glass. “Then Jerry passed, and all I could see was him. In every room, every echo when I walked those empty halls.”

“How did you end up here?” I ask, not knowing exactly where she’s going with this, but understanding that she’ll eventually get there.

The lines mapping her face deepen, radiating outward from her eyes and mouth like a starburst. “This is where I met Jerry.”

“In this apartment?”

“No. In this church. We were both attending a wedding here. Patricia, the bride, was my secretary at the brokerage firm I worked in. Jerry owned the firm, though I hadn’t met him until that afternoon. He was too high up in the firm to bother with the new hires.”

“Wow. And now you live here.”

“Yes. I had my lovely four thousand square foot duplex, a home full of wonderful memories, and I could not stand it anymore. One day, my cab was stuck in traffic right outside this building, and there was a big sign advertising the new condo conversions. I remembered that first time Jerry and I had bumped into each other on those stairs leading up to the church doors.” She laughs softly, her eyes crinkling. “Two New York Jews about to head into a Catholic wedding.”