Chapter 3 Three

• Carolina
• On Sunday afternoon, I head over to Noah's place, as we discussed over the phone. I take the subway and walk the last few blocks on foot. Hopefully, he'll let me take a load off once I arrive.
• When I reach the address Noah texted to me, I'm met with a huge, impressive-looking townhouse.
• It looks old—brick foundations, black, wrought-iron gate out front. The gate hangs open, so I let myself past it, staring up at the massive house in awe.
• There's a little garden out front, climbing tendrils of ivy reaching from the trellises onto the house's facade. They arch over the windows, tiny white flowers blooming on the vines.
• I whistle quietly as I approach the front door. I knew that Noah had been doing well for himself, but I didn't know it was this well.
• I knock, then wait a few seconds before Noah appears in the doorway, grinning. He tackles me with a bear-hug, squeezing the air out of me.
• "It's been way too long," he proclaims, ruffling my hair affectionately. "You look good!"
• "Get off me, Noah," I grumble, pretending to be annoyed as I wriggle out of his grasp. That's siblings for you. "But yeah, it has been too long. Boy, this house is really something, huh?"
• His grin widens. "Come on inside. Let me show you around."
• I follow him into the foyer, marveling at the polished wood and iron lighting fixtures. The inside of the house is every bit as beautiful as the outside—stately and refined, like something out of a magazine.
• "So, everything in here is original except for some of the molding, and the kitchen," Noah says, leading me down a hallway. "That stuff got refurbished last year, just before it went on the market. Honestly, I think I got a pretty good deal on it, considering—"
• "Considering how crazy nice it is?"
• "Yeah, pretty much."
• Noah takes a left turn into an open, airy kitchen. I can't help my gasp as I follow him inside. It's a far cry from the narrow space where I cook my meals, where I barely have room to turn around. Noah's kitchen is massive, with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Everything looks brand new.
• "Wow," I say, open-mouthed.
• "Right?"
• I turn around, arching an eyebrow at him. "What do you need all this space for, anyway? It's not like you're planning on getting married or having a family any time soon!"
• He laughs at that; if I hit a nerve, I can't tell, because he keeps the good-natured smile. "Oh, you know my job is my baby. I don't need marriage or a family right now. I'm way too busy."
• "I'm not judging you, trust me," I say. "It's just—it's a big house!"
• He nudges my shoulder meaningfully, then paces away to adjust the drapes on the window above the sink. "Yeah, it sure is. It's huge. Lots of space." He winks over at me. "One of these rooms could be yours, if you wanted it."
• "Oh, come on." I chuckle. "No, thank you, Noah. As always."
• His joking smile slips a little bit, seriousness taking over his expression. "Hey, I mean it. I wish you'd let me help you, Carol."
• "Noah—"
• "I can give you the money you'd need to get by while you job hunt. Or you could move in with me, and stop worrying about rent. You don't have to stay at that restaurant, you know."
• I shake my head. I appreciate all of the ways that Noah has tried to look out for me. Over the years, he's even managed to get some things to stick—small favors, whatever little things I would actually let him do.
• "Look, again—you're a good guy, and a good brother, but I can't take you up on this. I don't want to be a burden, and I don't want to rely on you to get by."
• "Why not?"
• "You made something of yourself," I tell him. "Now I've got to do the same."
• He sighs. "You've always been stubborn."
• Now that he's caved, I grin at him. "Damn right. Now come on. Show me the rest of your ridiculous, giant house."
• Noah seems reluctant to let the subject drop, but he eventually does—most likely, he's aware that it's futile to keep trying. I'm just going to keep shooting him down. "Okay, fine. C'mon."
• He leads me through a few more rooms, showing me the entire first floor, which includes a large sitting room, dining room, and an office. He guides me through the second and third floors—bedrooms, bathrooms, an entertainment suite, a home library. The topmost floor has a sunroom, and opens into a rooftop garden, complete with a greenhouse.
• "It's amazing," I gush as Noah and I head back downstairs. "I can't believe you actually live at a place like this!"
• "I'm pretty amazed myself," he admits. "I keep waking up and just drinking it all in. I can't believe I'm here."
• I elbow him. "What, are you kidding? You should be proud of yourself! You did it! You made it!"
• He smiles, but he seems almost dazed. "Yeah, I guess so."
• "So have you shown me everything yet?"
• "Everything except the garage," he says. "Oh—" An excited gleam appears in his eyes. "And the basement."
• "What's so great about the basement?"
• "It's fully finished," he says. "Wet bar, pool table—the works."
• "Pool table?" My eyes widen, and I push ahead of him on the stairs. I hear Noah's laugh from behind me as I make my way up and down the foyer hallway, opening up doors we haven't been through yet.
• He comes up to stop me as I'm opening the third coat closet in a row. "It's over here," he says, smiling, gesturing toward the back of the living room.
• Down in the basement, the floor is carpeted, except for clay-colored tile around the bar area. There's a flatscreen hanging in the corner, some leather couches around a large coffee table, and—yes, there it is. The promised pool table.
• "Oh, this was the dream back in the day," I say, heading over to it. "Remember?"
• "Of course," Noah says. "The one at the rec."
• "I used to kick your butt all the time, if memory serves," I say, reminiscing. There was a pool table in the basement of the local rec center, where we used to spend hours as kids. It was beaten-up and shabby, nothing like the new one before us now, with its shiny wooden paneling, but that didn't stop our games from getting ruthless.
• "Oh, please." Noah scoffs, and I smile, falling easily into the ever-familiar pattern of over-competitive sibling rivalry. "I beat you just as much. Or more."
• "You wanna prove it?" I stride over to the wall to select one of the pool cues hanging there, twirling it with a wink. "Unless you don't think you've got the stuff anymore—"
• "Are you kidding?" He reaches under the table for the rack and sets it on the felt surface, then starts to gather the billiard balls from the table's pockets. "I'm going to destroy you."
• "You wanna put money on it? Five bucks says I win."
• "You're on."