New York, Actually

by Sarah Morgan

  Daniel smiled, but still didn’t look up. “So are you going to help or not? If not, I’ll ask Harry. You know she’ll say yes.”

  “I am Harry.”

  Finally Daniel looked up. He studied her closely, wondering if he’d made a mistake. Then he shook his head. “No, you’re Fliss.” It was a game the twins had played on him hundreds of time growing up.

  Which Twin?

  His score was 100 percent. They’d never fooled him yet.

  Her shoulders slumped. “How do you do it?”

  “Tell the two of you apart? Apart from the fact that you’re as abrasive as an armadillo, I’m your big brother. I’ve had plenty of practice. I’ve been doing it for twenty-eight years. The pair of you have never fooled me yet.”

  “One day we’re going to.”

  “Not going to happen. If you really want to pretend to be Harriet you need to tone down the attitude. Try being a little softer. Even in your crib you were always the one yelling.”

  “Softer?” Her tone had a dangerous edge. “You’re telling me to be soft? What sort of sexist comment is that, especially as we both know that ‘soft’ gets you nowhere?”

  “It’s not sexist, and I’m not telling you to be soft. I’m giving advice on how you might be able to convince some poor fool you’re Harriet. And that’s not me, by the way, so don’t waste your time.” He looked up as the door opened.

  “Breakfast is ready. I made your favorite. Pancakes with a side of crispy bacon.” Harriet walked into the room carrying a tray. She had the same hair as her sister—a smooth, buttermilk blond—but she wore hers pinned haphazardly at the back of her head, as if her objective was simply to move it out of the way so it didn’t interfere with her day. Physically, they were identical. They had the same delicate features, the same blue eyes, the same heart-shaped face. Temperamentally, they couldn’t have been more different. Harriet was thoughtful and calm. Fliss was impulsive and fierce. Harriet loved yoga and Pilates. Fliss favored kickboxing and karate.

  Sensing an atmosphere, Harriet stopped and glanced between them, her expression changing. “Have you two had a fight already?”

  How, Daniel wondered, could three siblings from the same family be so different? And how could twins, who on the surface were indistinguishable to most people, bear no resemblance on the inside?

  “Us? Fight? Never.” Fliss’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “You know how much I adore our big brother.”

  “I hate it when you fight.” The anxious look in Harriet’s eyes made him feel guilty and he exchanged glances with Fliss. It was a glance they’d shared a million times over the years. A tacit agreement to suspend hostilities until Harriet wasn’t in the room.

  They’d all developed their own way of coping with conflict. Harriet’s was to hide from it. As a child, she’d hidden under the table to avoid the screaming fights that had been part of their early family life. On one occasion Daniel had tried dragging her out to remove her from the fallout. Her eyes had been squeezed shut and her hands over her ears, as if not being able to see it or hear it might mean it wasn’t happening.

  Remembering how impatient he’d felt at the time, Daniel felt a needle of guilt. They had all been so self-absorbed, his parents included, that none of them had understood what was going on with Harriet. It had become apparent in the most public way possible and even now, twenty years later, he couldn’t think about that evening at the school without breaking into a sweat.

  On the surface Harriet didn’t appear to be particularly tough, but he and Fliss had learned that there were different kinds of tough. Despite appearances, Harriet was made of solid steel.

  He watched as she set the tray down and carefully unloaded plates of food and napkins.

  Napkins. Who bothered with napkins for a casual breakfast with family?

  Harriet bothered. She was the architect of all domestic comfort in the apartment she shared with her twin.

  There were times when he wondered if the three of them would still be a family if it weren’t for Harriet.

  As a child she’d had an obsession with her dolls and her dollhouse. With the insensitivity of an eight-year-old, he’d dismissed it as a typical girl activity but now, looking back, he could see that she’d been constructing something she didn’t have, clinging to her image of home and family when their own had fallen short. She’d found some semblance of stability in her own private world, whereas he and Fliss had found other ways to dodge the cracks and the shifting emotional landscape of their parents’ marriage.

  When Harriet and Fliss had moved into the apartment, Harriet had been the one to make it a home. She’d painted the walls a sunlit yellow and had chosen a rug in muted shades of green to soften the wooden floor. Hers was the hand that arranged the flowers on the table, plumped the cushions on the sofas and tended the plants that clustered together in a junglelike profusion of green.

  Fliss would never choose to own a plant. Like him, she wouldn’t want the responsibility for something that required care and attention. It was the reason neither of them had any interest in a long-term relationship. The only difference between them was that Fliss had tried. Only once, but still it was enough for Fliss to feel she had proved her point. Been there. Done that.

  None of them talked about it. The Knight siblings had learned that the only way to make it through a bad day, a bad month or a bad year was to keep moving forward.

  “We weren’t fighting.” Daniel kept his tone slow and easy. “I was giving her brotherly advice, that’s all.”

  Fliss narrowed her eyes. “When the day comes that I need your advice, I’ll ask. And, by the way, hell will have frozen over at least eight times before that day comes.”

  Daniel stole a piece of bacon from the plate and Harriet slapped his hand gently.

  “Wait until I’ve set the table. And before I forget, Fliss, we had two more jobs sent through from Urban Genie. We have a busy day ahead.”

  “So does Daniel.” Fliss stole a piece of bacon, too. “And he’s not staying for breakfast.”

  “You’re not?” Harriet handed him a napkin. “But I thought that was why you were visiting.”

  Daniel frowned at the implication that he only saw them whenever he wanted to be fed. Was that true? No. He visited because despite, or perhaps because of, his combative relationship with Fliss, he liked seeing his sisters. And he liked to keep an eye on Harriet. But it was true that his visits almost always coincided with food. As long as that food was prepared by Harriet, he was happy. Fliss could burn water.

  “I had a message from the office, so this is a flying visit. But it’s good to see you.” On impulse he stood up and hugged his sister and heard Fliss mutter something under her breath.

  “Yeah, right, use affection. Harry will fall for that.”

  “I’m allowed to hug my sister.”

  Fliss gave him the eye. “I’m your sister, and you don’t hug me.”

  “I don’t have time to spend the rest of my day removing thorns from my flesh.”

  “Fall for what?” Harriet hugged him back, and Daniel felt a rush of protectiveness. He knew she had found her perfect niche in life, but still he worried about her. If Fliss had a problem, the whole of Manhattan would know within minutes. Harriet kept things to herself.

  “How are you doing?”

  Fliss snorted. “Charm alert. He wants something, Harry.” She forked a generous portion of bacon onto her plate. “Cut to the chase, Dan, preferably before I throw up my breakfast.”

  Daniel ignored her and smiled at Harriet. “I need a dog.”

  “Of course you do.” She smiled back, delighted. “Your life is so focused on work, so emotionally empty, I’ve been telling you for years that what you need is a dog. It will give you permanence, something you can really love and connect with.”

  “He doesn’t want a dog for any of those worthy reasons.” Fliss waved her fork, her mouth full of bacon. “He wants a dog to help him score.”

  Harriet looked puzz
led. “How does a dog help with that?”

  Fliss swallowed. “Great question, but this is our big brother we’re talking about so there’s the biggest clue right there. He wants a prop. A canine prop. He yells ‘fetch,’ and the dog brings him the girl.” She stabbed another piece of bacon. “Even if you managed to meet this woman with your dog plan, you’d never keep her. What happens when you invite her back to your place and she discovers the dog doesn’t live there? Have you thought about that?”

  “I never invite women back to my place so that isn’t going to be a problem. My apartment is a dog-free, woman-free, stress-free chill zone.”

  “Even so, sooner or later she’ll find out you’re not a dog person, and then she’ll leave.”

  “By then I’m sure we’ll both have had enough of each other, so that sounds perfect to me. It will be a mutual parting of ways.”

  “Mr. Heartbreaker. Don’t you ever feel guilty that you’re leaving a trail of sobbing women around Manhattan?”

  Daniel released Harriet. “I don’t break hearts. The women I date are exactly like me.”

  “Insensitive and obtuse?”

  “He isn’t insensitive.” Harriet tried to keep the peace. “He’s a little afraid of commitment, that’s all. And so are we. Daniel is hardly alone in that.”

  “I’m not afraid of commitment,” Fliss said blithely. “I’m committed to myself, my happiness, my personal growth.”

  “I’m not afraid either.” Daniel felt sweat prick the back of his neck. “Am I cautious? Yes, because that’s the job I’m in. I’m the type of guy who—”

  “—makes a woman decide to stay single?” Fliss helped herself to another pancake.

  “I don’t want to be single,” Harriet said. “I want to love someone and be loved by them. But I’m not sure how to make that happen.”

  Daniel caught Fliss’s eye. Neither of them was in a position to offer advice on that subject.

  “Given that I spend all of my extremely long working week unraveling the lives of those who didn’t choose to stay single,” he said, “I’d say the female race should be thanking me for remaining commitment-free. If you don’t get married, you can’t get divorced.”

  “Well, that’s a positive outlook.” Fliss tipped maple syrup over her pancake. “One of these days, some very smart woman is going to teach you a few lessons about women. These are delicious, Harry. You should open a restaurant. I’d help out.”

  Harriet flushed. “I’d muddle up all the orders and, as much as I love you, I wouldn’t let you near a kitchen. It wouldn’t be fair to the New York Fire Department.”

  “I don’t need lessons about women.” Daniel stole a piece of bacon from Fliss’s plate. “I already know everything there is to know.”

  “You only think you know everything there is to know about women, which makes you a thousand times more dangerous than the man who admits to being clueless.”

  “I’m not clueless. Growing up with you two was an intensive training course in how women think and feel. For example, I know that if I don’t get the hell out of here right now you’re going to explode. So I’m making my exit while we’re still friends.”

  “We’re not friends.”

  “You love me. And when you’re not scowling, I love you back. And Fliss is right—” he smiled at Harry “—you’re an incredible cook.”

  “If you loved me,” Fliss said between her teeth, “you’d be staying for breakfast. You use me, in the same way you use all women.”

  Daniel reached for his jacket. “Here’s a tip from inside the mind of a guy. Stop being cranky or you’ll never get a date.” He watched his sister’s face turn puce.

  “I’m single through choice,” she spluttered, and then sighed and glared at him. “You’re winding me up. Why can’t I see when you’re winding me up? You drive me batshit crazy and then I can’t think straight. It’s one of your tactics and I know that, but I still fall for it every time. Are you this annoying in court?”

  “I’m worse.”

  “No wonder you always win. Opposing counsel probably wants to get as far away from you as quickly as possible.”

  “That’s part of the reason. And for the record, I don’t use women. I let them use me, preferably after dark.” He bent to kiss her cheek, thinking that teasing his sister was his second favorite game after poker. “So what time can I pick up this dog?”

  Two

  Dear Aggie, if men are from Mars, when are they going back?

  Yours, Earthbound and Exasperated

  She noticed his dog first. A German shepherd who was as strong and athletic as his owner. She’d seen the two of them every day for the past week, just after sunrise. She’d allowed herself a glance or two, because…well, she was human, wasn’t she? She had as much appreciation for the male form as the next woman, especially when that male form was as well presented as it was in this guy. And besides, studying people was her job.

  Like so many other people in the park at this time, he wore running gear, but something about the way he moved told her that when he wasn’t pounding the paths, he dressed in a suit and was commander in chief of whichever empire he presided over. His hair was dark and cropped short. Doctor? Banker? Accountant? Judging from the air of confidence he exuded he was very good at whatever it was he did. If she’d had to make more guesses about him, she would have said he was focused to the point of driven, spent too long working, and found it hard to empathize with weakness. He’d have his own weaknesses of course, everybody did. Being smart, he probably even knew what they were, but he would hide them because weakness wasn’t something he’d share with others. He was the type of guy who, if he knew what she did for a living, would laugh and then express surprise that anyone needed advice on something as straightforward as relationships. A man like him would have no idea how it felt to lack confidence, to not be able to find the courage to approach a woman you found interesting and attractive.

  A man exactly like Rupert.

  She frowned. Where had that thought come from? She was careful to never think about Rupert. She had enough self-insight to know her experience with him had colored her view of the world. In particular, it had colored her view of relationships. In all probability this man was nothing like Rupert.

  The only piece of information that jarred with her impression of him was that he had a dog. She wouldn’t have expected a man like him to want responsibility for a dog. Maybe the dog belonged to a friend who was sick, or maybe it had belonged to a deceased family member, but if that was the case then she would have expected a man like him to use a dog-walking service, like the one she occasionally used for Valentine. The Bark Rangers.

  The dog was the one misshapen piece of the jigsaw that stopped her picture of him fitting together perfectly.

  Determined not to be caught staring, she ran on, her feet pounding the ground in the comfortable rhythm she now found instinctively. Running was a way of testing herself. Of pushing herself outside her comfort levels. And pushing made her aware of the power and strength of her own body. Running reminded her that when she thought she had nothing more to give, she could still find more.

  Even though it was early and the park wasn’t yet open to traffic, it was busy. Joggers mingled with cyclists riding hill repeats and dawn laps of Central Park. In a few hours they’d give way to parents with strollers, and tourists keen to explore the eight-hundred-and-forty-three acres of parkland that ran from 59th Street to 110th and east to west from Fifth Avenue to Central Park West.

  She could never decide which season in New York was her favorite, but right now she would have voted for spring. The trees were thick with blossoms and it flavored the air with a heavy sweetness. Crab apple, cherry and magnolia bathed the park in a creamy, pink glow and exotic birds from Central and South America gathered ready for the spring migration.

  She was pondering its near-bridal magnificence when Valentine shot in front of her and almost tripped her up.

  He bounded after the Germa
n shepherd, who was thoroughly overexcited and refusing to come back when called.

  “Brutus!” The man’s voice thundered across the park.

  Molly slowed her pace. Seriously? He’d called his dog Brutus?

  The dog ignored him. He didn’t even turn his head in the direction of his owner. There was no acknowledgment that they even knew each other.

  Molly decided that either Brutus was the sort of dog who loved to challenge authority, or else he didn’t often find himself in the company of other dogs and wasn’t about to prioritize obedience over a good time.

  Clearly there was one thing that power couldn’t command, and that was a misbehaving dog. Was there any better leveler?

  She whistled to Valentine, who was having fun with his new friend.

  His head came up and their eyes met across the expanse of grass. After a split second of thought he came bounding toward her, all long lines and lean muscle, and as graceful as a ballet dancer. She heard the muted thud of his paws on the soft grass, the rhythmic panting, and then he skidded to a halt in front of her, the rear end of his body moving with each swing of his tail, that canine barometer of happiness.

  There was surely no more uplifting greeting than a wagging tail. It conveyed so much. Love, warmth and unquestioning acceptance.

  He was followed by his new friend, the German shepherd, who skidded untidily to a halt at her feet, more bruiser than ballet dancer. He gave her a hopeful look, seeking approval.

  Molly decided that for all his bad-boy tendencies, he was cute. But like all bad boys, he needed a firm hand and strong boundaries.

  His owner was probably the same.

  “Well, aren’t you adorable.” She dropped to her haunches to make a fuss over him, stroking his head and rubbing his neck. She felt the warmth of his breath on her skin and the smack of his tail against the leg as he circled in excitement. He tried to put his paws on her shoulders, almost knocking her on her butt in the dirt. “No. Sit.”

  The dog gave her a reproachful look and sat, clearly questioning her sense of fun.

  “You’re cute, but that doesn’t mean I want your muddy paws on my T-shirt.”