I didn’t know what to say because I had nothing nice to say. So I asked a vague question in the hopes I’d avoid saying the wrong thing. “Do you miss it?”

“LA? Nah. I loved living there, but I don’t think I’d go back.”

“All that sunshine’s a bummer, huh?”

A chuckle. “You have to drive everywhere. There’s no decent public transportation. The highways are a parking lot. And the people are just … I dunno. Different.”

“Different how?”

“I can’t say without sounding snobbish.”

I laughed. “Now you have to tell me.”

His nose wrinkled. “It’s just like New York in that status is a thing. What neighborhood you live in defines you or what kind of car you drive in LA—that sort of thing. But the difference is, in New York, nobody even sees you. There, everyone’s watching you, measuring you up, and putting you on a shelf. From the old lady in the rainbow-striped thigh-highs digging through the sushi at Whole Foods to the model in stilettos and fur coat in Target in the heat of July.”

“Do you miss your old Russian neighbor?”

“Yeah, but I send Zhenya postcards every few days. I’ve even gotten a few back,” he said proudly, reaching into my pocket too quickly for me to be shocked. When his hand came into view again, my keys were in it.

“Postcards, huh?” I smiled at his back as he glanced at my keys and unlocked the door to my building.

“She really liked the one of the Statue of Liberty. I told her to wait until she saw the one of the skyline. I’m making her wait,” he said with a smirk, pulling open the door.

“Cruel,” I said on a laugh.

We climbed the stairs without speaking as I imagined him sitting in a dusty apartment with a little old lady, listening to her talk about her life.

Every day, Luke surprised me. It seemed to be a knack of his.

I didn’t think I’d ever enjoyed being so wrong.

My keys were still in his hand, so he unlocked the door to my apartment with the first key he tried.

“How’d you do that?” I asked as he opened yet another door for me like the gentleman I’d never thought him to be.

“What?”

“Figure out which key it was?”

“Well,” he started, following me in, “this one and this one are keys to the shop.” He displayed it. “And this one is less worn, so I figured it was for outside. Those tend to get replaced more often. And I figured this one was for your house. The teeth are nearly worn smooth.”

I gaped at him.

He smirked. “I had a job as a locksmith for a minute after high school.”

With a roll of my eyes, I laughed. “Of course you did.”

“Tess?” Dad called from back in the apartment. “That you?”

“Hey, Daddy. In here,” I called back, setting down my haul on the kitchen island.