Dove
The hotel room was too quiet.
That was the first thing I noticed. After the noise of the flight, the car, Molly yelling "we made it!" in the hallway, now it was just me. The hum of the AC. The distant sirens 38 floors down.
Sunday afternoon in Manhattan. I dropped my garment bag on the chair and didn't unpack. Didn't sit. Didn't turn the TV on. I went straight to the window.
The skyline hit me right in the chest. Gold light sliding down glass buildings. Rooftops. Bridges in the distance. Little yellow taxis crawling like ants. People moving with purpose down there and me up here, heart pounding like I'd run a mile.
This was it.
The most expensive part of the city. The same area I'd be walking through tomorrow with a realtor, looking at penthouses. For me. For B&B. For the collection with my name on it.
My stomach flipped.
