Cassidy Lane Read Online Free PDF Page A

opinion, at least—had a small-neighborhood vibe that made it feel almost intimate, with enough mom-and-pop shops tucked between the chain stores to rival any midwestern town. It also boasted a respectable number of restaurants and pubs, which made for a robust nightlife—albeit one comprised of a considerably older demographic than in the more “happening” parts of town. One thing Cassidy admired about the Upper West Side was its seamless mix of brownstones and doorman high-rises, an architectural melting pot that reflected the diversity—and beauty—of New York City. She also considered it to be one of the prettiest neighborhoods in all of Manhattan, second only to the West Village. The streets were always clean, the buildings well maintained, the trees abundant and tall. And on clear evenings such as this one, with the sun setting over the Hudson River, she felt lucky to partake in the quintessential New York experience: a run through Central Park.
    The Upper West Side would never be the hippest part of Manhattan, but it would always be Cassidy’s home away from home.
    Plus she’d never considered herself “hip” and wasn’t about to start now.
    She rode the elevator down to the lobby and waved to the doorman before stepping outside and making her way toward the park. Her building was a high-rise on Seventy-Third Street between Amsterdam and Columbus, just a few steps from the express subway stop, another geographical perk. While part of her missed the charm of the walk-up brownstone she’d lived in before, there was something to be said for a speedy elevator and twenty-four-hour security, not to mention a newer apartment with central air conditioning, a dishwasher, and a washer and dryer right in the unit—no more finding strangers’ socks in her laundry! Plus now she had a gym in her building, which gave her no excuse when it was just too hot outside—or too cold—to run. Though she’d never been much of a gym person, the harsh weather of New York often tested her resolve to keep in shape.
    But when it really came down to it, the reason she’d moved was to have more space. For several years she’d struggled to pay her bills with a combination of meager book royalties and savings, but she kept writing, and once her novels started selling well enough to generate a steady income, she’d decided to move out of her cramped studio. It was time to start treating herself like a real professional, and that meant having a proper work space. So after years of writing hunched over her laptop on her couch, she’d relocated to a one-bedroom in a building just a few blocks away and set up her “office” in a tidy corner of her living room. The new apartment was hardly opulent, but she had it all to her herself. She thought it funny, if not downright absurd, that for most people in Manhattan, being successful meant being able to afford a decent-sized place without a roommate—no matter what one’s age.
    As she jogged along her usual five-mile path through the park, she thought about the reunion and the different roads everyone’s lives had taken since graduation. By now most of her former high-school classmates probably owned honest-to-God grown-up houses, complete with big backyards, electric grills, and two-car garages. As far as she knew, she was the only one from her class who was living in New York City.
    The sun was just beginning to set as she ran, and somewhere along the way the chill of fall had crept into the air. Summer was officially over now, and before she knew it the days of running in shorts and a tank top would be gone as well. Part of her looked forward to the onset of winter, especially that magical first snowfall, when a soft blanket quietly covered the entire city, everything peaceful and still, the white canvas unblemished, at least for the first few hours, before it all turned to slush and mud. But another part of her knew she’d miss those balmy summer evenings when she could wear a