When I pull into the parking lot of my new apartment building, I see Kyle sitting in a folding chair on his terrace, squinting at the U-Haul. He must see me, too, because he raises a hand in greeting.
Rob notices. “Who’s that? New neighbor?”
“Kyle,” I say, lifting my fingers off the steering wheel to wave back. “He lives under me.”
As I turn the wheel, Rob’s elbow nudges me in my side. “Uh-huh. I see what you’re doing.”
“What?” I scrunch up my eyebrows at him, like I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“Trying to play it cool,” he says. “Like you’re not boning for him. I know you, Dan. I know your type. And he’s it.”
“He has a girlfriend.” But I don’t see Nadia around, and I’d be lying if I say I’m not glad to see Kyle waiting outside for me. He is waiting, isn’t he? Or does he norma
