This chapter picks up some months later...
Brooke Malinowski made a mad dash for the kitchen counter, a foot haphazardly kicking the front door closed behind her, as her elbow pushed the light switch upwards.
"Please, please, please," she chanted as the combined weight of the grocery bags, dry cleaning, and briefcase began to get the best of her.
Cursing as one of the paper bags hit the chestnut floor, she forfeited the dry cleaning to save the bag with the eggs and bottle of Dewar's.
"God I hate high rises," she said to the empty loft as she rested the remaining bags on the counter.
In the three months since she had made the move from the beach community of Islip Long Island to the Midtown section of the Big Apple Malinowski felt she had begun tot adjust to city life amazingly well.
She had substituted her twenty minute walk to work for a seventy minute train ride. She had gone from home owner to renter of a 1800 square foot loft. Hardest of all, she had even managed to accept switching from her favorite family owned mocha shop that was across the street from the Islip courthouse, to the Barista shop across from Penn station.
But what she thought she'd never get used to, was giving up was the luxury of unloading a week's worth of groceries via her car and lugging groceries up four flights of stairs on a bi-daily basis.
Malinowski had studied the Manhattan real estate market long enough to know the loft had been a gift. When her former law school chum had offered to give her a one year lease, with option to buy, and promised to the only double the amouont his rent controlled tenant had paid, the savvy Suffolk ADA knew the loft was a bargain she couldn't pass up.
As she bent down to pick up the dry cleaning, the intercom buzzer sounded. After hearing the familiar voice of her fiancée, she quickly tossed the dry cleaning on one of the two chairs around the oval dining table and dashed to the bathroom.
By the time she heard the knock on her door, she had changed out of her work clothes and into an over sized tee shirt and jeans. Both items decorated by random paint blotches.
"You're early," she announced, as McCoy gave her a peck on the cheek while he moved to set the box of assorted paint and painting equipment on the dining table.
"My last meeting was at the 2 7. Put me just around the corner from the hardware store and saved me another cab ride," he said as moved behind the room divider. "How was the commute?"
"You don't want to know."
As they chatted, Malinowski finished putting the groceries away and opened the bottle of scotch. When McCoy reemerged, he was clad in a worn pair of jeans and a painted stained tee-shirt.
"Don't forget the bell peppers this time, "he reminded her as he picked up a glass, while he watched her dial the number on the take out menu in front of her.
Once she had ordered the pizza, Malinowski turned her attention to the supplies on the table.
"You know if you don't want to deal with the train, I can make some calls," McCoy offered as he sipped the scotch. "I know the Bronx DA's office needs a Senior ADA for the Robbery-Homicide division. I myself, haven't had a decent Bureau Chef in Sex Crimes since Donnelly accepted her judgeship."
"We've discussed this more times than we've discussed what color to paint the kitchen," she said, teasingly tapping the end of his nose with her paint brush.
"I'll give in on the paint color, if you give in and interview in the Bronx."
Malinowski shook her head.
"The next major life change I'm making will happen the day of the wedding. Nothing else changes, before then. Now, how about we get some strokes in on the bathroom before DaVinci's delivers," Brooke said as she handed him a paint brush.
The spacious bathroom was one of the features that sold both of them on the loft. The twin pedestal sinks, the separate shower, and free standing tub, as well as the generously sized walk in closets on either side of the doorway, made the modest bathroom in McCoy's brownstone apartment pale by comparison.
As they picked up where they had left off the previous weekend, the conversation continued, as well. Malinowski giving him a generic update on her caseload, McCoy bemoaning the endless meetings that made up the majority of his work schedule.
"I know you think I'll run for another term, Brooke. But, if I had it to do over again, I wouldn't have left trial work. At least when I gave my all to a case, I felt like I'd accomplished something. Sitting in meetings and giving speeches at dinners accomplishes nothing."
Malinowski sympathized. As proud as she was the strong support McCoy gave his staff, she knew the courtroom was his home. She watched as her fiancée carefully appraised the freshly painted walls. In even performing the simplest of tasks, she could see the importance McCoy placed taking care to be thorough in his work.
"I just can't see you working for some career politician – someone that won't give your people the support that you do. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't support whatever you decide to do. It's your career, Jack."
McCoy sighed as they heard the sound of the buzzer.
"These days, I'm leaning more towards taking up house painting as a profession and leaving the law to the likes of Cutter and Connie," he said with a grin.
While Malinowski dealt with the delivery, McCoy made a few more carefully passes with his brush. The work the couple had done on the loft reminded him of the work he did fixing up the first house he had owned years before. The summer that had been spent making the tiny house a home had been one of the happiest times, not only in the marriage, but in McCoy's life.
Redoing the loft and all the details that went into it...choosing new flooring, fixtures, and paint colors... were creating the same kind of intimacy he'd felt with his first wife. The project was also was taking the edge off McCoy's own reluntance to make the move from the apartment he'd lived in since before becoming an EADA.
While she set up the pizza and necessary utensils on the coffee table, McCoy draped a drop cloth over the sofa and turned on the television.
"If you're planning on watching a game…"
"I know the rule," he replied as took a slice from the box. "Friday nights are tape nights. No, I want to check CNN for a minute. Casey Novak just arraigned an aide of Congressman Prescott's on attempted-"
"John Prescott's aide," Malinowski asked sharply.
"You sound upset. If you'd ever had to deal with that arrogant SOB, you'd know there's more corruption-"
Malinowski rolled her eyes as she picked up her glass.
"I dealt with him for eight years. He's not only an arrogant SOB, he's also Sam's half brother."