How I Found A Summer Apartment In NYC

A story that might make you believe in luck

We taxied to the West Village and found ourselves sitting in a sunny corner booth for brunch. My on-and-off-again boyfriend of a decade is sitting across from me, and our relationship is ending as we speak.

We ordered the donuts, and believe it or not, this is what got me my summer apartment in NYC.

I have lived in Charleston for five years and have created a very rooted life that I love. A house I renovated, a dream office, a team of employees, and a vibrant community. I have not spent much time in the city, but over this spring weekend in 2025, a forgotten dream came rushing back to me. I wanted to live in New York City.

I peered out the restaurant window and watched handsome men in perfectly fitted tees carrying coffees. It was a Sunday morning.

What was this magical neighborhood? I’d heard buzz about it on Instagram, but I, like anyone else in their right mind, thought, “Well, I could live here.” The same refrain spills out of my mouth every time I find myself in an astronomically expensive neighborhood. The curse of taste, perhaps?

I was not doing well. I did not sleep all weekend. We got into a Carolyn Bessette/JFK-style fight (minus the movie star chemistry) in Central Park the afternoon before. The future seemed, at best, bleak.