by Peyton Banks
Her gaze fluttered to the ground. “It’s not really about the peaches… I mean… not like that. Anyway, here. I made you some peach bread from some of the peaches you picked. Will you accept my apology?”
His eyebrows shot up. Now, this was interesting. Usually, he was the one groveling. Is she serious? He stretched his arms out and graciously took the plate, looking at her dubiously. “Are you saying you’re giving me a ‘peach offering’?” The corner of his mouth lifted coyly at his own bad joke.
She chuckled. “I see what you did there.”
“Thanks, though. You didn’t have to do this. I was wrong for messing with your peach tree. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”
Her gaze lifted, and she quirked a smile. “How about this—we’re even.”
“Fair enough.” He then took a peek at the plate of goodies. He wondered if her cooking tasted as good as she looked. His gaze wandered to her long legs, where every curve was hugged by her leggings. Then he assessed the rest of her athletic figure before willing his eyes to focus on her face. “On your way to the gym?”
“Actually, I’m heading back home to work on getting some new clients. I’m an at-home certified fitness trainer.”
He sucked in a breath. No wonder she has such a smoking-hot body. “Wow. That sounds interesting.”
“It’s a lot of work. And it can be stressful at times, especially when clients randomly decide they no longer need you.”
He frowned. “That’s too bad. Looking at you, I’d guess you’re one of those elite trainers.”
“Nah, not really. I just love what I do.”
“Still, it’s their loss if they don’t want to train under someone like you.”
She flushed. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry for making your day worse.”
She smiled reassuringly. “It’s all right.” She craned her neck, attempting to get a peek inside. “So what do you do?”
He opened the door all the way and leaned against the frame. He had nothing to hide. In fact, he lived a minimalistic lifestyle. Too much clutter tended to bring about distraction, and that was never good for the creative mind. “I write books.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really? What kind of books do you write?”
“Thrillers and mysteries mainly. I’m a sucker for hard-boiled detectives.”
“Wow, that must be fun, getting paid to write stories all day.”
It was fun, but like all things, too much fun tended to wear on a person. “It has its ups and downs, much like being an at-home personal trainer, I’m sure.”
She nodded with a smile. “Solo entrepreneurship is a hard gig, ain’t it?”
He matched her smile. “Now, that is something we can definitely agree on.”
We… His heart fluttered. His entire day was suddenly turned upside down. The unhappiness in her eyes was gone. The peach-tree incident was left forgotten in the past, where Rahim preferred it to be. Renee seemed like an interesting woman he would love to get to know more.
After she left, Rahim put away his groceries and returned upstairs to his writing desk with his plate of peach bread. He reviewed the seventeen pages he’d written, the evil villainess he’d brought to life, and decided to rework it. Renee was nothing as he’d portrayed her in the scene. She was actually kind, understanding, and interesting. And she was an independent businesswoman. Joline—who had the looks but was much more dastardly, selfish, and unforgiving—had nothing on Renee. Joline was the real villainess he would bring to life.
In a few hours, before he knew it, Rahim finished another chapter in his book.
3
Well, that wasn’t so bad, Renee thought when she returned to her home. She hadn’t thought her little “peach offering” would work with the handsome and mysterious writer in residence. But when his face lit up at the sight of her homemade cooking, she knew she’d struck the right nerve. She guessed there really was something to that old saying about the way to a man’s heart being his stomach. Her initial misunderstanding of him had turned into genuine interest.
She had to set her curiosity aside, however, and concentrate on putting out some fires with her business—or what was left of it. She’d run some advertisements on social media and checked her messages for any new leads, but all was quiet. Her latest FotoGram picture had received dozens of likes but no inquiries. She didn’t expect to get anything new so quickly, but the uneasy, desperate feeling stung her heart. She had hundreds of genuine followers, and most either were not interested or never followed up on their inquiries. Her authenticity seemed to be getting her nowhere, but she refused to succumb to the fantasy life that many of her peers had built to fool their followers.
She raided her freezer for a pint of vanilla-flavored monk fruit ice cream. She needed something sweet to brighten her day. Eating a low-calorie, no-sugar ice cream was a guilty pleasure she wasn't ashamed of. She snapped a picture of the pint, posted it on her FotoGram account, and added the caption, Sometimes, bad days need to be sweetened with a little love.
As Renee indulged in her ice cream, she thought more about her business dilemma. Maybe I’m just too candid with my clients. She never sugarcoated anything with her clients, but she always made sure to encourage them as much as dish out the tough love. After all, a healthy balance of positive feedback and constructive criticism would yield a much more rewarding feeling than compliments alone.
It was almost midnight by the time Renee finished all of her administrative work. There were still no prospects, but she had hoped all of that would change the next day. She shut down her computer. As she headed to her bedroom, she passed by a window and caught a glimpse of Rahim’s house. One of his upstairs windows glowed with a warm, inviting light. Renee assumed it was his bedroom or office. She wondered if he was single. A full-time writer sounded like a very isolated job. Does he have a social life? She’d hoped Rahim would be staying in that house long enough for her to find out.
Rahim tapped the eraser end of his pencil against his lips as he studied the swath of colorful sticky notes posted on his hanging corkboard. His latest manuscript had been submitted to the editor, and he was already plotting the next book in the series. He was never one to keep track of time, working at various hours of the day, but if he had to guess, he’d figured it was sometime past midnight. His brain worked overtime between gathering ideas for the next book and thinking about that beautiful girl next door who’d blown him away with her stunning top-chef-quality peach bread. He wanted to—no, had to—see her again.
He took a break from his book plotting and checked up on his social media. FotoGram was his jam. All the unique and creative pictures stimulated his mind. He wondered if Renee had a profile. She probably did if she was a solo entrepreneur, like him. He did a little sleuthing on the website until she popped up. His eyes widened. She wore a cropped tight-fitting tank top that showed off every curve and muscle tone in her torso. Her matching leggings revealed more of those perfect curves he’d loved. She was holding up two dumbbells, flexing her biceps, and flashing a perfect smile. Is she a fitness trainer or a fitness model? He frowned. He’d forgotten to ask her if she was single. But looking at those pictures, he assumed she wasn’t. Perhaps he should stop while he was ahead.
Who am I kidding to think someone as sophisticated as Renee would want to take a chance on someone who sits at a desk all day, typing away at a keyboard? He was a best-selling author, but that wasn’t something he bragged about. He’d prefer a woman who loved him for who he was and not for his status. The fact that Renee wasn’t impressed by his career made her particularly attractive.
He stared at Renee’s name on the screen a final time then clicked on the little heart icon next to it to start following her. His follow request was marked as “pending.” He hoped she would accept his request so that he could get more of a glimpse into her personal life and get to know the mysterious woman with the most delicious peaches.
He was still perusing his news feed whe
n he noticed that his inbox was flooded with new messages. One of his previously published books had been featured on a high-profile book-review website, and his fans were eager to offer their congratulations. While it was flattering that he had so many enthusiastic fans, he sure didn’t feel much like a celebrity, being cooped up in his house all day, living in the shadow of his own imagination.
He scrolled through the endless messages until his eyes glazed over. He didn’t have the energy to answer them all. Just when he was about to close the web browser, another message popped up in his news feed, notifying him that Renee had accepted his follow request. He swallowed. She’s online right now! He zoomed back to her page and began browsing through her picture albums. She was perfect in every way, and he couldn’t understand why her business was struggling. Hell, if he were looking for a personal trainer, he would hire her in a heartbeat. He pulled up her business page and read the numerous glowing reviews from past clients.
He could understand that some people sometimes had to make financial decisions that included ditching personal trainers. He was certain many of his readers were in similar situations. A reading habit could be expensive, and he had no problem recommending that his fans check out his books from their local libraries.
Maybe all Renee needed was a little nudge to expand her audience. He believed in her and was extra passionate about seeing more black-owned businesses succeed. Perhaps sharing her business with his thousands of fans from all over the world would drum up some business for her. Part of him had a feeling most of his fans wouldn’t be interested—they only cared about his next book and nothing more—but every little bit of advertising helped, right?
After sharing the information on his profile page, he sat back in his chair and exhaled. Helping Renee like that had lifted a great weight off his chest and cleared his mind. He was suddenly brimming with ideas.
Renee must be my muse. Not feeling the urge to sleep, Rahim opened a new document and began typing the first chapter of his next book.
4
Rahim woke up early the next morning with the intent to work on another chapter. As soon as his computer powered on, however, his inbox was bombarded with endless notifications about pending private messages on his FotoGram page. He rolled his eyes. Do my fans ever sleep? He decided to check out a few of them, if only to satisfy his brief curiosity. He furrowed his brow as he began reading one of the messages. It was a thank-you note from a fan who had been looking for a good fitness trainer. Another note mentioned she was inspired to get back into the workout groove after seeing his post.
It took Rahim a moment, but then he remembered the little bit of advertising he’d done for Renee the night before. He wondered how much business she ended up getting. He took a quick peek outside his window, but Renee wasn’t around.
He was struck with a thought. Oh no… did I just make matters worse by overwhelming Renee with my rabid but loyal fans? Maybe the idea hadn’t been so good after all.
He felt the urge to talk to her face-to-face again and apologize a second time. It would give him the excuse to see her again. Maybe if he got lucky, she would be wearing leggings again when she answered the door.
He mustered up the courage to leave the sanctuary of his home and ventured outside. The bright sun stung his eyes as he stepped out the front door. Now I know how a vampire feels. Squinting, he made his way down his walkway. Some of the neighbors were doing yard work and chatting. Two small children rode their bikes along the sidewalk, seeming not to notice him. A little boy rode his bright-red tricycle in circles, laughing and chasing after a slightly older girl. The two kids wove between the sidewalk and street and maneuvered around a car that was parked along the curb. The boy pedaled with his little legs as fast as he could, but he was no match for the girl, who rode a large pink bike with training wheels.
Frowning at the bittersweet scene of the children having fun, Rahim continued on his way to Renee’s house. He’d been an only child, which had instilled in him a sense of independence. He’d always preferred to be alone with his thoughts and creativity, despite his numerous failed attempts at a relationship. His idea of having fun was putting pen to paper and letting his imagination go wild. He didn’t think he’d meet another person like him, or at least someone who understood him. The thought of having a family of his own seemed so far gone—a workaholic like him would probably never experience that joy.
Rahim rapped on the door, hoping Renee was home. His silent prayers were answered when the front door swung open.
Renee’s eyebrows shot up. “Now, this is a surprise.”
There didn’t seem to be any hint of anger in her voice, and Rahim wondered if she really had been bombarded by his fans. “Uh, I just wanted to see how your business was going. You were pretty upset yesterday.”
She crossed her arms. “Actually, business picked up quite a bit. My inbox has been blowing up with so many inquiries. I think I’m going to go crazy. It’s a coincidence that it happened not long after I accepted your follow request.” Her eyes narrowed.
He rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, well…”
“You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”
He swallowed. I guess the jig is up. “Look, I was just trying to help. The way you were upset yesterday, it sounded like your business was pretty rocky, so I just casually passed along your business information to my readers and fans.”
She uncrossed her arms, and her eyes grew wide. “You did what?”
He cringed. “I didn’t think it would be any harm, giving you a little free advertising. I have thousands of followers globally, so I thought it would be a great opportunity to…”
She fumed. “How dare you patronize me like that! You don't think I’m capable of running my own business?”
“What? Quite the opposite. I think you are an amazing and smart self-made boss. I have no doubts about you or your business. I just wanted to help…”
“If I wanted your help, I would’ve asked for it.” She waved her finger. “You’ve just single-handedly overwhelmed me to the point that I’m even more stressed out than before, spending all this time screening new leads and seeing who’s serious and who’s not. By the way, most are not serious about me, but they sure do seem serious about you. They seem to be at your beck and call.”
He scowled. Those words were like a powerful blow to his gut, knocking the wind out of him. That was the thanks he got for caring. “Seriously? You really think I’m into all those female fans and followers? They’re just that—fans and followers—and nothing more. I can’t believe you would even think that.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Rahim. I did not appreciate that little stunt. I think you should leave now.”
He gritted his teeth. “Gladly.” He spun and stormed back down the walkway then paused and turned his head slightly. “I guess I have the perfect villainess in my book after all.”
Renee blinked. “What?”
He smirked and stormed back to his home.
She thundered after him. “Hey, we’re not done here! What is this about you putting me in your book? That’s slander, you know.”
Rahim stumbled over a red tricycle left abandoned in the middle of the sidewalk. He grumbled under his breath. He was sure Renee saw that, which made him even more annoyed because he’d just made a fool of himself. I’ll show her. It wouldn’t be slander if he changed her name. Maybe he’d make her Joline’s best friend. They seemed to be two of a kind.
“I’m talking to you!” Renee yelled behind him. “Don’t walk away from me!”
His eyes flicked toward the street, where the two children continued to play but were no longer on their bikes. They paused in the middle of the street and looked curiously in his direction.
“You are a rude, despicable, sorry excuse for a man!” Renee barked at him. “And if I ever catch you touching my peach tree again, I will call the authorities!”
Rahim gritted his teeth. He had a
few choice words for her, but he decided not to stoop to her level. She’d shown her true colors, and there was nothing more to say. At least, not out loud. His anger and frustration would come out on the next hundred or so pages of his book. It was going to be an epic story. She and Joline would get their just deserts. Rahim would see to that.
A car horn blared nearby, jolting him out of his thoughts. He started and looked to the street, where a yellow car swerved around the children, its tires making a high-pitched squeal. Rahim’s body was already lunging forward, about to rush into the street to save the children, when the car zoomed just inches around them. The sharp torque caused the vehicle to fishtail and lose control, and it headed straight for the curb—and right in Renee’s direction.
His throat tightened. Renee stood like a frightened deer in headlights as the car plowed forward. Rahim sucked in a breath. Then all of his bottled-up anger was suddenly converted to a burst of energy to his legs as he sprinted like a gazelle to Renee, his heart racing as the car closed in. He lunged for her, grabbed her, and shoved her out of the car’s path and into a patch of grass between the curb and sidewalk.
Crash!
A sharp pain surged through Rahim’s body, and he heard the crunching of metal and plastic as the tricycle was consumed under the weight of the speeding car. The world around him became a yellow blur. The feeling of weightlessness made his heart drop. The back of his head slammed against the asphalt, and everything went black.
Renee couldn’t get the wavering image of Rahim’s still body out of her head, nor could she stop the hot tears from stinging her eyes. Everything had happened so fast—it was all a blur. Emergency sirens and the sounds of the neighbors chatting echoed all around her. She was too shaken to talk to anyone. It wasn’t until Rahim was lifted onto a stretcher and wheeled into the back of a waiting ambulance that Renee’s mind returned to the rest of the world and the commotion around her. Two police cars blocked part of the street, their red and blue sirens flashing wildly. Shattered glass littered the asphalt like snow, and the front fender of the small yellow car was dented and had a broken headlight. The driver, a young man, stood with three police officers, his head down solemnly.
