by Ava Bloom
“Why do it, then? If it took so much work to get it, and it won’t make you money?”
My father had asked me the question enough times that I had an answer prepared, even though I’d never wasted the breath explaining it to my father. His mind was full of facts and statistics and numbers. He would never understand why this place was so important to me. But maybe Logan would. At least, I hoped he would.
Logan had wandered towards the front of the studio, probably in an effort to put more distance between himself and me after I’d sort of exploded at him, and he was examining the tables of jewelry and pottery in the middle of the room.
“Because those mugs and bowls were made by a Teaching Assistant at the University who could only use the wheel after all of the students had gone home.”
Logan ran his finger along the rim of one of the mugs.
“And that jewelry was made by a teller at the bank down the street who, in her free time, makes her own beads in her basement. She uses the money she makes to buy more supplies.”
“They are really good.” Logan picked up one of the necklaces and held it to the light from the window, the sun streaming through the colored glass.
“I got this space because I could,” I said. “I can afford it when so many other artists can’t, and after spending so many years in my father’s house, being told that my passion was impractical, I want to make sure there is at least one space in this city where people can be told that their passion is important.”
My heart raced as I finished speaking. I didn’t have anything to prove to Logan, so I couldn’t explain why, but I desperately wanted him to understand. I wanted him to get it.
He sat the necklace down on the table carefully and turned towards the door, his jaw working as he thought. Then, he went rigid. “Holy shit.”
“What?” I asked, but he was already walking across the room, heading for the door. Was he leaving? Had I somehow managed to deeply offend him with my love of art, as well? Perhaps he was even more like my father than I thought.
But just as he reached the door, Logan bent down and picked up a white index card. He studied it silently.
“What is it?”
The way he looked up at me, his eyes assessing me, looking me over to see if I could handle it, I knew it was bad. I walked over, and he held it out to me without me having to ask. When I read the hastily scribbled words, my stomach dropped.
We’ll be back.
“Do you recognize that handwriting?”
I jumped when he spoke. I’d been so deep in my own thoughts I’d forgotten where I was for a minute. I dropped my arm to my side, the note pinched between my trembling fingers. “No, I don’t.”
“We have to call someone,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his phone.
I wrapped my fingers around his forearm before I could stop myself. His muscles flexed, and I pulled my hand back like I’d been bitten. “No, it’s fine. There’s no reason to raise the alarm over nothing.”
“Nothing?” He reached down for the note, but I stepped away from him and tucked it behind my back.
“Yes, nothing,” I said, dropping the note card in the pocket of my painting apron. “You know, I’ve actually been expecting a drop in from the Made Good people. They probably stopped by this morning before I got here and left a note.”
Logan raised an eyebrow, and I knew my excuse was as flimsy as it sounded. “Weird note. Why didn’t they sign their name?”
I shrugged and marched back across the studio, my blue wrap dress flowing behind me. “I don’t know.”
“And why did they shove a note card under the door rather than call you or email you?” he asked. “Seems like a strange way to conduct business, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know,” I repeated, the words eked out between clenched teeth.
I heard his heavy footsteps across the wood floor, but I was still surprised when his hand landed on my shoulder, the heat of his skin sinking into mine. I spun around to face him, and his hand fell to his side. “This is what I was hired to do, Jade. I have to tell someone.”
“No, you don’t,” I said. “It is nothing.”
He bit his lower lip. “I’m supposed to tell your father if—”
“Don’t.” The word was a plea as much as a command. “It’s nothing. Just a misunderstanding. Trust me, the men who attacked me are not the kind who leave notes.”
I didn’t know this. I didn’t even believe this. But I knew I didn’t want my father hearing about the note. He would find some way to make me give up the studio. I was a grown woman, but he had money and influence. He could probably find a friend willing to buy the building my studio is in and turn it into upscale urban apartments. And so what if they slipped a note under my studio door? It’s not like they broke in or threw a brick through the window.
“Jade,” Logan said, his voice low and soft.
I reached out and laid my hand on his bicep. His eyes darted to mine and away, and I wondered if he felt the electricity between us. My fingers squeezed. “It’s fine. Really. Please don’t tell.”
Logan didn’t say anything, but I could tell by the drop of his shoulders and the subtle shake of his head that he was agreeing, even though he didn’t really agree.
6
LOGAN
I COULDN’T SLEEP at night. I couldn’t focus unless she was standing in front of me. I knew who that note was from, and I knew she did, too. How could Jade be so calm about all of it? She continued showing up to the studio every day, painting and working on online orders as they came in, and then she left at the end of the day. No discussion of the threat, and seemingly no worries about the men who had attacked her coming back to finish the job.
Her father thought she was only in danger at the studio, but the attackers stole her purse, too. They had her ID, which meant they had her home address. If she was telling the truth about not having time for a man, then she lived alone. No one was protecting her there.
The first time I drove by her apartment building, I felt like a complete creep. She was in the corner unit on the third floor, which meant windows ran along two walls. I couldn’t see her, but I could see lights on in the front of the apartment. I could also see the rickety fire escape that passed right by what I guessed was her bedroom window. It was open.
I wanted to call her and tell her to close it. Lock it. But that kind of behavior would not have endeared her to me. If she caught me outside her building, I had no idea how I’d explain myself. What was my explanation? Her father wouldn’t pay me for the hours I spent outside her building. I was doing it during my own free time. I actually canceled a second date with a woman I’d met at the gym to continue sitting across the street from Jade’s building, watching the lights go on and off in her apartment. How could I explain that kind of behavior? She was like an obsession. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, wondering if she was okay. The hours I laid in bed were restless until I woke up, drove to the studio, and saw her car turn the corner. Then I could breathe again. She was safe. She was okay.
I barely even knew Jade. And from what I did know, she was surly and difficult. Yet, I couldn’t get her bright blue eyes out of my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way her thick black hair would feel in my hands, the way her long painter’s fingers would glide over my skin, and the way my lips would kiss down her taut neck.
So, I found myself waking up early and driving by her apartment to see the lights go on in the morning, to see her walk out her front door and get in her car. Then, I’d speed across town to the studio to beat her there and pretend like it was the first time I was seeing her. It was weird and risky, but I couldn’t help myself.
The fourth morning after the note was slid under her studio door, I took up my post on the corner across from her apartment half an hour before the first lights usually went on in her unit, but just as I took a sip of my black coffee, the front door to the building opened and Jade came jogging down the stairs.
It was t
he first time I’d ever seen her without a wrap dress on. Her thin, shapely legs were squeezed into a pair of leggings, and she wore a matching black and pink sports bra that did little to draw my eyes away from the flat plane of her stomach and the curve of her breasts. Her black hair was pulled back in a high ponytail and it bounced behind her as she ran, swinging from side to side like a pendulum. Before I could think better of it, I pulled my idling car away from the curb and began following along behind her. Luckily, it was early in the morning and traffic was light. The few cars that got stuck behind me for a few seconds didn’t even bother to honk. They just swerved around me, flipping me the bird as they passed. I ignored them.
Jade had headphones in. I’d been following her for six blocks, and she hadn’t even noticed. She hadn’t even turned around to look at her surroundings. I could be anyone. I could be her attacker. I could park along the curb, get out of my car, and grab her before she even knew I was coming. Jade was in serious danger, and she didn’t even know it.
I followed her for four more blocks, trying to think of a way I could explain how dangerous this was without her finding out I followed her. And I was right in the middle of a roleplay activity, my brain playing both roles, imagining how the conversation would go—stop worrying about me. I’m a grown woman. Someone has to worry about you since you aren’t worried about yourself. You are in danger. You are dramatic, just like my dad. I’m fine. But the note. The note was nothing—and growing frustrated by imaginary Jade when real Jade took a left at the corner and crossed the street to start running down the opposite side in the direction she’d just come. Towards me.
There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Jade turned around, and instantly her eyes fell on my car. And then on me.
I felt exposed and embarrassed, so I did the only thing I could think of. I raised my hand and waved.
Jade’s scowl could have wilted flowers. She jogged towards me, and I did my best not to stare at her chest. She was so angry she would definitely call me out on it.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” she asked, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. “Are you following me?”
“Technically, yes,” I said. “But I’m just trying to look out for you.”
“How long?” she barked. “I thought it was just at the studio. Is my father paying you for this, too?”
That would be an easy way to explain the situation, but if I agreed, she would call her father, at which point he would tell her he hadn’t paid me to do any such thing. Jade might not believe him since she didn’t seem to trust her father much anyway, but her father would certainly be concerned that the bodyguard he hired was hanging around his daughter’s apartment, and he would have me fired or possibly jailed. Neither option was appealing.
“No, he didn’t,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I just—I worried. The note freaked me out.”
Jade stared at me for a long time, and I wasn’t sure if she would say anything. Then, she leaned down and rested her forearms on my open window. When she spoke, her voice was flat and emotionless. “I’m not yours to worry about.”
She turned and jogged away, but I couldn’t just let her go. I threw my car door open and jogged after her. I was in jeans and chukka boots, but I’d run after her the entire way home if I had to. “Wait. Jade, please.”
She was a few paces ahead of me, but in an instant, she spun around and was stretched onto her tippy toes, her nose almost touching mine. “Stop following me or I’ll scream.”
“I’ve been following you for nine blocks,” I said. My hands were shaking now. Adrenaline was pulsing through my veins, and it needed somewhere to go. An outlet. “I’ve been following you, driving at a snail’s pace, and you didn’t notice. You didn’t even turn around once. Do you understand how dangerous that is, Jade?”
“I’m out for a run in the middle of the city,” she said, arms wide to gesture to the elderly woman smoking a cigarette on her fire escape and the cat with half a tail jumping off of the dumpster. “I’m fine.”
“You were attacked in the middle of the city,” I reminded her. “And a note was shoved under your studio door in the middle of the day.”
“That was nothing,” she groaned.”
“They are getting bold, and you don’t seem to care. I may only be getting paid to watch you at the studio, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about your safety when I’m off duty,” I said, hands fisted at my sides to keep them from reaching out and touching her flushed cheeks.
She looked down at the ground and shook her head, her mouth pinched tight in annoyance.
“Please let me give you a ride home,” I said. “I’m sorry I ruined your run, but you are being careless, and I can’t stand by and let something happen to you.”
Her eyes met mine, and for a second, they weren’t angry or annoyed defensive…they were curious, probing. She was weighing my words and deciding how she felt about them, and she must have decided I was being honest, because she walked past me and headed straight for my car.
When we pulled up in front of her apartment, I expected her to get out and leave, but she pointed to an open space along the curb. “Are you going to park or what?”
“Am I coming in?” I asked.
“If you are here already, you might as well give me a ride to the studio,” she said, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
I didn’t argue. I pulled up along the curb and followed her up the stairs and into her building.
* * *
I WAITED on her sofa while she showered, doing my best not to think about her naked less than twenty feet away from me. Instead, I occupied myself by noticing the details of her apartment.
Immediately, it was obvious an artistic type lived in the apartment. Color assaulted me the moment I walked in. The couch was bright blue with purple velvet throw cushions and the armchair in the corner was red. The walls had been painted a neutral navy, but so many different paintings, illustrations, and photographs hung from them that even it seemed chaotic, though oddly charming. The studio space was curated for the general population, but Jade’s apartment was one-hundred percent her, and I liked it.
My apartment was white, and I had a calendar hanging on the side of my fridge that I’d picked up from a gas station, but otherwise, my walls were bare. My furniture came from a box and made my back hurt if I sat on it too long. Jade’s couch was low to the ground and plush. I sunk into it and immediately wanted to lay my head back and take a nap. The windows along both walls were open wide, morning sunlight streaming in and warming my legs. Everything about her space, contrary to her personality, invited you in. It was warm and welcoming.
“Not stealing anything, are you?”
I turned and saw Jade walking down the hallway in a vibrant floral wrap dress and red heels with an ankle strap, her wet hair falling over her right shoulder. She had her classic winged eyeliner on, but otherwise her face looked bare and still flushed from the hot water of her shower.
“Have you had breakfast?” she asked, not waiting for me to admit or deny to the stealing accusation.
“No.”
She moved seamlessly into the kitchen, clicked the already prepared coffee pot on, and grabbed a skillet hanging from a hook above the stove.
“Well that’s because you were too busy stalking me,” she said before looking over her shoulder and pinning me to the spot with her blue eyes. “Eggs okay?”
“Eggs are great.” I didn’t even try to defend myself or argue. I was just so glad to be in her space, to see her going about her daily routine, that I was willing to take whatever abuse she wanted to throw my way. I walked around the sofa and sat down on a red leather bar stool at the island.
I watched her move around the kitchen, crack eggs in the sizzling skillet, and pour two mugs of black coffee. She slid my mug to me without asking whether I wanted cream. She must have noted the surprise on my face because she rolled her eyes.
“You guzzle coffee like it is your lifeblood. I’
ve noticed how you like it.”
I took a sip and burned my tongue to hide my smile.
She cut up a handful of freshly washed strawberries and separated them onto two plates. Then she added chunks of cantaloupe, blueberries, and a slice of whole grain toast each. By the time she slid a perfectly fried egg onto the plate, my mouth was watering.
I was halfway through the egg and making a healthy dent in the toast when Jade broke our silence. “Why did you become a bodyguard? Other than to spy on women and feel like you are doing them a service?”
My mouth was full, but I painfully swallowed the large bite in one gulp. “I became a bodyguard because I have a good skillset for keeping people safe, I see blind spots and red flags others would miss, and should a dangerous situation arise, I have been trained to remain calm and collected.”
“That answer sounds rehearsed,” Jade said unimpressed.
“That doesn’t make it not true.”
She shrugged. “It does make it boring, though.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said, not sorry at all.
“Who have you worked for?”
“Client confidentiality agreement,” I said. There is no such thing. “You wouldn’t know because your father signed it for you.”
“I bet you’ve protected famous people,” she said. “I must be boring compared to them.”
Nothing about Jade could ever be boring. I eat a hunk of strawberry and don’t answer.
“Why not stay in the military?” she asked. “You act like a soldier, quiet and obedient. It seems like a good fit for you.”
“I didn’t want to.”
“Why not?”
I sighed. “Why didn’t you go to business school like your dad wanted? Would have been easier than years of angst, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t want to,” she said, eyes narrowed. She angrily shoved a bite of strawberry in her mouth, but my eyes caught on the way her lips moved around it, the way they puckered as she bit into the juicy fruit. I looked away quickly, my pants feeling uncomfortably tight.
