by Landra Graf
Silence reigned once more and she raised an eyebrow at him. He snorted, realizing the joke was crap. “I guess it’s a pretty morbid pick-up line.”
Aggie shook her head and chuckled. “Yep, I’d look for new material.”
Her reaction dispelled the insanity but didn’t obliterate the fear that he’d never get to see her after today. He wanted to see her again.
“I’ll add ‘search for new pick-up lines’ to my to-do list along with my twelve paintings and paying the bills.” He grabbed the extra napkin on the table, a white paper with Cupid’s Café in a beautiful script, and then reached into his pocket for the pen he always carried.
Ideas sometimes came to him at a moment’s notice and he’d draw sketches with anything he could find, even his own skin became a canvas for the initial idea. Instead of drawing, like he wanted to do, he wrote his number on the paper, traced over it twice to make it easy to read, and the black ink bled into the soft paper, inking its permanent way to the sheet. “So, before I forget, here’s my number. You won’t let me give you a place to sleep, at least take this so if you ever want to talk.”
“Do you still go to group?”
He shook his head, but he kept silent on the subject. Better left for another day. “No, I stopped over a year ago.”
“Oh.” Her single word spoke volumes. Maybe she planned to go back; he’d do the same if it meant he could see her.
“But if you want an intro back into the group, a friendly face to go with you—”
“No, not at all. I don’t think group is for me anymore, but thanks.” She glanced at her phone, a sure sign their date would come to an end. He noticed the napkin with his number still sat there, hovering between them and ominous. Would she take it?
Please. He prayed silently in his head, the same word, over and over, along with the physical thought she’d grab the napkin and stuff it in her pocket.
Aggie reached for it, folded it neatly, and stuck it in her coat pocket. He held fast to the intense urge to whoop for joy and also to stay calm. Insane how one gesture inspired the manic part of him. Then the elation ebbed and relief rushed in. Now would be the worst time to experience an episode.
“I understand completely. Sometimes you need to move on, and things. Damn, I’m not good at small talk.”
“I think you did great, Murphy. Let’s do this again sometime, okay?”
He grinned. “Yes, let’s. When?”
“I’ll call you.” She slid out of the booth and he followed suit. He’d forgotten the protocol—handshake or hug? Not wanting to bungle things or appear creepy, he settled for extending his hand, and then she surprised him again, throwing her arms around his shoulders and giving him a brief squeeze.
“I think we’re beyond handshakes at this point,” she said once she pulled back.
The sweet smell of her shampoo or perfume, a coconut scent, still lingered in his nostrils, paired with all the moments of their time today, would carry his muse for a while. “Good to know.”
Her response was a shake of a head, a laugh, and then a quick, “I’ll call you.”
He stood there for minutes after she’d walked away and out the door. Until, finally, he went his own way. He waited so he wouldn’t be tempted to run after her, to invite her to dinner, or anything else. No, he’d settle for a quick grocery store stop for more eggs. It’d be a long night.
Chapter Three
From the moment Murph set foot in the door, he’d been working. First the background, all gray and dim, much like his life. Then he started on the sketch of Aggie. Giving form to her standing in the doorway, right before she’d left the café. The moment freeze-framed in his mind, a perfect reflection of her sadness.
She wouldn’t have admitted to it, of course. Yet, her eyes gave it away. Weeping without tears. Her hair came easiest, a beacon to him that mixed perfect with her naturally olive skin. She was amazing and didn’t know it, and that was how he painted her, beauty shining bright, but her face and posture completely oblivious to the fact. So different.
A knock came at his front door, and he hollered, “Come in.”
“If you don’t want people breaking into your house, you shouldn’t leave the front door unlocked.” Trix approached him and put a hand on his shoulder.
He set his painting plate down and looked at her hand on him. Nothing. Murph tried to feel more than friendship for the woman who showed up to take care of him all the time, but no luck. He pulled away from her and pointed at the painting.
“Is this new?” She stepped up to the picture, eyes wide.
“Yes. I’ve begun working on it today.”
A frown marred her narrow, freckled face. “All day?”
“Since I got back this afternoon. What time is it?” He purposely kept this room clock-free. Art needed to be given free rein. When the lighting from the sun disappeared, he turned on the track lighting, positioned perfectly to illuminate his workspace.
“One in the morning.” She faced him now, eyes filled with concern and maybe even pity. “I came over because your lights were still on and it’s so late. Have you eaten?”
“I grabbed a jug of tea and a sandwich a while ago.”
“You didn’t know what time it was, did you? Murph, this work may not be good for you if you’re losing track of day to night.” Her words were filled with concern, but regardless, it reminded him of his inability to keep up with the smallest things. Becoming absorbed in something seemed to be the worst; according to his previous therapist, it wasn’t ideal for someone with his condition.
Hours passed, half of a day—no big deal to him. He’d keep working until the job was complete. In a way, he believed it kept him from hitting a depressive mood, but some people and the therapist believed he exhibited borderline manic behavior.
“It was shortly after I got back before the sun went down. But I’m not hungry. I may turn in for the night.”
She walked up to him, placing her hand, thin with long, spindly fingers, on his cheek in a caress. “I can make some eggs or something real quick. Seth is already asleep, and it won’t take me long.”
The reminder her six-year-old son slept next door swamped him with guilt. How many times had she put her child’s safety at risk to bother with him?
“No, don’t worry about it. With the break-in, it’s better if you don’t leave him alone. The security systems will be installed tomorrow, and then everything will be good.”
“You’re always taking such good care of us.” Leaning up on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips against his. The tips of her blonde, blue-streaked hair brushed against his arm. Her eyes closed, but his didn’t. He kept them open and desire failed to stir. No, all parts of him that should have reacted remained dormant.
When she broke the connection and stepped back, moisture filled her eyes.
“Trix—I’m sorry. I...we’re better off as friends.”
Her lips thinned and her eyes narrowed as she pointed at the picture of Aggie. “Is it because of her?”
“No, she’s unattainable. It’s because I’m not what you need. You need someone to take care of you, not the opposite. I already take up too much of your time, take you away from Seth.”
“Not true.” She approached him again and this time hugged him. “You take care of me. This place...your belongings. You forget things, not an issue, and I told you before that Seth loves you, too. He understands when I need to help.”
Murph let out a sigh and pried Tricia’s arms from around him. The nickname Trix, something he called her because of her ever-changing hair color, but for some reason, the moment brought her real name to the forefront of his mind. They needed to be more formal about things, if anything, to get his point across. A relationship, beyond friendship, between them wasn’t possible, due to his lack of attraction and because he’d known her most of his life.
“That may be the case, but I can never give you everything.” Holding onto her arms, he moved her away from his body, forcing her to look
at him in the eyes. “I’m broken, Tricia.”
“I’m not asking for everything.” She smiled and pecked his cheek with those same lips. “I’ll make you those eggs now and some toast. Soup’s on in ten minutes.”
Then she moved off to his kitchen like their conversation never happened. He’d made his thoughts known so he wouldn’t force her out. The last thing she needed from him was a firm voice of censure, especially since he rejected her. Maybe cooking acted as her way of coping, like painting was for him. So, he’d let her cook. Yet, the damage was done, his concentration was broken, and his work on this portrait was halted for the night.
#
The day before had been a whirlwind. Truthfully, Aggie never expected to run into always-quiet, sexy-as-sin Murph, and she’d been rather surprised at how easy it was to talk to him, to touch him. Yes, talking with someone who would refrain from judging her or her feelings was something she’d missed.
They’d learned the practice in group; voices deserved to be heard without censure. A connection had formed between them as they’d talked, held hands, though they beat around the bush a bit. She’d expected him to invite her out for dinner or something, but when he kept quiet, she went home, alone.
It’d been hard not to dig into the sweets still sitting on the coffee table from her previous fall from the wagon. Instead, she’d settled for a romantic comedy marathon and a salad, reminding herself someone...a male someone, liked her and admired her.
Now, she lay in bed on a Saturday and attempted to find the motivation to move. The phone rang as she began to contemplate sleeping for a few more hours. She wondered if it was Murph before remembering they hadn’t exchanged numbers. No, she’d been given a number but not asked for one in return.
“Hello.”
Mrs. Sanders’s voice greeted her. “Aggie? Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, I’m awake.” A state she’d rather not be.
“I know we talked the other day about you staying on month-to-month...” Her landlady paused and a hard knot formed in Aggie’s stomach.
“Yes?”
“Well, the thing is, my daughter got a job transfer from St. Louis to Louisville. It’s all rather sudden, but she needs a place to stay, and I need to give her your apartment.”
Her body went stiff and she tried to keep herself calm. Strong women stayed calm in tough situations. “How long do I have?”
She’d known this was a possibility. There was always a chance, and to be honest, there was no legal obligation owed to her, not with her lease fulfilled and the landlord not offering a renewal.
“By next weekend, dear. My daughter is flying in two weeks and if you’re out, she can move my grandbaby and her husband in shortly after. Sorry this is so sudden.”
“It’s okay. I understand.” She really didn’t, but respecting her elders had been drilled into her from a young age and, really, these things happened to her. Getting worked up wouldn’t do any good except make her upset. Being upset led to binge eating, and binge eating only got her on her knees praying to the porcelain god. A strong woman channeled this bump in the road into a chance for a new opportunity, even with nausea swamping her stomach.
“Thank you. My daughter is happy to be coming back home, and I’ll admit I’ll like having her and the baby nearby. It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen them.”
“Oh, well this will be good, then. Mrs. Sanders, I have to go...need to start apartment hunting.” Truth trumped all the lies of fake happiness she wanted to tell, but regardless, she had to get off the phone. Now.
“Have a nice day, dear. And good luck.”
She hung up without a goodbye and then rolled over, screaming into her pillow. Yep, no strong woman lived here.
Why me? Why this? “Why did you have to break up with me, Jordan?” He wasn’t there to respond, but it needed to be said. If he’d stuck to the plan and not turned into an asshole, she’d be safe in their duplex right now, curled up in his king-sized bed.
The reality of the situation was in a week, she’d have no place to live, and no money to get a new place if she did. She’d turned her entire savings over to her ex to pay the down payment on their duplex. A mistake to remind her about trusting people with everything.
Then she remembered Murphy and his crazy suggestion. Her mind did a quick tally in her head. If she negotiated a deal for minimum rent, she’d have enough saved in two months for a place. It’d be weird trying to rely on someone she barely knew...hell, after the Jordan incident, relying on anyone sounded like a bad joke. Forcing her body to get up came with little struggle, as she was motivated out of desperation to keep a roof over her head. She grabbed the napkin from her coat and dialed the number.
Each ring added to the boulder in her stomach. Each round added to the possibility of rejection, that she’d be living out of her car in seven days. Then...“Hello?”
“Murphy?”
“Aggie?”
She laughed. “Good morning. I’m surprised you know my voice.” In fact, he continued to surprise her.
“It’s a hard one to forget. What can I do for you?”
Give me a place to live. Instead, “Just wanted to see how you were doing,” came out.
“Good. I stayed up late painting but got a few hours of shut-eye. I’m getting ready to get going again.”
“Oh, I don’t want to bother you. If I am, I can talk to you later.” She tried to sound like everything was fine, putting on her best nonchalant voice.
He scoffed. “Who said that? A friend calling me is more interesting than painting, at the moment. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Obviously, her casual voice sucked. “I’m good but...were you serious about offering me a place to live yesterday?”
“I said it, so I meant it. What’s up?”
He’d already asked her the same thing three times, so she got to it.
“My landlord, she’s kicking me out.” The words sounded harsher than she’d meant. Damn.
“What bullshit.”
“It’s not too crazy. I’m on a month-to-month, no lease, and was supposed to be out a few weeks ago. Until the Jordan thing. Her daughter’s moving into town and needs a place. Anyway...I’ve got to get out by next week.” She’d rattled off the story so fast, she doubted he’d heard half of it.
Yet, he still responded quickly. “Then my spare place is yours. Free of charge.”
Alarm bells sounded in her head. Free of charge usually meant at some point she’d get on someone’s nerves. Her mother’s own non-employment, her father leaving, and the subsequent stepfathers she’d had taught her riding free was never a good idea. Nope, she needed a place for two months and would negotiate.
“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t allow myself to take advantage of you. It’s not good business sense, especially since you’re working on your paintings for the show. Let me pay you something, at least, to cover utilities and a base room charge in case you have to do any cleaning after I’m gone for the next tenant.”
“I can’t take advantage of a friend in a hard place. That wouldn’t be right.”
She sighed. “I understand, but I feel the same way. We’re both in tough places right now.”
Murph had gone silent and for a moment, she wondered if he’d changed his mind. It’d be her luck. Instead, he shocked her again.
“How about you come and see the apartment before we strike a bargain? You may not want to stay here after you see it.”
Unbelievable. “You make it sound like a rundown place with rats and cockroaches.”
He chuckled, a low, deep sound that sent a tingle down her spine. She stood there in her PJs with goosebumps, thanks to him. “I haven’t seen any, but you never know.”
“All right, what time?”
“Today, anytime. Is this your cell number?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll text you the address, and you swing by at your leisure.”
She smiled at his openness and casual ways.
“What if my leisure is midnight?”
“I’ll probably be up.”
Completely disarming was the best way to describe him, and he acted so free when she believed in being the exact opposite.
“Sounds good. I’ll come by this afternoon.”
“Like I said, whenever.” The attitude made her nervous, and a little daring. It had been two years since she’d gone to another guy’s apartment, though this was a bit different.
“Okay. Bye, Murph.”
“Bye, Aggie.” His voice sounded soft as he said her name, sparking another shiver. Why did this feel like so much more than seeing an apartment? No clue, but she needed to refrain from it becoming more. She needed stability, and such a thing came from keeping herself professional and aloof. Not by getting involved with a potential landlord. Straight and narrow, strong women followed that path, unlike her mother’s idea of strong women aligning themselves with a man.
Chapter Four
Murph had barely been able to concentrate since his phone call with Aggie. He rapid-fire cleaned the upstairs apartment and organized all his painting supplies. The main living/dining area had served as his studio for the last year or so. He’d need to get everything moved out and maybe give it a fresh paint job. There’d be a ton of things to do if she agreed to move in.
If being the key word in the sentence. She’d possibly see the place and run away screaming. The apartments were old, though, his friend Patrick called them ancient. He’d failed to update the style or the design inside and out, choosing to leave things the way his grandmother had for memories and money’s sake.
His mind started wandering to thoughts of his nana, and then the doorbell rang. Scrambling down the stairs, he stopped himself from running into the wall next to the door. Breath check, run a hand through the hair, and a quick face pat to ensure his typical two-day-old scruff wasn’t out of control.
Then he opened the door. She faced away from him and when she turned, the action played out in slow motion, from the swish of her hair to her smile. Everything became better. The frantic moments of before gone in a flash.
