Draw Me In

by Megan Squires

  “Noted,” I echoed, weaving Leo’s business card over and under my fingers, a loom of flesh and paper. I stared at my knuckles, feeling the ghost of his lips brushing against them like they did eight months ago in Florence.

  Leo Carducci, Vice President

  Carducci Wines

  Sienna, Italy and NYC

  Leo. Like the lion. Or maybe Da Vinci. I preferred that option and wondered if, in fact, he was named after anyone significant. I loved the idea of Da Vinci as his namesake because it somehow created a connection between us, however forced or fabricated it might be. As things stood, I couldn’t see any other commonalties.

  He was a businessman in Lower Manhattan.

  I was a student and a tutor and on occasion a barista at a local coffee shop, though I wasn’t even sure I still had my job there anymore after today’s waterworks mishap. They’d told me not to bother coming back in until the machine was up and running. I took the hint as I dished myself a large helping of humble pie.

  Leo and I were clearly on two very different paths in life, yet these paths had intersected not once, but twice, and on two completely opposite continents.

  And they were about to intersect again. Collide.

  Abandoning Ian’s bed, I dropped my legs over the side and shuffled my way down the hall to my room. We hadn’t swept in a few days, and I figured my fluffy pink bunny slippers were picking up the stray dust bunnies that lined the baseboards. I laughed to myself at the silly thought. I also made a mental note to give the apartment a thorough deep cleaning this weekend. We were long overdue, and if Ian planned on impressing anyone he might bring back here, our collection of cobwebs and dust probably wouldn’t help at all with that.

  I rounded the hall to my room. It wasn’t large. Only a queen-sized bed, a nightstand, and a highboy dresser could fit inside, and even those were all touching at the corners like they were just one larger piece of furniture, welded together by proximity. I reached my hand under the mattress to fish out my oversized drawing pad, and then retrieved my case of pencils from within my nightstand drawer. They’d all been sharpened to a needlelike point and I knew I had Ian to thank for that. He was one of those that believed in returning things in better shape than they were originally in. Even though I preferred sketching with a duller edge, I couldn’t help but smile at the gesture.

  I took everything with me back to my bed and crossed one leg over the other, resting the sketchpad across my knees like a tray. Ian was right. No more sculpture recreations. In truth, I was a little tired of my art imitating art. That was why I craved the time in the studio with live models. It fed me. Then it was just my pencil depicting what was in front of me, not capturing something that someone else had already brought into being. No middle man. Just me and my subject. That was when I felt like a true artist, not a thief. In my mind, to steal the creation of another was sort of like to trying to fit on someone else’s soul. You could never duplicate it, only create some shadow of what they’d already mastered in pouring out themselves.

  There were so many artists I idolized, but their souls never matched mine. Where was that soul mate of mine everyone always talked about?

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have a live model now. Sure, there was a lamp on my nightstand that I could sketch. Or that flower arrangement wilting on the dresser that Mom and Dad sent two weeks ago for my birthday. Inanimate objects didn’t do anything for me though, and that showed in my work. It really was true that you were best at what you loved most. I loved the delicate, yet equally strong, physical form of the human body and I was good at depicting that on paper. I wanted my art to imitate life, but to do that, I needed a living, breathing subject.

  The only one in this apartment to fit that criteria was me, and even then the whole breathing part was a little iffy because I kept reaching hyperventilation mode every time I thought back to Leo drenched in water at the coffee house, his white dress shirt plastered to his chest like alabaster. It took a lot to get me hot and bothered, but seeing him like that totally did both. Okay, maybe the scalding temperature of the water clinging to my skin and dripping through my hair contributed to it, but there was no denying how incredible looking that man was.

  I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror suspended over my dresser and decided if I was going to do any drawing this evening, I’d just have to be my own subject. It had been a while since I sketched any self-portraits, and I thought maybe this would be my next assignment for the kids at the co-op. It was always a good exercise, especially for teens. I found that when you truly studied your subject—I mean really examined it—you gained a deeper appreciation for the details and beauty tucked into the curves, the shadows, the form. Those were often overlooked on a daily basis. Though Eva and I didn’t have a chance to meet up after the whole espresso machine debacle, I hoped maybe doing something like this would help her with whatever was eating away at her. Self-image could be such a difficult thing, especially for a teenager.

  Pulling my drawing pad off my lap, I inched closer to the mirror.

  I was pretty. That’s what my parents always echoed growing up. But parents were required to say those things. I mean really, if your child was unattractive, it wasn’t like you would ever tell them the honest to goodness truth of that. “Sorry, Jimmy, but you look like you’ve been beat with the ugly stick. I mean seriously, your face is hideous! Can you please pass the mashed potatoes?” That wasn’t good dinner conversation.

  You’d probably say they were cute, or come up with some other adjective to describe them that didn’t have anything to do at all with their looks. You’d search out the one thing that held even just a modicum of truth. They were smart or funny or maybe even outgoing or generous. They had remarkable qualities and characteristics that were worth noting, and it was a parent’s role to do that noting.

  But my dad had always called me a beauty, and after multiple self-portraits, I’d finally been able to recognize that in myself, too. Full, round eyes, brown in color—not at all hazel or golden—but a deep, rich tone that on occasion appeared so dark the pupils could hardly be detected in them, camouflaged within themselves. The cheekbones that curved up to meet them were almost permanently stained with a peach glow, and even though my lips were plumper than I liked, they matched in tone with their pink fullness. My hair had gone through several transitions from blonde to brown, to highlighted and then ombre—often changing along with my relationships—and I’d finally settled on my God-given, light brown. The strands twisted naturally into spirals at my shoulder blades, though I often swept them up into a low ponytail or braid.

  I was pretty. That much I could recognize, but words like gorgeous or stunning were reserved for girls who knew how to take this basic, pretty foundation and bring it up to the next level. Things like makeup and fashion and nails and clothing. Knowing how to effectively accentuate what was already there was a gift I didn’t possess. Which was fine because I was okay with staying in the pretty realm. That was where I was comfortable, so I settled into that space. And guys had been attracted to me in the past, so I guessed they thought I was pretty enough, too.

  But for some reason, all I could think about as I sat back down and started shadowing in my chocolate eyes, the thick lashes that encased them, and the slope of my small nose, was that I hoped Leo was one of those guys. He’d called me Bella back in Italy. But that was typical and not something I could really read into. We were in Italy after all. Guys said things like that there. There was no room for the analysis of syntax and semantics in just that lone word.

  I knew eyes couldn’t fully speak the way words could, but when ours locked at that moment in the museum, and again when he recognized me at the coffeehouse, his spoke volumes. Truth be told, he looked completely captivated. Drawn to me. Which, as I etched in the lines, varying them in shade and thickness, was the same look I’d just unintentionally given my likeness on the paper in front of me.

  Captivated with the expectant arch of my shaped brow. The sligh
t parting of my lips, allowing the extra rush of breath to flow in and out, a slip of space. The deeper redness of my cheeks and the flush that coated my face.

  Holy crap. If this was the glazed expression I now wore, I had to seriously get things in check before seeing Leo again tomorrow. I could not show up at his office with his jacket and coffee looking this flustered and utterly hormonal. Especially since to him, I was probably no more than an errand girl that occasionally brewed espresso and had creepy fetishes for ancient statues. Wow. I sounded completely lame, and if this self-portrait was indicative of how I truly appeared, I looked completely lame, too.

  Before the night was over, I’d started and crumpled at least a dozen self-portraits, finally deciding the blur of sleep that veiled my eyes was greatly altering my perception of reality, like looking through a film coating.

  At least that was what I tried to tell myself. But the blatant truth of it was that every time I thought about Leo, I went into swoon mode, and since I’d basically been thinking about him non-stop, I was in a permanent state of swooning. My expression, and my drawings, reflected that. I decided to give up.

  I hardly heard the lock turn over a little after one in the morning, but I felt the gentle tug of my comforter as Ian slipped it up to my shoulders and patted me softly on the crown of my head, leaning in to sweep his warm lips over my cheek the way a parent tucks in their child at night.

  Ian was my family and pretty much all I had in this bustling city. I often worried what life would look like after graduation; if we’d go our separate ways or if our journeys would allow us to continue on the way things were, clocks ticking down together.

  I knew one thing was certain: I wouldn’t be heading back to North Dakota, no matter how desperate things might get.

  My life was in New York City.

  My best friend. My students. The coffeehouse.

  And Leo.

  It was odd that up until this afternoon, this man hadn’t really had a hold on my future, and to say that he did now was, I realized, totally absurd.

  But there was the embarrassing truth of it all: I couldn’t shake the reality that someone I’d been completely enthralled with an ocean away was now living and working just five blocks from my loft.

  Maybe it was a strange twist of fate, if you believed in those sorts of things. Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe it was karma and I was doomed to live a life of awkward run-ins with this guy whose beauty bordered on intimidation.

  Whatever it was, I’d take it, because for some reason, I was just glad to have any interaction possible in any way it came to me.

  As the creak of my bedroom door silenced, I could hear the faint pulse of Ian’s feet trail down the hall, and I rolled onto my stomach, keeping my eyes tightly shut. Maybe tomorrow Leo and I would have our own, real moment together, but for now all I could do was hope my dreams would tide me over until that point in time.

  They’d done a good job with that for the past eight months. Hopefully they’d do the same for the next eight hours.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The plastic cover rustled against my hip as I wobbled down the street, keeping the garment bag tucked up under the hollow crook of my armpit. For a moment I worried that somehow the sweat gathered there would drench the bag and I’d end up handing over a suit jacket that yeah, might have been cleaned, but now reeked of girl BO. Dipping my nose to my right shoulder, I breathed in a quick whiff and was totally relieved to have the scent of baby powder fill my nostrils.

  Relieved, that was, until I looked up and locked eyes with him.

  “What the hell?” The words unintentionally dropped from my mouth, along with the plastic cup of coffee that moments before was gripped tightly between my fingers. Sprays of caramel-colored liquid splattered across the curb. And across his perfectly pleated, light gray herringbone pants.

  “Seriously?” I groaned, smacking my palm to my forehead and then dragging it down the length of my face, wishing to wipe this newest reality away like the transition between scenes in a movie. This couldn’t be happening. “I’ll get those cleaned, too.”

  “Are you just trying to get my pants off?” A grin overtook Leo’s face. “Because there are other, more effective, ways to do that—” he paused like he was waiting to say my name. I realized I’d never told him it.

  “Julie.”

  “Julie.” He smiled. My name never felt like anything special, but it was now butter, rich and creamy, as it crooned out of his sculpted mouth. I liked the way his tongue rolled over the letters. “Don’t worry about the pants.”

  “But you’ve got a photo-shoot this morning and now I’ve gone and ruined your slacks and—”

  “How’d you know I have a photo-shoot?”

  Crap.

  Was this where I admitted to him that my roommate and I swapped notes and information on the guy I’d recently taken to stalking? Was it already time to give up my quirky, investigative tendencies? Was it time for me to stop asking myself questions and start giving him answers?

  “Ian Westland. The photographer,” I explained, holding out Leo’s jacket for him to retrieve so I could bend down to clean up the coffee mess on the pavement. There were used up candy wrappers and a fresh cigarette butt still glowing red embers against the gritty sidewalk. My eyes glided up to his. “He’s my roommate.”

  “I see.”

  Double crap.

  Was that really all he was going to say? No ‘How’d you put the pieces of that together?’ or ‘How did I come up in conversation?’ Just a quick acquiescence to the fact that I was probably a loser.

  To avoid having to look him in the eye right away, I took an exaggeratedly long time picking up that lone cup. While I was down there, I couldn’t help but stare at his shoes, the leather reflective and polished. My fingers itched to reach out and touch them, just to see if the extra dollar signs attached to their worth could be tangibly felt. Most guys I knew wore flip-flops or tennis shoes. Even Ian’s expensive Nordstrom loafers weren’t on the same scale as the ones planted directly in front of me.

  “Are you staring at my shoes?”

  Did he really have to call me out on everything today? Couldn’t a girl gawk at a near-stranger’s feet and go unnoticed?

  “Yes,” I admitted on an exasperated breath. “They’re really gorgeous.”

  “My face is more so.” In a beat, he was down at my level, his knees bent, crouching tiger style. I prayed I could become some sort of hidden dragon and somehow slip away undetected, but his eyes locked with mine and pulled me back to a standing position as he rose up too, like they had a magnetic force capable of actually controlling the movements of my body. Positive attracted to negative.

  “Your face is gorgeous,” I admitted outright, because it was. Ain’t gonna lie about that. “And so were your pants, and your shoes. But I seem to have ruined all of that.”

  Leo draped the cleaner’s bag over his forearm and with the other hand, ran the tips of his fingers through his cropped hair. “Maybe the pants and the shoes, but you haven’t ruined the face.” Holy cannoli, this man was not only irresistible, but incredibly cocky to boot. Blatant confidence like this wasn’t typically my style, but he owned it, just like he currently owned all of my attention. It was his, 100%, like I’d just given over the title to my brain, pink slip in hand. There were hundreds of people crowding the sidewalk around us, and just as many cars and taxis lining the roadways, but all I could see was him. Like some vortex of sexiness, he’d completely reeled me in.

  “I don’t think there’s much that could ruin that face.”

  “Come back with me to my office for the shoot, Julie.”

  Hold up. Did he just invite me to his office? I mean, it wasn’t like he was asking me up to his apartment or anything, and I’d just told him that my own roommate would be the one at his office actually taking the pictures. But the fact that he even wanted to continue being in my presence after this third and most embarrassing encounter yet said something about him.
r />   He was an idiot.

  Figured the poor guy couldn’t be that gorgeous and actually have all his senses about him. Seriously, if he were at all in his right mind, he’d go running in the complete opposite direction. Definitely out of the county. Possibly the city. Maybe even toward the state line.

  In the significantly short time we’d known each other, I’d successfully managed to ruin an entire outfit’s worth of clothing, and I’d also twice kept him from getting his daily caffeine dose. I couldn’t see any reason to justify keeping me around longer than absolutely necessary. I couldn’t see it, which led me to believe it wasn’t there.

  I had to spare this guy, because it was evident he wasn’t operating on all cylinders.

  “I can’t.”

  Leaving it at that, I shrugged my shoulders in apology.

  “Well now you’ve ruined it.” Leo threw two hands into the air dramatically and almost dropped his dry cleaning with the movement.

  “Ruined what?”

  “My face.” He stepped closer toward me and my body temperature ticked up a few degrees. “Because now I’m frowning, and that’s never a good look on me.”

  “Leo.” It was the first time I’d said his name, and suddenly our conversation took on a personal energy that it previously lacked. The sound felt warm on my tongue, like melted chocolate. “You could be cross-eyed and buck-toothed and you’d still be pretty damn fine.”

  “Are you always this forthright?” With a tightened brow, his eyes delved into mine to search out some answer. I felt the effect of his stare deep in my stomach as it hitched along with my breath.

  “No. You make me do weird things.” That was the honest truth of it all. Do weird things, say weird things. I usually prided myself on being in control of my emotions, but they were all across the board in Leo’s presence. Who was this man that he could unravel my brain in one fell swoop and then twist it back up into something completely useless to me?

  “I picked up on that.” His lips tugged into a coy grin. For Pete’s sake, he needed to stop that. I felt more weird things coming on. “If you won’t come to the shoot, then at least come shopping with me for new pants,” he practically pleaded. I couldn’t figure out why he would want to spend another disastrous minute with me. And I couldn’t figure out why he needed help trying on pants. Looked like he got himself into the ones he was currently wearing totally fine. “I think you owe me that.”