by Kaylee Ryan
Colton exhales and looks like he wants to argue with me, but instead, glances down at the boy in his arms. “I was just about to get Milo here in his bathtub. For someone so small, he sure makes a big mess,” he says, pointing to the big wet spot on his chest. I’m guessing formula… or possibly spit-up. Either way, I smile.
“I’m going to head back to my place. I have a site I’m working on,” I tell him. As I pry my fingers from Milo’s grasp, I throw his dad a wave and head to my door. “Thank you for dinner. Tell your mom they were the best enchiladas I’ve ever had,” I add, glancing at him over my shoulder.
“I’ll tell her,” he says with a small grin.
“Goodnight, Colton.”
“Night, Hollis.”
I shut the door behind me, flipping the lock into place. I double-check the outside door as well, though I did that earlier. Call it a habit, I guess. Flipping open the notepad on the counter, I check my list of upcoming purchases. Curtains to cover the miniblinds on the windows, a small bookshelf, a couch, and chair, though both may not fit. I add waffle maker and Crock-Pot to the list, two things I’d love to own again since I enjoy cooking. I cross off lamp as it was one of the few things I picked up today at the secondhand store, and toss the list back onto the counter. I have a long way to go before this place has that homey vibe, but I know I’ll get there. With each job I take, I’ll earn more money to buy the things on the list. It’ll take time, but that’s okay. The end result will be worth it.
In the bathroom, I get ready for bed. I pop out my contacts and place them carefully in the case. I don’t have that many pairs left, so I need to be cautious with the ones I have. After washing my face and moisturizing, I slip on warm, comfy pajamas, pull my hair up in a high ponytail, and return to my makeshift bed. I add an extra blanket to the padding and slip under the covers.
It’s still early, and I’m not quite ready to sleep, so I grab my laptop and pull up the site I’ve been working on. I immerse myself in my work, adding the stock market widget to the main page, and grain and livestock on another. I scroll through the landing pages and make sure the images are right, based on specifics the company provided me. When I’m certain those are good, I click through a few other pages, working on the text and adding buttons for social media. I spend a good hour reading every line, looking for spelling errors and missing punctuation. Before the site goes live, I always send it to my client for a final set of eyes.
The only sound is the occasional clicking of my laptop keys, which is why, when I hear a loud wail, followed by that deep sexy timbre echoed through the wall, my entire body takes notice. They sound close, which means they’re in Milo’s bedroom again. I can picture them, Milo snuggled in one of those fuzzy animal towels with the hood attached, as Colton tries to wrestle a fresh diaper on him. Of course, Colton’s shirt is probably soaking wet too. Milo seems like the kind of kid who’d appreciate bath time.
Shaking my head, I try to push all thoughts of my landlord and the way his T-shirt would mold to his chest if it were wet—I bet it would be a magnificent sight—and finish up my work for the night. Tomorrow, I’ll comb the site one last time and send it to the customer for review. I know there will be changes, but I’d like to know if I’m on the right track.
Before I shut down my laptop for the night, I pull up my Facebook account. I have a few notifications, but most of them pertain to pages I follow, like authors and cute boutiques. My cursor hovers over the search bar, and before I stop myself, I type a name and click enter. Seven matches pop up with the name Colton Callahan, but it’s the first one that I find myself clicking.
The profile picture is of a slightly younger version of my landlord, with his arms around two others. Their hair is buzzed super short, and the trio sport wide grins and army green. Even though the picture is a few years old, I can see the resemblance in Milo and even Chase. The Callahans must have strong genes.
I scroll down, scanning his page. He hasn’t posted recently, but there are a few tags. More army pictures, usually featuring the same small group of guys, and more recently, All Fit Gym. They took to social media to promote his hiring, as well as push a few of the classes he’s starting. I end up checking out the descriptions of each one, noting one particular I wouldn’t mind checking into. It’s a self-defense class for women, as well as one-on-one personal defense lessons, which includes kickboxing and karate introductions.
Redirecting my browser to the All Fit website, I can see why Gabby thinks an overhaul is necessary. Their current site is plain and lacks any recent news. All of those classes they’re starting with Colton should be promoted on their website, with a direct link to sign up. A blog might also be a great addition to their site, where trainers and coaches can make weekly posts to engage their audience. Eating healthy, time management at the gym, personalized workouts, and classes. All things they could promote to their targeted audience.
My wheels are still spinning as I close out of their site and exit social media. A quick scan of my online bank account reveals a dangerously low amount of money, and even though I anticipated that number, it’s still alarmingly shocking. After paying first and last month’s rent, as well as my moving expenses and covering the purchases I made today at the store, I’m in desperate need of a little incoming cash. Hopefully, I can finish up this site and get paid sooner, rather than later, and then move on to the next one waiting in the wings. My business is successful, but the recent move took a hit to my finances.
After logging out, I notice the email icon lit up, so I hop over to check it out. I always get excited when I see a contact via my website because I know it’s someone looking for my services. If I’m lucky, they’ll sign on for a design soon, so I can get my checking account back up to where I prefer to keep it.
The message fills my screen, and my blood runs cold. My eyes fill with tears as I look at the seven words written, each one of them a reminder of the truth I’m running from. A truth that has followed me halfway across the United States. One that will continue to haunt my dreams, leaving me looking over my shoulder.
Contact: [email protected]
Message: You can run, but you can’t hide.
With a shaky hand, I log out of my email and shut down the laptop. I turn off my new lamp, a sliver of light from the streetlight outside filters through the blinds and dances across the floor. I snuggle under the blanket for warmth. A chill sweeps through my body, though it has nothing to do with the temperature outside.
He doesn’t know where I am.
I know it.
If he did, he’d already be here.
I’m safe.
I just wish I believed it.
A voice filters through the wall, steady and sure. Even though tears soak my pillow, I smile. Colton is singing again to his son. My heartbeat starts to slow, and my body starts to relax, as I reach out and grasp that little sliver of comfort he doesn’t even realize he’s providing.
******
By Tuesday evening, I feel a proud sense of accomplishment sweep through me. Glancing around my apartment, I smile. My cabinets are stocked with new-to-me kitchenware, and my oversized chair and ottoman are positioned in the tiny nook by the window. There’s a floor lamp behind it and an empty bookshelf just under the window, and the small refrigerator has a little more food than it did the past few days.
The company I was working on the website for approved the model design yesterday, suggesting just a few minor tweaks. I should have the final product ready to go live by the end of the week, and the best part is they already paid their entire bill, including a ten percent tip. When that hit my account this morning, I went and purchased a few of the items I’ve had on my list, and still have cash in my account, a big thanks to the secondhand stores I’ve found in town.
The only thing I’m still needing is my bed, which should be delivered tomorrow. The furniture store called and said their shipment was arriving early, and while I hate to spend the fifty extra dollars for delivery, I don�
�t exactly have a way to get a full-sized mattress and box spring to my new place.
You could borrow Colton’s truck.
But that’s not going to happen. I’ve done well at avoiding him since Sunday evening. I’ve heard him come and go, and yes, heard him singing to Milo every night at bedtime, but that’s the extent of it. I’ve kept to myself, utilizing the laundry room during the day and working on my sites during the evening. So far, so good, especially when I have my earplugs in to block the sound of father and son bonding that makes my ovaries want to explode from my body.
I look over at the mountain view paintings I found at the secondhand store and smile at the serene story they tell. I’ve always lived in the city, but there’s something about that picturesque mountain landscape that calls to me. The trees, the streams, and the snow-capped peaks. I think that’s part of what beckoned me to Fair Lakes. I’d heard the stories, and while there are no mountains, it still gives that same charming and small-town feel.
Heading into the kitchen, I pull a Lean Cuisine from the small freezer and stick it in the microwave—another find at the resale shop. One thing I’m going to have to learn is what can and cannot fit in my small fridge. For as small as that part is, the freezer portion is even worse. I was able to stuff four Lean Cuisines, a pint of chocolate cherry ice cream, and a package of microwavable soft pretzels. Anything else isn’t going to make the cut.
When the microwave dings, I grab a hand towel and retrieve my dinner without burning my hand. I pull a glass from the cabinet and fill it with tap water, taking it over to the bookshelf beside my new chair. As I grab my chicken parmesan entrée, a knock sounds on the door that separates my place and Colton’s.
I head over and disengage the new lock he installed. When I open the door, my heart gallops in my chest. Colton stands there, holding a happy Milo, who gives me a toothless, drooly grin. The older man’s eyes do a quick scan before returning to my face, and I can’t help but wonder what he sees. I’m wearing a pair of jeans and a basic fitted T-shirt in an aqua color. My feet are stuffed in cozy socks, because no matter what time of year, my feet are always cold.
“Hey,” I say, running a hand over the top of my head, hoping like hell I don’t have crazy flyaways with my messy bun.
“Uh, hey.” He glances over my shoulder and smiles. “This place looks great.”
Stepping back, I give him a better view of the work I’ve put into my space today. “It’s getting there.”
He walks in and looks around, a small smile on his lips. “Love the chair,” he says, pointing to the tan-colored, oversized chair and ottoman.
“Thanks. I found some good deals today,” I tell him, trying to look around the room through his eyes. The curtains are a tan and navy chevron stripe, so I added navy rugs in the kitchen. My bedding is a blue, green, and tan floral print and will really tie the colors together when my bed arrives tomorrow.
“How did you get all of this in here?” he asks, noticing the small four-drawer dresser I have in the closet.
“Well, everything but the dresser, bookshelf, and chair and ottoman all fit in my car, and the owner of the resale shop volunteered her husband to deliver the furniture this afternoon for free.”
“Herb and Jeanette? They’re pretty awesome. I grew up with their daughter Kaitlyn,” he says, his blue eyes returning to mine.
“I tried to give him some money for his time, but he refused.”
Colton chuckles. “That sounds like Herb. I’m glad he helped you get it all in here.”
I shrug and wait him out, wondering why he dropped by tonight. I’m saved from asking when Milo lets out a holler for attention. “Oh, that’s right. Milo’s hungry. He had a big day this afternoon, didn’t you, Milo?” he asks, holding his son up and giving him a small bounce. “Little man here had his four-month doctor’s appointment, and while we had to get two shots, his doctor agreed that it’s time to start him on baby food. We’re starting with green beans tonight, aren’t we, buddy?” His blue eyes meet mine once more. “He’s very excited about this.”
I laugh as I watch Milo try to shove his entire fist in his mouth, drool hanging from his chin and dripping on his shirt. “His mouth is already watering at the thought.”
Colton glances down and wipes away the drool. “Yeah, I should probably start putting a bib on him during the day. He’s like a faucet with this drool.”
“He’s probably going to start teething soon,” I tell him.
Colton shakes his head. “Doesn’t seem possible yet. It feels like yesterday I was told I was a father to an infant.” Again, the room falls silent. “So anyway, the reason I stopped by was I thought you’d like to witness the amazing feat of feeding Milo yummy green beans for the first time. It’s sure to be a photo-worthy affair,” he says with a burst of pride. “I picked up some fried chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy from the deli and thought you’d like to join me.”
“Oh,” I say, glancing over at my now-cold Lean Cuisine. Honestly, it doesn’t really look as appetizing as the fried chicken he’s proposing, but my budget is pretty tight, and I don’t want to waste a meal just because I’m offered something that sounds better.
He looks over at my food, and as if he can read my mind, he suggests, “You could probably throw that in the fridge and eat it tomorrow.” When I still don’t reply, he adds, “Or not. You probably already have plans tonight.”
He’s giving me an out, but I instantly realize I don’t want it. I’d actually much rather eat chicken and watch Milo try to eat green beans for the first time, than to be here alone, reading, and eating my Lean Cuisine.
That’s probably the exact reason I should decline his offer, but I don’t. I can’t. “Umm, okay. Let me wrap this up and put it in the fridge.”
His smile could melt the glaciers in Alaska—it’s that hot. “Great! I’ll just get Milo ready in his high chair. Come over when you’re ready,” he says, heading for the door. “Oh, Hollis? Those mountain paintings are amazing. They make me want to move to some small mountainside town.”
I smile broadly. “Thanks. I thought so too.”
Colton nods. “Don’t worry about knocking. Just come in when you’re ready,” he says, and then he’s gone.
I wrap up my forgotten meal and try not to dissect the excitement I feel at heading over to Colton’s. I’ve done so well at avoiding him—forty-eight hours strong—and suddenly, I’m throwing all my hard work out the window the moment he offers me chicken. Going over there is just going to make it more difficult to separate the attraction I feel toward him and the fact he’s my landlord and shouldn’t be ogled over. Yet, here I am, heading over to ogle.
I’m a mess.
But every reason to stay away doesn’t stop me from opening the door and stepping into his living space. As soon as I do, a smile stretches wide across my face. Milo is seated in his high chair, a large bib wrapped around his neck. The little boy is banging his hand on the tray as if telling his dad to hurry up.
“Grab a plate,” Colton says without turning my way. He walks carefully to the table and takes a seat beside his son. Milo reaches for what his dad has in his hands, but isn’t able to reach it. He goes ahead and lets his dad know exactly what he thinks about that and lets out a screech. “Settle down, little man.”
I watch as Colton carefully scoops a tiny bite of the green goop from the container and moves it to his son’s mouth. Milo opens wide and closes it on the spoon. When Colton pulls it back, I’m holding my breath to see what the little boy will do. He chews and chews, spitting out just as much as was put in his mouth, and opens his mouth for more. When it doesn’t happen fast enough for his liking, Milo hollers loud.
“Okay, okay, little man. Give me a second here,” he says as he drags the spoon across Milo’s chin and moves it back to his mouth. The little guy’s eyes are wide as he eats, his arms and legs both pumping with excitement.
I grab my phone from my back pocket and snap a few pictures of this moment. Colton laugh
s as he tries to drag the food off Milo’s chin, but the second it’s clean, more oozes from the baby’s mouth.
Then Milo opens his mouth and blows.
And green slime sprays all over Colton.
My eyes are wide as a bubble of laughter spills from my lips. I try to cover it with a cough, but Colton looks my way, totally busting me on my laughter. He looks equally shocked at his son and my reaction to it. “You think this is funny?” The quiver in his lips tells me he agrees.
With my phone camera in hand, I nod and snap another picture.
Colton turns and looks at his son. “You just sprayed me with green shit, and the pretty girl is laughing about it,” he says. My heartbeat jumps at his comment, and even though he doesn’t elaborate anymore, I’ll never forget the way he said I was pretty. That touch of midwestern accent, his tone all deep and husky. It does inappropriate things to my lady bits.
Milo reaches for the food, so Colton shovels a few more bites in his mouth. I grab the paper towels off the counter and hand him a few. Between feeding his son bites, he wipes at his face and blots at his T-shirt. “You might as well eat,” he says, pointing to the containers of food.
Feeling relaxed, I go ahead and help myself to a chicken drumstick and a small pile of mashed potatoes and gravy. I join them at the table, staying as far away from Milo as possible. There’s not much time for chitchat, as Colton spends a big part of his time focusing on feeding his son. When he makes it about halfway through the container, Milo appears to be done, refusing to open his mouth for another bite. Colton jumps up and grabs a warm washcloth and goes to town on clearing the food from his son’s face. Upon closer inspection, however, he finds that green slime… everywhere.
“He’s going to need a bath,” he says, almost dejectedly.
