by Gray, June
“Holy shit,” I said, walking towards the glass wall beyond the living room that led out to an open-air courtyard. I pushed aside the glass door and walked out, lifting my head up to catch the last rays of the summer sun.
The patio was paved in brick and butted against the brick wall of the neighboring building, and across the way from Luke’s apartment was another glass door that led to who knows where.
I turned back to Luke, a little startled to find him standing so close behind me. “This is a Fancy Dancy place.” I pointed to the roof above both apartments. “Is there a pool up there or a garden with a hedge maze?”
He grinned. “It’s unfinished, though I have plans to turn it into a balcony one day.” He grabbed my hands and tugged me toward the other set of glass doors. “Come on, there’s more to see.”
“We can’t go in there!” I said, digging in my heels.
He gave me a wink before he slid open the door without problems. “This is still part of my apartment.”
I threw my hands up. “What the hell!” I cried, my voice echoing in the large space that was a mirror image of the other space. I turned to him and wagged a finger. “You are out of control. How can you afford to live here? My apartment’s the size of your kitchen and I’m bleeding out the ass to pay for it.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets and chuckled. “My dad left it for me in his will,” he said with a shrug. “I was renting it out until recently.”
“Christ on a cracker, this place is huge,” I said, walking over to the immense wood desk by the back wall and admiring its intricately-carved legs until I caught sight of the other end of the room.
The front of the apartment was different from the other apartment in that there was no kitchen; instead there were two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that wrapped around the corner and were absolutely overflowing with books. In front of that sat an oversized leather armchair and a round table on top of which was a mug and rolled up newspaper.
I immediately sat down, sighing as the well-worn leather molded around my body. I ran my finger along the brass tacks at the front of the armrest and imagined Luke sitting here every morning, reading the paper as he drank his morning coffee.
“You like that chair?” he asked with one dark eyebrow raised.
I grinned, leaning back and stretching my legs out. “When you’re not looking, I’m sneaking this chair into my bag and taking it home with me.”
“You’ll have a hard time taking it on the train.”
“At least I’ll be guaranteed a seat.”
He chuckled and held out a hand. “Come on, the food’s going to get cold.”
I stood up to go when the door at the other end of the room caught my eye. “What’s over there?”
“The second bedroom and the en-suite bath,” he said. “There’s only a bed in there right now. I haven’t done much to the place, as you can see.”
“Where’s your bedroom?”
His eyes sparkled with amusement. “So you do want to see my bedroom.”
I gave him a withering look. Okay, I’d walked in on that one.
In the absence of a dining table, I sat at the island counter and watched while he opened the oven door, his thin tee shirt stretching across his wide, muscular back as he pulled out a foil casserole dish.
It struck me then how strange this entire situation was, so familiar yet so foreign. Never in a million years did I think I’d be sitting in Luke’s home, waiting for him to feed me.
“What is going on behind those blue eyes?” he asked as he scooped something cheesy and rich onto two plates.
“I was thinking you must be a used car salesman because you somehow talked me into coming here,” I said, accepting the plate. “I came to New York with the intention of never seeing you again.”
“And what was your plan if you ran into me on the street?”
“I’d walk by and pretend you didn’t exist.”
He set down two glasses of wine and sat on the stool beside me, our arms nearly touching on the granite counter. “For the record, I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want,” he said, his eyebrows drawn. “You came here of your own volition.”
My eyes flew around his face, my fingers itching to reach up and caress his angular features. I cleared my throat. “I guess I just wanted to see what you’d been up to these past five months.”
“Not much. Went back to work. Moved out of my old apartment.”
“Why did you move?”
He shrugged. “I just wanted a fresh start. I felt like a different person and no longer fit into my old life.”
I looked down into my plate, aware that he’d just put into words everything I’d been feeling but had been unable to express. The only difference was that I was still searching for the place where the new me could feel at home.
“I’ve been working on my music,” he said, grinning over at me. “Writing songs and performing them in small venues.”
I tried to act surprised. Really, I did. “Oh.”
He studied me for a moment, a smile in his eyes. “I recorded a demo, too.”
Now that was new information. “So does that mean you have a record deal?”
“No, I recorded the demo on my own then sent it out to recording companies hoping they’ll like what they hear and sign me on.”
“And?”
His gaze swung away and he took a drink. “Still waiting.” He set the glass down and squared his shoulders. “So what about you? What have you done the past five months? Apart from getting accepted into one of the most prestigious fashion schools in North America, that is.”
“Not much. I worked my ass off to get my application in on time. I had to write an essay about what creativity meant based on my experiences, then I had to create a portfolio of my work. It was stressful. I don’t think I would have done it at all if I’d known how much work was involved.”
“Yeah, you would.”
“Oh, you know that for a fact, do you?”
“I do.” His gaze was direct, his eyebrows drawn together. “We might have only spent a few weeks together, but in that time I believe I got to know the real Kat, the one you don’t let people see. That woman knew there was nothing for her in Ayashe, knew that it would take hard work to dig herself out from under the snow and apathy that had accumulated over the years and finally live the life she imagined. And I believe she was talented and pigheaded enough to do it.”
“Pigheaded?”
One dark eyebrow rose, challenging me to deny it.
“I prefer the word tenacious.” I picked up my fork to finally dig in when my stomach let out a loud rumble.
“Hungry?”
I took a cautious bite of lasagna and burned just the tip of my tongue on the cheese. “Starving. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast—if you don’t count the coffee.”
“Why didn’t you say anything earlier? I could have bought you a muffin or sandwich.”
“I didn’t want anything from you.”
“And yet you’re here.”
“You offered to feed me. A starving student can’t afford to turn down free food.”
“You just did.”
My temper was starting to get the best of me until he grinned and his handsome face lit up. “Tell me you don’t miss this,” he said, the shadow of a dimple appearing on his cheek.
I turned away, at a loss for a witty comeback. Yes, I had missed our banter, our little arguments that amounted to nothing yet said everything about who we were together.
And then it dawned on me that the words together and ours were starting to sneak back into my thoughts. Somehow the sly bastard was burrowing his way under my skin again. Hadn’t I just spent the last several months vowing that nobody else would charm me?
“So where do you live?” he asked after some time.
“In Bedford-Stuyvesant,” I said, glad for the change in subject. “My apartment is above a Chinese restaurant, fairly roomy, has peeling flowery wallpaper, and sme
lls like gym socks. Oh, and did I mention I have roommates?”
“You have roommates?”
“Yes. Every now and then I see one of them scurry across the floor in the middle of the night. They’re really unobtrusive, except they have whiskers and eat my food.”
His face crumpled in disgust.
“I wish I had a place like yours. What I would give for a space like this,” I said, looking around. When I realized what I’d just inferred, I said quickly, “I’m not asking if I can move in, FYI.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I wasn’t going to ask,” he said. “Not that I don’t want you here. I just know that you’d rather live on your own terms.”
I looked down at my plate, his confession making my chest uncomfortably tight. How was it possible for someone to understand me so deeply, as if I was a clear pool of water and he could see straight through to the rocky bottom?
If I wasn’t sure before that living here was a bad idea, I definitely knew now.
“Thank you for dinner,” I said some time later, turning away from the sink as I dried my hands.
Luke smiled from where he sat on the other side of the island. “Thanks for washing the dishes.”
“Fair’s fair,” I said with a shrug and headed to the front door to get my book bag. “I’d better go. First day of classes tomorrow.”
“Hold on,” he said, padding off to the door at the other end of the room. He came back a few minutes later wearing shoes and holding a set of keys in his hands. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Where are you going?”
“Taking you home.” At my impatient sigh, he said, “Did you really think I’d let you go home on your own to Bed-Stuy at nearly ten at night?”
“I can take care of myself.”
He opened the door and let me pass before locking it behind him. “You’re still not going home alone.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be fine.”
“Kat,” he said, letting out a frustrated breath. “Just… come on.”
I followed him out of the building and across the street into the parking garage.
“This is your car?” I asked when we stopped in front of a silver BMW sedan.
He winked at me over the hood before getting in.
We were mostly quiet on the drive back to my apartment. Luke had one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the gear stick, content to just sit back and let the stillness wrap around us, a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle outside.
“You’re still wearing that expensive hunk of metal,” I said to fill the uncomfortable silence.
He glanced down at his wrist. “I am.”
Out of the corner of my eye I watched as he maneuvered the car through the busy streets of Manhattan. He looked so comfortable in this fancy car, and even though he was wearing a t-shirt and dark jeans, he still somehow exuded a sense of class and wealth. His hair was a little shorter than in Alaska and was actually styled with some hair product, but it only added to his refined look.
“Right there,” I said, pointing to the narrow three-story yellow brick building, the first floor of which was a Chinese restaurant called Hung Wei’s.
He parked at the curb and looked out the window with eyebrows drawn. “You live up there?”
I was instantly on the defensive. “Yes.”
“How many apartments are up there?”
“Two. One on each floor. I’ve got the whole second floor to myself.”
“You don’t even have any curtains.”
“I’ve only been here for two fucking days. Give me at least a week to go all Martha Stewart on it,” I said, getting out and slamming the door harder than was necessary.
He got out and continued to look up at the windows. “I can see your entire apartment from here.”
“Perfect. I won’t have to give you a tour.”
He walked over and eyed the black metal fence that surrounded the front of the restaurant. “I think it’s telling that most of the businesses around here have fences around their property, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, it’s telling you to mind your own business.”
But Luke was not to be swayed. He glanced around the street at the two men loitering at the corner who were eyeing his car and the scantily dressed women smoking on a stoop right across the street. Not that I blamed him. This particular area of Brooklyn wasn’t exactly known for safety, and the owner of the restaurant downstairs had even joked about walking the streets in a zig-zag pattern with the occasional ducking motion. Still, this was my own place and I’d be damned if some Richie Rich pretty boy was going to make me feel bad about it.
“Let me help you find another place in the city,” he said, his gaze swinging back to me. “I know a really good realtor.”
“I bet you do.”
He gave me that look, the one that conveyed he wanted me to cut the crap. “I just want you to be safe.”
I got my keys out and unlocked the door to the apartment stairwell. “I am safe.” I took a step across the threshold. “See?”
“At least get some curtains,” he said, his forehead creased in concern. “And a gun.”
“Go home, Luke. Thanks for dinner,” I said and let the door click shut. I ran upstairs to my apartment, then looked out the front window to find him still looking up with his hands in his pockets, his legs planted apart. Though he was exuding confidence, he looked very much out of place on my street—a man who had wandered too far from his neighborhood of luxury.
So maybe my this place was a bit of a slum, but I felt safer around drunks and drug-dealers than I did in Manhattan, with its assholes in shiny suits and fancy cars. At least here I had a chance of defending myself because, when it came to that handsome man on the sidewalk, I had absolutely no form of defense. None.
4
LUKE
I couldn’t sleep that night.
I lay in my comfortable bed, staring at the exposed wood beams above, worrying about the willful woman across the East River. I felt like an elitist ass, judging low income neighborhoods from my top floor apartment, but this sense of superiority had been pervasive in my life for as long as I could remember. I grew up in the Upper East Side, partied with other trust fund brats, and had all the freedom in the world. I’d lived a life of privilege, and to see Kat doing the opposite filled me with unease.
Perhaps her neighborhood was not as terrible as crime statistics would have people believe, and I was simply judging the place from its beaten-down appearance. Maybe the reports were right, that Bed-Stuy was becoming gentrified and it was now safe for young women to walk alone at night without running into trouble.
But maybe wasn’t good enough.
I threw the covers aside and jumped out of bed, getting dressed quickly before heading out to my car. Without much traffic I was able to make it in ten minutes, parking at the curb in front of her building.
I remained in the car and looked up at her window. The lights were on. From my vantage point I could see her head as she looked down, most likely sitting at the table I’d been able to spy earlier. She was deep in thought, the skin between her eyebrows knotted, her eyes fixed on the page of the book on the table, locks of her blonde hair hanging by her cheeks. It hurt just to look at her, the knowledge that she was so close yet so unreachable.
Then it occurred to me that if I could see her, anyone could. I looked up and down the street, relieved to find it deserted. Still, anyone in the brownstone houses across the street could see right into her apartment.
I dialed her number. “Kat, did you get curtains yet?” I asked, watching a small smile lifting the ends of her lips when she recognized my voice.
“I haven’t really had a chance.”
“Please get some ASAP.”
“When I get around to it.” She stood up and walked over to the wall, flipping the switch and shrouding her place in darkness.
“I can come over and keep you company,” I said. “I’ll sleep on the floor with
your other roommates if I have to.”
She let out a soft laugh but said, “No thanks.”
“Kat—”
“Go to sleep, Luke. It’s late.”
I sighed. “Okay, Kat. Goodnight.” I hung up but didn’t make to leave. I sat in my car, keeping watch.
Some movement across the street caught my attention as the front door of a painted green house opened and an old man made his way down the stairs. He walked across the street at a quick clip heading towards me, then knocked on my window. “Why are you parked here?” he demanded.
I glanced up at Kat’s window, hoping the old man’s voice did not carry.
He knocked again and shook his head. “Get out of here. Nobody sells drugs on this street, especially not to your kind.”
I cracked the window. “I’m not buying drugs. I’m…” I paused. Only then did it dawn on me how I was acting. “I’m being overbearing.”
“Well get your ass back home before you get jacked. This is not the place to idle around in your Bimmer.”
I started the car and lifted my hand in parting, giving one last look up at the second story window before driving away.
“What’s wrong?” Lisa, my forty-three year old assistant, asked me as soon as I walked in the offices of Kohl Media the next morning.
I stopped in front of her desk and set my soft leather briefcase on top. “Why would you think there’s anything wrong?” I asked, adjusting the cuffs of my shirt.
“Well, for one, you’re wearing this dark, menacing look,” she said with a hint of amusement on her ruddy, slightly roundish face. “You look like you’re going to bite someone’s head off.”
“Then shouldn’t you be fearing for your life right now?”
She chuckled, waggling a finger at me. “Sonny boy, I’ve been your assistant for two years. When have I ever been scared of you?”
“You’re not beyond firing, you know,” I said, walking to my office. I sat behind the desk and looked at the numerous sticky notes all over my desk, each with a name, phone number, and message. “What the hell is all this?” I asked when she followed inside.
