Love Notes (Equilibrium Book 1)

by Christina C Jones

  “Uh huh. You go ahead put in a good word for me with everybody, will you?”

  “You don’t already have your mystery bae on that for you?” she teased, following me to the main room to doublecheck her work of hanging the backdrops.

  I sucked my teeth. “Don’t have one of those.”

  “You might after you leave Fresh Cuts. When are you going?”

  “Tomorrow morning, and I can guarantee there will be no bae procurance, because I’m not on that, and you know it.”

  “Duh,” Anika droned, following me to the office area I’d set up in one of the back rooms. “I’m just saying, when I went in there to get my little emotional hack job turned into a cut, I saw some dude in there that should be having my baby.”

  I grinned as I dropped into my chair. “In that case, I should have plenty of pointless flirting to report back about.”

  “Pointless?” she asked, perching herself on the corner of the desk. “I know you’re not in the bae market, but not even a little FWB action?”

  I shook my head as I waited for my laptop to power on. “Not even. Maybe later – much later. But for now, all I’m trying to do is make Love Notes happen.”

  “Understood.” She was quiet for a few seconds, and then, “Hey, so… I keep meaning to ask you… Love Notes. Why?”

  Dropping my head for a second, I pushed out a breath of frustration – not really with her for asking the question, because it was valid, but because… I wasn’t sure I had the best answer.

  “Because… I don’t want to be jaded forever… kinda?” I shook my head as I brought my gaze back to hers. “I don’t completely know how to explain it, but I think that at their best, that’s what pictures are. Not like, commercial photography, or even a lot of editorial stuff. That’s why I wanted to get out of that. Wedding pictures, and maternity, and engagements, and graduations… the personal stuff. Pictures that say something instead of just showing you something. That’s where the real beauty is.”

  Anika shrugged. “I think that’s a beautiful explanation Jules. But what does it have to do with you being jaded?”

  “Well… I’m kinda hoping to… believe in love again, I guess? Not that I don’t believe in it, because I do, I just… okay… it’s like relationship counseling, I guess. Only, the relationship in crisis is the one between me and love. So I’m hoping that by immersing myself in all these other people’s expressions of it – their love notes to each other, and to the world – that I can… trust it again. Or something. Goddammit Anika, I don’t know,” I laughed. “It makes better sense in my head than when I explain out loud.”

  “Your explanation is friggin’ perfect though, so why exactly are you tripping?”

  “Because it’s what I do, Nik!” I reminded her. “I’m not good with like… emotions and shit. You got all of those.”

  “Uh, that’s a lie. You’re just good at burying your shit and being outwardly unbothered.”

  I gasped. “Excuse you! When did you figure me out?! I need explanations!”

  “I’m not explaining nothing,” she laughed, standing up. “And my free labor is over for the day. I gotta go to work.”

  My face dropped into a scowl. “You’re leaving me already?”

  “Already? I’ve been here for four hours, and you don’t really have anything else to do. Other than getting some business in here. Let’s go,” she said, her tone suddenly aggressive as she snapped her fingers at me.

  “I moved in like three days ago,” I whined, and she shook her head.

  “Nope. You had time to find yourself some dick, you’ve got time to find some clients.”

  I burst out laughing. “How did I already know you were gonna say that? You’ve just been waiting, haven’t you?”

  “Had to get you right where I wanted you first,” she called over her shoulder as she left the office. “I’ll catch you later!”

  “Bye girl! Don’t let Royal get you on top of the espresso machine!” I yelled, eliciting a burst of laughter from her that carried down the hall. A few seconds later, the door chime let me know she’d stepped out, leaving me in the studio alone.

  Hmm.

  Everything else I needed to do, I could do at home.

  Reversing my previous intentions, I closed my laptop and slid it into my bag, then slipped that over my shoulder. I collected the rest of my things and then headed out too, feeling a great sense of pride as I locked the door behind me.

  It felt good.

  Before I took off down the street, I just stood there a moment, admiring the logo and business name on the front window. Anika had surprised me with it – a particular touch that made me cry ugly tears of happiness as soon as I saw it when she brought me by to see the space for the first time, the morning after I arrived.

  It was perfect.

  I’d already known that from the pictures, and the obsessive details I’d had Anika check for me. The price was right, and everything was to my specifications – even the amount of natural light I was able to get in here. I hadn’t wanted to take any chances with losing the space, not when Mahogany Heights was so popular, and suitable places were so limited. I had Anika sign the paperwork for me as soon as possible.

  And now, it was mine.

  I lifted a hand, running my fingers over the lettering. This venture was so important to me, beyond the potential to put money in my pocket. I’d lived with an emotional vacancy far too long, and it wasn’t a lifestyle I had any desire to maintain. It wasn’t about getting a man, or even about not being alone. It was about a trust that had been snatched away from me years ago, something I was still trying to regain.

  It was about the wholeness I’d encouraged Anika to chase, but was still searching for myself.

  One way or another… I was determined to make it to that place.

  “She said act natural, old man. Why you over there looking like you need to take a shit?”

  The whole barbershop erupted in laughter and I joined in, smiling from man to man, younger to older. The “old man” shook his head, and tried to scowl, but he couldn’t keep it on his face very long before the wrinkles at his eyes deepened as he grinned.

  Perfect.

  With my camera still carefully held up to my face, I pressed the shutter button to catch the shot, hoping that the lens captured what I saw – a beautiful display of Black brotherhood on a warm Spring morning.

  I moved from place to place throughout the shop, absorbing and recording the energy in the room, the steady flow of people in and out, customers and loiterers alike. They talked sports, they talked politics, they talked about me, in low voices they thought I couldn’t hear, making me blush and lower my camera to offer warning scowls that were met with laughs and half-hearted apologies. They’d meant the nasty shit they said – they were just sorry I’d heard it.

  When I had plenty of shots, I stepped into the hall that led to the back of the shop to review them. I smiled down at my screen as I flipped through the pictures, already imaging the cropping and editing I would do to make them shine.

  Perfect.

  I let the camera down to hang around my neck while I pulled out my phone, going to the text document I’d set up with a list of shots I wanted to be sure to get. Most of them, I’d already captured, just shooting with a natural flow. The one I hadn’t, I added to a mental checklist, planning to head back into the main area to finish up before I heard the distinct, questioning sound of a meow.

  Looking further down, past my phone, I saw that a cat had come from somewhere and was now sitting at my feet, staring up at me like it was wondering who I was. It was beautiful – mostly a lustrous light gray, but with streaks of darker gray and white spread over a fluffy coat. Immediately, I tucked my phone back into my pocket and pulled my camera up, focusing on translucent jade green eyes to snap several pictures – an action that apparently made me boring, because the cat got up and padded off, with an indifferent flick of its tail.

  “Well nice to meet you too,” I murmured
, watching as it disappeared around the corner. A second later though, it was back, following behind feet clad in gray and white sneakers that almost matched its fur. Abruptly, those feet stopped moving, giving my gaze time to travel up the body they belonged to, landing on a face that was… familiar.

  “It’s you,” he said, in a pleasantly surprised tone that probably wasn’t supposed to slip out, based on the way he cleared his throat and averted his eyes, then scrubbed a hand over his head – nervous tics that made him kinda adorable. The intensity in those eyes though, once he brought them back to me – the same marbled orbs that had seduced me my first night in town – reminded me that his adorable ass was capable of very grown things.

  Not to mention, they clearly showed how pleased he was by my presence, even if he didn’t want to be, even if he wanted to hide it.

  “Yup. It’s me. I have to say though, I’m pretty disappointed that it didn’t take us longer to run into each other again,” I told him, lowering the camera.

  That brought out the grin he’d been trying not to give me. “Yeah… this neighborhood is like a small town, just in a big city.”

  “Yeah, I’m realizing. Are you supposed to be back here?” I asked, glancing around. “I don’t think this area is part of the shop.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are you supposed to be back here?”

  “Well… sort of. I have permission, to take pictures. I was told I could come in anytime, so… I guess it’s fate that I happened to run across you.”

  “Nah,” he shook his head. “Not really. I’m pretty sure we spoke on the phone about you coming to do this. I just didn’t realize nobody would come and holla at me to say you were here.”

  My eyes got big. “Wait… you were the one I talked to on the phone? Like, the owner?”

  “Manager,” he corrected. “But yeah, that was me.”

  My mouth went dry. I’d been so nervous that he’d say no, and then excited when he didn’t, that the lush resonance of his voice hadn’t even registered over the phone. “Uh… wow. I… didn’t catch that at all. Maybe because you were a little distracted, when I called?”

  “Yeah, it was a little crazy in here that day, but… I’m glad we could accommodate you. You and… Love Notes. I’m guessing this is the business you wouldn’t tell me about, huh?”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  He gave me a deep nod. “That’s whassup. So… let me see what you got? Gotta see if you’re any good at this thing.”

  “If I’m any good at it?” I laughed. “Wow, you’re really gonna do me like that?”

  “I’m sayin’,” he shrugged. “Gotta make sure you’re not just coming in here to spy or something. I haven’t seen any proof.”

  “Oh, I’ve got your proof,” I told him, holding up the camera. “And, thanks by the way, for letting me come in and do this. And for free at that.”

  He shrugged. “It was nothing. These dudes needed a little break in the monotony anyway. Let me see what you got.”

  He moved to stand beside me, and I was caught a bit off guard at the slight tremble in my finger as I turned my screen on, to show him the pictures. He was so close to me that his scent – clean linen and sandalwood with a hint of leather – was slowly grabbing my full attention, taking center stage over the harsh bite of Barbasol and tea-tree oil shampoo. It was so soothing, I had to force myself not to take a deep breath in, had to try not to be so keenly aware of the heat from his body soaking through my tee shirt, making my nipples bead against the soft cotton of my bra.

  And he was just… cool. Laughing at and commenting on the pictures as I shuffled through them, telling me which ones stood out. This was something I didn’t do – letting someone see my work before I’d curated and edited - but for some reason having him over my shoulder giving his thoughts was oddly… comfortable.

  “These are dope,” he said, as I came to the end of the images, and I took a subtle step away from him. “Glad you got what you needed.”

  I nodded. “Me too. I have a few more that I want to try to get before I go. If that’s okay?”

  “Long as you don’t snap this ugly mug,” he said, running a hand through his beard. “Don’t want to mess up your camera.”

  My eyes bugged out. “You’re joking, right? You’re ridiculously handsome. And… you got a haircut,” I said, finally pulling my eyes from his face long enough to pinpoint exactly what had struck me as different about him. That deep, extra special dark chocolate skin was everything to me, and the full beard – tidily trimmed and lined – was even more. Somewhere deep down within me, I wanted to grab his chunky fro – neatly faded on the sides –and run my hands through it. “You just wanted something different, or…?”

  “Uhh…” he pushed out a sigh, then raised a hand to do exactly what I wanted to do, burying his fingers in his deep black kinks. “I kinda lost a bet, actually.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Lost a bet? You’re kidding, right?”

  “Unfortunately not,” he shook his head.

  “You cut off those beautiful locs, because of a bet?”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? Man of my word.”

  “That must’ve been some bet,” I mused, hooking a thumb into the pocket of my jeans. When he didn’t respond, I raised my eyebrows. “So… what was it?”

  He sucked in a stream of air between those pretty white teeth, shaking his head as he blew it out, and laughed. “I think I’m gonna take a page out of your book with that one.”

  “Ah,” I chuckled. “That means it’s filed it under “none of my business”?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fair enough,” I told him, with a nod. “At least tell me this though… whatever caused you to lose the bet…was it worth it?”

  That question seemed to catch him off guard, making his eyes go wide. He stared at me a few seconds, obviously giving it real thought before he – damn near reluctantly, if I was reading it right – nodded.

  “Yeah,” he said, then cleared his throat. “It was.”

  I gave him a bright smile. “Well, good. At least there’s that, right?”

  He nodded again, his entire vibe suddenly, strangely solemn. “Yeah. At least there’s that.”

  “Right. So…” I glanced around, getting my bearings again so that I could get back to the front. “I guess we’re neighbors now, and… contrary to the awkwardness of this conversation, I’m not gonna be weird or anything. Promise.”

  “You don’t even strike me as the type,” he assured. “Not remotely.”

  “Oh? And what type do I strike you as?”

  He scoffed. “Shit… the type to be a whole lotta trouble for somebody.”

  “You realize I could say the same damn thing about you, right?”

  The smirk that spread across his face gave me a little clue toward the sexy arrogance he was trying hard to suppress for some reason, but couldn’t. “Sounds like we should probably steer clear of each other then, neighbor.”

  “I mean… if it’s just trouble waiting to happen… maybe so,” I agreed, knowing goddamn well I wasn’t going to make any extra effort to not be around his fine ass. “That doesn’t mean we can’t still be neighborly though, right?”

  “Of course not,” he came back immediately, in a comforting tone like he thought I might be offended. Which, again… cute. “If you need anything, you know the number.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I have it. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my chair is booked in like two minutes, and I—”

  “Oh! Of course! Go ahead,” I urged, waving him off. “I’ll be… around. Getting the rest of my shots.”

  “Cool. And if you need anything…”

  “Just let you know. Understood.”

  He gave something like a little salute before he disappeared into the front of the shop. I took a few moments to calm my racing heart – I hadn’t even realized it was racing. Why was my heart racing? – and then stepped back into the shop myself to catch a few mor
e shots.

  More often than not, my camera focused on him.

  When I’d first stepped into the shop, explaining myself to the only female barber, she’d nodded, telling me that “Troy” had mentioned a photographer. Now I knew that “Troy” was my “mystery bae”, who hadn’t been there when I first came in to take pictures for the series. It would be called “Home”, focusing on familiar, traditionally black rituals. The barbershop, Fresh Cuts, had been an easy choice for where to start.

  It was located right across the street from my studio space, and through the big front window I’d seen men, boys, and a few women come and go. They went in scruffy and came out fresh, with new confidence in their walk. They dapped each other, ragged on each other, talked, laughed. The brilliant communal vibe from the inside spilled out onto the sidewalk, making everyone that walked past a part of it.

  I didn’t just want to capture that. I needed to.

  Troy oozed a level of masculine appeal that kept my camera coming back to him. The way he moved, the easy smile, that voice. He interacted easily with the others in the shop, customer or fellow barber. I watched closely, clicking away as he moved through a haircut with motions that were simultaneously fluid and precise. Confident. Every swipe of the spotless chrome clippers was intentional, no wasted actions.

  The moment it crossed my mind that I could watch him all day, was the moment I shut off my camera.

  Time to move it along.

  I thanked him once more for allowing me time, exchanged business cards, and then got out of there, heading back across the street to my studio. I went straight to my computer, unloading the memory card and pulling the pictures up before I even put my camera away properly. I forced myself not to go straight to the pictures of Troy, instead taking the time to sort through all three-hundred pictures I’d snapped.

  Over the years, I’d created a sort of “rule of thirds” for myself. 1/3rd of the pictures went to the discard pile, because they just weren’t good by any measure. Another 1/3rd were the ones that were just okay. The last 1/3rd were the ones I thought were gorgeous, and there was nothing surprising about the fact that Troy was in 25/100 of those shots.