by Holly Rayner
My muscles protest against the box’s weight. Teetering left and right, I take a step for the grass… another step…
Without any warning, my arms give up. The box hits the driveway, books flying out and going everywhere
A curse flies up my throat, and I check it right in time. Nope. I’m not gonna get frustrated. I’m going to get on my knees, collect the books, and carry them into the house a few at a time—the smart way.
I get on my knees but before I can grab a book a shadow falls over them all. Turning around, I find a tall man standing in the driveway, his face obscured by the sun behind him.
Covering my eyes, I blink, trying to make out his features.
“Would you care for some help?” he asks in an accent I can’t place but that is definitely not from anywhere in North America.
“Sure,” I say, still a little dazed by his sudden appearance. He made no sound coming up the driveway.
The stranger offers his hand and pulls me deftly to my feet. Shuffling to the side to get the sun out of my eyes, I finally get a look at his face.
And… what… a… face… it… is.
A strong jaw sports black stubble that matches thick, wavy midnight-colored locks. Olive skin is smooth and firm, and dark eyes are bright and inquisitive.
I might open my mouth. I might even try to say something. The only thing I know for sure is words never happen. All I can do is gawk at the gorgeous creature in front of me.
“I saw you out here and thought I could lend a hand,” he says.
I work my tongue loose. “Yeah, um… thank you. That’s kind of you.”
He picks up one of my favorite books and studies the cover. “I have this.”
“You do?” My voice pitches from surprise.
“Yes.” He smiles, picks up the empty box, and puts the book in it. “It’s on my coffee table.”
“I keep mine on my bedside table. I guess I’m kind of an art nerd.”
“An art nerd.” He smiles, picking up more books. “That’s new to me.”
I wave it away and collect the rest of the books. The box full, he picks it up like it weighs no more than a kitten.
“Where would you like this?” he asks.
“The living room is fine.” I grab a lighter box while he takes that one inside.
On my way in, he’s coming out. We both go to step to the side, but we end up heading in the same direction and bumping hips.
“Sorry,” he smiles down at me.
My heart does a flip, and my brain stops working all over again. Sterling needs to put a picture of this guy on their welcome website. Their tourism numbers would quadruple.
We meet back at the trailer, where he’s pulled everything to the end. “Shay told me someone would be moving in for the summer,” he says.
“That’s me. I bet you weren’t expecting a sweaty klutz, though.”
He smiles, but in a somewhat uncomfortable way. I smile back, instantly wishing I could retract what I said.
If Laura were here she’d be chastising me for turning on the self-deprecating humor. It’s a bad habit of mine which always seems to pop up whenever there’s a hot man around.
“I live next door.” Putting a box on his shoulder, he nods at the cute little bungalow with a red front door and white picket fence. “Kal Harris.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say. “Julia Fernandez.”
We’re still standing at the end of the trailer, which is fine. The heat and sun aren’t annoying anymore. Nothing could be annoying with company such as this to distract me.
“How many art books do you have?” he asks.
The flap of the box he’s holding has come open, revealing yet another stack of books.
“A lot,” I admit. “I could have left some behind in Brooklyn… I probably should have left some behind in Brooklyn.”
He cocks his head in interest. “Are you an artist?”
“Graphic designer.”
“Really?” The corners of his mouth quirk up. He seems impressed, which makes me stand a little taller.
“Yeah. I’ve been doing it for years. Right out of college.”
“I myself prefer oil and canvas.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Well, this keeps getting better and better. Not only is my new neighbor super cute, but we have something in common.
“Do you ever paint?” he asks.
“I haven’t in a long time, but I admire it. I go to galleries and shows a lot. I’d love to see something of yours some time… if that’s okay,” I add, since not everyone likes to share their pieces. “No pressure.”
His smile never dims. “How about once we get you settled in I show you?”
“Oh.” I blink rapidly. “Yeah. That’s great.”
“Excellent,” Kal says.
“That’s better than great,” I laugh.
He’s still gazing at me, and the warmth that’s been nestled in my chest during this whole conversation spreads through my body.
I have a feeling I’m going to like Sterling very much indeed.
Chapter 3
Julia
I expect Kal to bow out once all the boxes are in the house, but he surprises me by insisting on helping me unpack and get everything put away. It’s an offer I’d be silly to turn down. With the two of us working on it, my belongings are set up in no time at all.
“Would you still like to see my paintings?” he asks, straightening up from where he’s been bent over the coffee table, arranging my books.
“That would be great. Except…” I press a palm to my damp neck.
Kal laughs. “Don’t worry. I myself am in need of a shower. No judgment.”
He’s even sweatier than I am, rivulets cutting down his neck and making his shirt collar damp. It looks good on him.
Heck, anything and everything probably looks good on him.
“Let’s go, then,” I decide.
I follow him across the bright green lawns to where he lets us into his house through a side door. It’s a small but tidy and clean kitchen we step into. For the first time, I wonder about Kal’s living situation. There’s no ring on his finger, but does he have a girlfriend?
That would really be a kick to my groin. I didn’t come here looking for romance, but if the opportunity presents itself…
“...favorite one,” Kal is saying.
His voice makes me snap to. He’s on the other end of the kitchen, flipping a hall light on.
Hustling over to join him, I find him standing in front of a painting of a field of sunflowers. In the middle of the vibrant, yellow scene, a little girl reaches an arm up toward the sky.
I cock my head. Something about this is familiar.
“Wow,” I murmur. “This is good. Is… hey, do you have a painting in the coffee shop here? The one on…” Man, what’s the name of the street I drove into town on?
“Café Swallowtail,” he says. “Our one and only coffee shop. Yes, I have a piece there.”
“The river, yeah. I really like it.”
“Thank you,” he says, and it feels truly genuine—not automatic like when most people express gratitude. It makes me warm again, and I have to look away and pretend to study the painting, although the only thing I can really pay attention to is the distance between me and Kal.
Two inches? Three?
If I shuffled a bit to the right, my arm would graze his.
I’m not gonna do that, but if I did…
“I have more in here,” he says, turning and going into the nearest room.
It’s an art studio, with blank canvases stacked against the walls and two nearly-completed paintings resting on easels.
I take a step into the room, slowing it down. It’s a sacred place, Kal’s love for his art filling it up.
“You spend a lot of time in here,” I say, my attention going to the coffee mug on a stool.
“Yes. Perhaps far too much.”
He steps into the room, his fingers lightly brushing my shoul
der as he goes by. My breath catches in my throat, the butterflies in full activity.
“Why do you say that?” I ask. “Is there really such a thing as doing too much of what you love?”
His laugh is deep, felt in the lowest part of my belly. It makes me smile.
Lacing his hands behind his head, Kal inspects me, a twinkle in his eye.
“That’s a good point,” he says. “Do you like your job?”
“I love it,” I say without a moment’s hesitation.
“Good.”
“And you? Do you like yours?”
It might be the first time he’s broken eye contact while speaking to me. Looking down, he fiddles with some paint brushes in a cup.
“It is decent enough,” he says.
“What do you do?”
“Carpentry.”
“Did you build this house?”
He laughs again, the light back in his eyes. “No.”
“Oh.” I shrug. “It’s nice. I was gonna compliment you on it, but never mind, I guess.”
“It is a fine little house. I might have kept quiet and accepted the compliment regardless of whether I had a hand in its creation or not.”
“Regardless,” I murmur, repeating after him merely for the sake of doing exactly that. His formality is endearing.
The windows in this room look out onto the side yard that connects Shay’s house and his. From here, you can see right into her upstairs hall.
“Do you know Shay well?” Kal asks, possibly reading my mind.
“We’ve never met in person, only video-chatted. She’s one of my best and longest clients. It was…” I shake my head, feeling emotional over her generosity. “Really amazing and kind of her to offer her place for the summer.”
“She is that kind of person. A great neighbor to have, for sure.”
“I bet. Do you have a carpentry shop?”
Do you have a girlfriend? Friends? Where are you from? Why do you live in Sterling? What do you like to do on the weekends? What kind of movies are you into? Books?
I want to know everything about this man. It’s taking an extreme amount of willpower to force myself to slow down and ask one question at a time.
“I do. In town.” Kal takes a seat on one of two stools, arms folded, his shirt stretching across his broad chest. Either the carpentry trade gives him quite a workout or he visits the gym regularly.
“Carpentry is creative,” I say.
He concedes with a nod. “It is. The downside is that you are always creating for other people. It leaves little time and energy for your own projects.”
“Yet you’re doing it.” I wave my hand at the room around us. “Even if it’s little by little.”
“Yes.” His eyes seem to deepen. At this moment, I swear I could stay in this room forever, gazing back into his irises.
“It’s your escape, isn’t it?” I ask. “Art?”
“It’s only a hobby,” he says. “Nothing professional like what you do.”
“Have you ever wanted it to be more than that?”
He blinks, considering his answer. The recognizable sound of a bus on the street out front makes him straighten up.
“Is it already three thirty?” he asks, checking his watch.
“I don’t know.”
Weird. I’m not even sure where my phone is. My car? Shay’s house? Usually it’s glued to my hand.
There’s the sound of a door opening, and Kal walks for the front of the home. I follow tentatively, not sure who to expect or if I should be trailing him.
In the living room, a little girl throws a bright green backpack on the floor. “Dad, I got an end-of-school book from Mrs. Miller, and…” She catches sight of me, blue eyes going wide.
“Maya,” Kal says, “this is Julia. Do you remember that Shay is going away for the summer?”
Maya nods, gaze locked on me. Her eyes are sky blue, but her skin is nearly as olive as Kal’s.
“Julia is staying in Shay’s house,” Kal continues. “Julia, this is my daughter, Maya.”
A daughter?
I’ve never dated someone with kids before. Not that Kal and I are, uh, dating. You know, since we only just met at all, and he hasn’t expressed interest in me, and…
“It’s nice to meet you,” Maya says, showing off extraordinary manners for someone her age.
“It’s nice to meet you as well,” I say. “Did I hear you say something about it being the end of school?”
“Yep.” She nods, her black pigtails bouncing. “The last day for summer!”
“What grade did you finish?”
“First,” she says, chest swelling with pride.
“First? Very nice.”
Maya looks between me and her dad. Is she wondering what I’m doing over here? Maybe it’s time I left.
But then, “Wanna see my book?” she asks. “Me teacher gave everyone in the class one.”
“Definitely,” I tell her.
“Your backpack,” Kal says. “Before you do anything else.”
He points at where she left it on the floor. Shoulders slumped, Maya picks it up and hangs it on a hook.
“Your lunchbox, too,” Kal says.
Maya starts to sigh dramatically, then catches sight of her dad’s stern expression and stops. Unzipping her backpack, she takes out a lunchbox and walks it to the kitchen.
Taking advantage of the moment alone, I look to Kal.
“You have a daughter,” I whisper.
“I do,” he agrees.
“She’s cute.”
“And she knows it,” he chuckles.
“Dad!” Maya calls from the kitchen. “Where’s my after-school snack? I want applesauce!”
“I’ll be right back,” Kal says to me. “Please, make yourself at home. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
Left alone in the living room, I take a surreptitious look around. It’s strange that I didn’t notice the signs of a kid living here before, but maybe that’s because Kal only showed me to his kitchen and studio.
Easy-to-read chapter books are stacked on the coffee table, and a coloring book and crayons sit in the corner, near a bean bag chair that no one over a hundred pounds could be comfortable in.
Making my way to the fireplace, I inspect the picture frames on the mantel. There’s a school photo of Maya, a picture of her and Kal fishing, one of the two of them at the beach, and a baby photo that must be Maya.
No sign of her mom.
Kal’s divorced?
“I got my snack,” a little voice announces behind me.
Whirling around, I find Maya walking into the living room with a spoon and an individual applesauce pack. “Want some?”
“Oh, that’s sweet, but—”
“Dad!” Maya turns back around and heads for the kitchen. “I need one for, um…”
“Julia,” Kal says, appearing in the doorway. He eyes me. “Want an applesauce?”
“No, thanks.” I wave the offer away.
“It’s cinnamon flavored,” Maya says.
On cue, my stomach rumbles. “You know what? Yeah. I haven’t had applesauce in years. Hit me with one.”
Kal winks before turning around to fetch me one.
Sitting on the edge of the couch, Maya digs into her snack, watching me the whole time.
“Are you staying for a long time?” she asks.
I take a seat on the other end of the couch. “Only for a few months, then I’ll go back to New York.”
Already, I don’t like the thought of that. My first couple hours in Sterling have been great. Thinking about New York and everything that happened there makes me heavy inside.
“I heard about New York,” Maya says. “That’s where they have a giant peach.”
“I think you’re talking about Georgia.”
“No, New York. In Times Square.”
“You mean a big apple?”
“Yeah!” she says.
“Ohh, I got it.”
Kal returns with another applesauce and spoon and I trade it with a smile—which he gives right back. Shivers go down my back and arms.
“There’s no actual big apple, Maya bear,” Kal says. If my heart wasn’t already melting, his cute nickname for her would be doing the trick.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Sorry. That’s something people like to call the city.”
“Oh.” Maya shrugs. “Okay. Dad, can we have tacos for dinner?”
“That would make it the third time this week.” Kal perches on the edge of the coffee table across from us.
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask. “I could eat tacos every day!”
“Yeah!” Maya crows. “Me, too!”
“Okay, okay.” Laughing, Kal spreads his palms. “I probably could as well, but that doesn’t mean it’s the best idea. A person needs a varied diet. Fruits and vegetables in every color.”
Maya takes on a glazed look. It’s clear this isn’t the first time she’s heard the “varied diet” talk.
I finish up the applesauce, which wasn’t even enough to be considered an appetizer.
“I don’t care what we have,” Maya says. She puts her applesauce on the table and wraps both of her arms around one of mine. “I want Julia to stay for dinner.”
Her big eyes turn up to me. “Please, Julia.”
I open my mouth, not sure what to say and not wanting to intrude.
“That sounds like a lovely idea,” Kal answers. “Julia, will you stay for dinner?”
The request, even if it was brought on by a kid and not initially his idea, warms my cheeks.
“I don’t want to impose,” I say. “You’ve done a lot for me already.”
“What did he do?” Maya asks.
“He carried nearly all my moving boxes inside for me.”
“Yeah, my dad is strong.”
“He is,” I agree. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see Kal grin.
“How about this, then?” he says. “A compromise. We will order takeout.”
“Yay!” Maya claps her hands. “Tacos?”
Kal looks to me.
“Mexican is awesome,” I say.
Kal throws up his hands, but the gesture is accompanied by a laugh. “Okay. Yes. Let’s do Mexican.”
