“This and the bedroom are the only rooms I’ve really touched since she left,” he said as I stepped inside. “I dropped all the furniture she chose at a local donation site and got mine from the storage unit I’d had to get. The only thing I haven’t touched is the paint. But I’ll get to it eventually. If I don’t just up and move.”
“I knew you had to be in here somewhere,” I said as I walked around, touching books, plant pots and a beautiful fountain pen.
The walls were a green that somehow managed to be more cold than welcoming. But, beyond that, there was a beautiful old, weathered desk with a burgundy leather inlay that sat by the window, looking out over the street. On the white-washed wood flooring that covered the whole of the second floor, was a thick rug with a taupe on cream design. And there were books everywhere. On shelves, stacked on his desk, and piled on the floor.
On one wall was a bulletin board covered in notes, quotes, and photos. On the other walls were framed prints of men reading, writing, and typing on vintage typewriters.
“You love what you do, don’t you,” I said. It wasn’t a question. It was clear to me as soon as I stepped into this room.
“I do,” he said. “I’ve had stories in my head since I was kid. Making a living out of it is a dream come true, and I don’t take one day of it for granted. I know there are so many people out there just trying to get that first deal. I’m very lucky.”
“You’re very talented. Don’t downplay that.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Thank you. It’s not always easy. It definitely makes me crazy some days, and I sometimes worry the ideas will stop coming. But I never want to stop. It truly is my dream job.”
“Well, I hope you never do. I love your words.”
We stood there smiling softly at one another for a long moment, something heated passing between us. I could feel my heartbeat, my body responding to being in such close proximity to his, moments from our photo shoot coming back to me. His skin against mine, his breath in my hair… We hadn’t gone to the third floor yet where the master bedroom must be, and I had a feeling it was best we didn’t. I liked him. I didn’t want to ruin this tentative friendship.
“Ice cream?” I said.
He took in a long breath and nodded.
“Ice cream,” he said.
And with that, we went back downstairs to raid the freezer and cool off.
Chapter 23
Graham
I was sitting outside in one of the two ugly, clear acrylic chairs, watching the world’s most famous fashion model sitting on the patio with my aging dog and having a whispered conversation nose-to-nose while sharing her ice cream. I wasn’t sure what this feeling was, but it felt dangerous and amazing all at once.
When the three of us had finished our dessert, I took the dishes to the kitchen and returned with two bottles of beer.
“This is none of my business,” Lior said. “But I’ve had two margaritas so my manners have waned a little.” She grinned impishly and took a sip of her beer. “Tell me about the girlfriends you had before Nadia.”
I could feel warning signals going off in my brain. Abort! Abort! Heading into dangerous territory! Beer, talk of exes, a day spent seeing one another almost completely naked. This couldn’t be going anywhere good.
Or, my nether-region thought, remembering her long, lean body in that last sheer dress, it could be going somewhere spectacular.
I propped my feet up on the white stone half-wall and she copied me. I could see B just over the top of it, while the arc of sunlight was about to disappear from the fence at the back of the yard.
“Must I?” I asked, giving her a pained look.
“That bad?” she asked. “Even the very first one out the gate?”
“She set the precedent.”
“Oh dear. What was her name?”
“Elizabeth.”
“And what did Elizabeth do to our young, impressionable Graham?” Lior asked.
“Taught me the subtle art of gaslighting.”
“Well then.”
