“Speaking of James, I better get going. He has a work thing I need to show face at. He’s good otherwise. He misses you too, says I’m cattier now that you’re gone.” James is my mother’s husband, they finally got it together and tied the knot two years ago. We’ve known him for years, though.
“You love being the center of attention, so don’t you pretend.” I laugh. We chat some more about what she’s going to wear and what Amy and I have been up to, and when she ends the call, I miss her more than ever. It has always been just Momma and me until James came along. She’s everything to me. I’m grateful she has James. He’s an amazing man, taking care of her the way she deserves. Mom always tells me she’s grateful to have found love twice in her life. She believes in that kind of thing. I don’t. Love is bullshit. People are attracted to each other. They want to fuck. That’s it. If love exists, why the hell is the world filled with so much pain?
* * *
I change into a swimsuit,throw on a beach dress, and grab my paint and canvas before heading down to the beach. It’s warm out, and the exquisite view is something I need to capture. The sand presses through my bare toes, and the salty sea air brings me comfort. It isn’t every day I walk out of my door to this. Utter perfection. Nature showing off.
Setting up, I sit on the sand and start to paint the scene before me. I do landscapes and seascapes mostly; the expanse and vastness always fascinate me. They remind me of how absolutely insignificant we are in the grander scheme of things. I feel a chill creep up my neck suddenly, and I look around me. I have a distinct feeling that I’m being watched. A breeze catches my hair, and it whips around my face. I turn. A lone figure stands on the shore a few feet away from me, his eyes burning into my skin. His face is stoic as he observes me. But his eyes, covered by wet strands of black hair, are intense, and he’s almost looking through me. He’s well built, his bare chest and arms glistening almost bronze in the sun. His swim shorts hang low on his waist. I don’t know why the fact that I’m checking him out bothers me more than him watching me, but it does. I turn back to my canvas, but I’ve lost interest in painting. My heart pounds in my chest.
“Do I know you?” his voice sends chills over my skin. I dare not turn back and look at him, especially after the obvious way my eyes just roamed over his body a few seconds ago.
“Unlikely,” I say, trying to concentrate on my brushwork.
He laughs, it’s a melodic sound. It’s not friendly, though. It’s cold. “Not interested in small talk?” He stalks toward me, and every step he takes closer to me, makes me want to run into the confines of my room and stay there.
“What gave that away?” I continue to capture the kiss of the ocean on the sand, trying my best to ignore the man who is standing just inches away from me.
“We could cut the small talk then, move onto other things,” I roll my eyes and let out a snort. Presumptuous much.
“You find me amusing?” the stranger asks.
“Just predictable,” I tell him, still not looking at him. He’s close, I can feel it.
“That is one thing I am not, Güzel.” I swallow. His husky, exotic voice mixed with this setting makes me slightly nervous. I finally turn toward him.
“Look, can I help you with something? I’m a little busy, as you can see.” I motion to my canvas with all the nonchalance I can muster. He leans down on his haunches, and my skin prickles at the closeness of him. I don’t get flustered, I don’t react to guys like this, especially ones I don’t know because I don’t let myself, so my reaction to this man is something new.
“Have dinner with me tonight.” he doesn’t ask, he tells me.
I shake my head. “I can think of a hundred things I’d rather be doing. And is that a question or a command, cos I don’t actually hear the invite in there.” I turn away from him sharply.
“I’ve offended you?”
“No shit, Sherlock.” He cocks his head to the side. “From where I come, a guy usually politelyasksa girl to dinner. He doesn’t order her to.”
“That’s what I did, I told you to have dinner with me.”
“I’m busy,” I say bluntly.
He stands, seemingly unfazed, except for that crease between his brows. “Suit yourself. But you will have dinner with me sometime. I never take no for an answer.” He utters, and I wonder what makes this pompous asshole think I will go anywhere with him.
When he walks away, and I feel his presence releasing me from his spell, I watch his retreating back and wonder what makes him so sure. I shake my head.
“This, Kennedy is why you’re happily single,” I tell myself. That doesn’t change the fact that he unnerved me, which is rare.
I pack up my supplies and hurry across the sand to the house. My heart beats rapidly, only evening out when I am safely behind closed doors. What the hell was that? A part of me feels like I dreamed the whole encounter. The way my heart raced, the way my skin broke out in goosebumps despite the heat. I place my hand on my forehead. Maybe I am coming down with something. I smile, though, at the compliment, Guzel. My mom used to tell me that my Dad called her that. ‘Beautiful.’ She would have found the man endearing. But I’m not my mom.
Whoever this mysterious stranger is, I’ll likely never see him again. And the absolute last thing on my mind is romance, especially with everything going on with Amy. My phone rings, and I smile at the display before answering. “Morgan?”
“Hey, gorgeous. How is your holiday going so far?”
“Interesting. In a word.” I laugh, then nibble on my bottom lip. Hearing from Morgan always makes me nervous. “So, you have news for me?”
“You could say that…” The line goes silent. “Look, Neddy, the art market is a bit slow at the moment, I negotiated you a lease at a prime location, but it is way above your budget.”
“How much are we talking?”
He coughs, and I don’t think I need to know the answer. “We won’t give up, babe, it’s just going to take a little longer to find that perfect place for your gallery.”
