by Landra Graf
“Yes, some inspiration struck.”
“Inspiration? More like a giant influx of creative energy. I haven’t seen you produce paintings this fast before. What’s the secret?”
“Nothing.” Normally, he’d tell anyone who asked, but keeping Aggie’s existence to himself seemed important. He’d been painting her since the fateful day two years ago when they met, though, Patrick believed her to be a figment of his imagination. His friend always talked about her like a muse sent from above, which he’d been fine with cultivating.
Trix knew Aggie existed. Yet, he’d never shared where they met or anything. Those little pieces of information he kept close as if they were secrets too dangerous for someone else to possess.
“Don’t even lie. You’ve got something up your sleeve. Did you get laid?” Patrick asked while throwing a punch into Murphy’s arm.
“Sex is the last thing on my mind.” A fib for sure. He had an erotic dream last night about him and Aggie making out in his kitchen. They broke the coffee pot in their haste to rip each other’s clothes off, and he awoke to fucking his hand in desperation until he came. It had been pretty insane. “I’m one hundred percent focused on the art.”
Karma hated when he lied.
“Murph?” The sweet sound of Aggie’s voice mingled with the squeak of the screen door as it opened and shut, echoing through the foyer.
“In here, goddess.” Patrick parried, the man had a way with words. A true salesman and Murph hoped his talents would get the bodies to the upcoming show. Murph jogged over to the easels and laid a drop cloth over both paintings. The last thing she needed to see upon entering his apartment.
Aggie walked through the door, true to the word Patrick called her. Her hair was swept up in some half ponytail thing, and she wore a pair of yoga pants and a large, baggy T-shirt that hung off one shoulder. She’d always be a painter’s dream, everything about her. “Oh, sorry. You have a guest, and I’m early. Is that okay?”
He turned quickly, giving her a big grin to hopefully cover up the guilt eating at him for not fessing up from the get-go on the big role she played as the subject of his art. That the reason he landed the show happened because of a picture of her, wearing a work suit and looking like a warrior woman. Strong, intelligent, and so courageous as she walked through the therapy group doors. Damn. “Yes, it’s fine. Moving in early, late, doesn’t matter. The doors are open, and the place is ready.”
His friend stepped in then. “Good afternoon, I’m Patrick Vargas, owner of the Blue Gallery off Bardstown Road. My inept partner here is too dimwitted to introduce us. What’s your name and how did you get mixed up with this guy?”
Aggie shook her head and chuckled. “I’m Agatha. Friends with your inept partner and he’s helping me out by giving me an apartment to stay in for a couple months.” Then her attention switched back to Murph. “Oh, I also have the lease agreement in the car. I’ll bring it in for you to sign as soon as the guys get started.” She reached out and shook Patrick’s proffered hand, reminding Murph of their handshake-turned-hug a week prior.
The contact between him and Aggie had been shocking and evoked a huge surge of lust. He’d done his best to school his reaction and keep things platonic at the café. Did his friend feel the same strong emotions with her?
Their hands barely touched before the handshake ended, lasting no more than a second. Guess not.
Aggie smiled, reaching up to tug on her ponytail. “Nice meeting you. I’m going to get this moving party started.”
Once she’d left the room, Patrick turned on him, the look in his eyes all surprise and horror. “You never said she was real.”
“I never said otherwise.”
“Does she know?”
He turned to adjust the drop cloth and ensure it sat correctly and wouldn’t fall off from a breeze or anything. There would be time to work later. For now, he needed to start prepping two more canvases. “Huh?”
“Damn, Murph. Does she know that all your paintings feature her as the subject?”
No, she doesn’t. But he couldn’t force the words to come out of his mouth, so he shook his head instead.
“You’ve got a problem waiting to happen. She needs to sign a waiver.”
“What the hell?”
“I’m serious, man. All major artists have people sign a waiver giving them permission to use their likeness. It’d be safer.”
The idea caused his anxiety to run rampant. What if she wanted to see the paintings? What if she thought him the ultimate creep because of it? What if he confessed everything? Too many possibilities. Too many problems. “It’s going to be fine.”
“You don’t know that, and I’m not hosting a show for you so this whole endeavor can come crashing down. I plan to make money off those paintings and so should you. Making money won’t happen if the art’s subject doesn’t want the world to see the pictures.”
“It will be fine.” This time he said it more for himself; reassurance was as important as the tangible things, like his canvas. “We can cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Patrick shook his head this time. “Jesus, you like walking a tightrope. Okay, we’ll play it your way...for now.”
#
Aggie directed from the top of the stairs, the front porch, and the lawn, ensuring her furniture and boxes made it to the right rooms, placed appropriately. When she finally looked at her watch, nearly two hours had passed, and the moving guys just lifted the last box off the truck.
“Hello!” a female voice called out to her.
A glance to her left and she saw a woman with blue streaks in short pink hair jogging over to her.
“Hi,” Aggie replied as the new arrival came to a stop in front of her.
“I’m Tricia, and I take it your Murph’s new resident?” She stood with her hands on her hips and a halfhearted, close-lipped smile.
“Yes, I’m Agatha Kakos.” Years of training in polite manners made her stick her hand out for a friendly shake. Thankfully, the woman took it, but it wasn’t firm and solid. No, this woman shook like a limp fish.
“Nice to meet you. My son, Seth, is over there playing.” Tricia pointed at a little boy with black hair cut in a bowl cut, sitting on the grass with a pile of Hot Wheels cars. Every so often, two of the cars would meet by hand-driven collision and sounds of make-believe explosions would burst from Seth’s mouth.
“He looks adorable.”
This earned her another fake smile. “He sure is. Murph loves him to pieces, too. Speaking of, I’m making a huge pot of spaghetti and meatballs for all of us tonight. We’d love it if you joined us.”
Suddenly, Aggie got the sense she’d intruded on some sort of domestic situation. Murph had never mentioned his only female resident as a love interest, but she picked up on her blatant implication from the last couple of sentences. The last thing she wanted to do was get in the way or become some strange third wheel.
“Thank you for the invitation, but I’ll be busy all night unpacking. And there’s a sandwich shop a few blocks over I want to try out.” Not a lie and a way to keep things in the safe-rather-than-sorry department.
Tricia gave a genuine smile then, beaming wide. “Well, if you change your mind, pop in downstairs. I love feeding people.” She walked off then, calling out to Seth before scolding him for getting dirty and wanting him to go inside to wash up.
Her attention went back to the movers, who stood at the back of the truck tallying her final bill, and she’d need to grab her purse from upstairs. They’d just handed her the receipt when Murph’s voice reached her ears. “All done, then?”
“Yes, everything has been unloaded and now you can’t get rid of me.” She snapped her fingers. “And I forgot to bring the lease over.”
He gave her a wink. “I like how you’re much more on top of things than I am. How about you grab the papers and I’ll sign them over dinner?”
“First Tricia, and now, you. Both of you enjoy having company while you share a
meal.”
“Excuse me?” The hunched eyebrows and pursed lips gave him away more than his words.
“Spaghetti and meatballs? Tricia invited me to dinner. Said she was cooking up something delicious for the three of you.”
He nodded slowly. Silent and looking anywhere but at her, as if trying to recall the memory. She’d seen Jordan with the same expression when she confronted him about the scantily clad woman in his apartment. “She probably meant to surprise me. Something she does quite often. Her way of paying me back for helping her six years ago and for not raising the rent.”
“Really?” Why did a tone of jealousy creep into her voice? “I’m sorry. Forgive me. It’s none of my business at all, but I did tell Tricia I’m going to settle for a quiet dinner in my new place. There’s a ton to unpack, and I have to get organized before Monday.”
The haunting look in his eyes was back, reminiscent of an animal confused. “There’s nothing to forgive, but if you don’t want to spend the evening alone let me know. Being in a new place can be intimidating, I’ve heard.”
Funny how he said that as if he’d never lived anywhere else. “You’ve only heard?”
“Well.” He glanced back at the two-story building behind them. The setting sun behind them made the bricks look like they were glowing. “Yes. I was raised here, and I never moved out or went anywhere.”
She didn’t know whether she was sad to learn such a thing or more impressed by his commitment to the buildings. “Do you mind if I ask why?”
“No, it’s because here is my safe place. This is the place I feel the most comfortable, and my illness can make life difficult sometimes. Hopefully, for the next two months, this can become your safe place, too.”
She smiled at that. Again, Murph proved too kind-hearted for his own good. “Does anyone ever tell you that you have a heart of gold?”
The beaming grin she got for her statement made her heart happy. “No, you’re the first. But Grandma always appreciated my hugs.”
“I know you’re good at those, too.” No reply was given, and for a moment, the air between them charged with a load of unspoken things. His eyes were hooded and she detected attraction, a blush stealing over her own cheeks at the naughty image in her mind. An image of a hug turning into something much more heated.
“Do you want one?”
Chapter Six
It had been almost a week since Murph had offered up a hug. Stupidly offered a hug. She’d turned him down, of course, running straight for her apartment and sealing herself inside. He’d been too distracted by Trix’s visit and dinner to bother apologizing. Add to it, Trix gave him a hefty dose of guilt since she told him they’d made plans for dinner a week prior.
His fucking illness kept doing this to him, but the alternative...the medication made things worse. When he took the pills, they killed his creativity. No thoughts of painting, no thoughts of anything. His doctor said he always gave up too soon, but with the show coming up, the last eight months without the pills seemed to be doing him more favors.
And even with Aggie being out of sight, she never strayed far from his mind. He imagined her as the squeak of the floorboards sounded whenever she moved around. These thoughts fueled him into a third painting. This one of her moving in, the courage in her face as she unloaded her belongings in a strange place. The effort took balls, most definitely. He painted her like a conqueror, stepping into the unknown without fear.
He kept hoping to run into her, a brief encounter on the stairs, or at least, a reason to knock on her door, but no luck.
So, he’d resorted to cooking. Something he rarely did. The casserole was almost done, and Aggie would get home anytime. Hard to live below someone, even for a week, and not become accustomed to their daily schedule. He’d covered the paintings, cleaned up his kitchen and living room, and left the front door open, so the smell of ham and potato casserole wafted through the air. The screen door creaked, and he tossed the clean T-shirt back into the basket of laundry he’d started folding.
The security system beeped as she opened the front door and he watched her latch the bolt and press in the key code. Responsible, a word he had started to familiarize with Aggie. She stayed focused on things, distractions minimal in her world, so unlike his own.
She was punctual and methodical, keeping to a routine without breaking it, which was how he predicted her walk through the door at six at night versus seven or five. He bet she drove the same way home and scheduled in time to get gas or go to the store, as natural as a normal person.
“Welcome back.”
Aggie let out a yelp, jumped while turning, and put a hand to her heart, keys jingling. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“A girl needs a good jolt to her system every once in a while.” Her words were supposed to lessen the guilt, but the jumpy tone kept it firmly in his gut.
He summoned up his courage to ask the next question. “Can I pay you back with dinner?”
“I don’t want to put you through the trouble.” Aggie tucked her keys into her purse and started moving toward the stairs.
“It’d be no trouble. Dinner is already in the oven, and I made more than enough for two. I owe you a copy of the signed lease agreement, as well.”
She’d taped it to his door on Monday morning before she left for work. Another sign he’d somehow upset her. So, he’d made sure to get it signed, copies made, and even placed her copy in an envelope, neatly folded like the FedEx Kinko’s service clerk suggested.
“You made a copy.”
“I did.” He grinned at how he’d impressed her. The little things, his grandmother always believed, were the way to a woman’s heart. “We also need to discuss when you’re going to do the sittings.”
“Sittings?”
“The modeling for my paintings. It’s called a sitting versus modeling because typically the subjects sit for a few hours at a time.”
She looked away from him, glancing up the stairs at her door. Then a quick sigh before she said, “Give me ten minutes to change and I’ll be down. No promises on staying very long, though. I’ve got a couple of client files to review this evening for early morning appointments.”
He gripped the staircase railing, trying to hold in his excitement. The urge to jump, hoot, and fist pump the air was close to overwhelming him. “I understand, and I won’t force you to keep company with me longer than necessary.”
Why did he sound so dejected? The curse of being him.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Murph.”
“I know, and what I said came out a bit more angst-y than I intended. You’ve got clients who need you. The bipolar brain strikes again. Maybe I am a masochist after all.”
She reached out and touched his hand. The momentary contact nearly short-circuited his thought process, and he wondered if it’d be like this every time they experienced physical contact. “You’re a sweetheart, and you’re not punishing yourself, unless you count the long hours you keep painting. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
The timer on the oven beeped, and he darted back into his apartment and to the stove. The only problem was the dinner had bubbled over. A complete mess littered the bottom of his stove and checking the temperature, the stove was set at four hundred and fifty degrees, instead of the normal three hundred and seventy-five.
He remembered putting it on the right temperature and everything. Now the dinner, his grandmother’s famous recipe, sat ruined—completely, utterly, burnt to a crisp.
Embarrassment racked his frame and he slumped in front of the oven, not even bothering to turn it off. In ten minutes, Aggie would, once again, be treated to his capacity for creating a disaster.
#
The doorbell rang as Aggie made her way downstairs. She keyed in the code to unlock the security system on the door and when she pulled back the heavy wood, Tricia stood on the stoop holding a pizza box.
“Oh, hi, Agatha.” She paused, leaning to the side as if looking for someone, which
caused Aggie to look, too. No landlord and Tricia’s smile turned into a frown. “Seth and I got an extra pizza from the delivery service, eyes-bigger-than-our-stomachs type of thing. I figured you and Murph could enjoy it.”
“That’s super sweet of you.” And awfully suspicious since Murph made dinner already. It was in the oven and almost ready. “I’ll take it to him.”
“Appreciate that. I have to run back over and monitor the munchkin. He can get into stuff pretty quickly.” She pulled open the screen door and all but shoved the box of pizza into Aggie’s arms. “Have a good night.”
With those words, away she went, running back to her building. So, Aggie locked up again and headed toward Murph’s apartment. His door stood cracked open, and she heard a banging in the kitchen. The air hung heavy with the smell of burnt food, and the thought sent her dashing in without knocking.
Murphy banged his head, once, twice, and then a third time against a side cabinet. He sat slumped on the floor next to the stove. The burning smell was coming from the oven. She immediately slid the pizza onto the kitchen table and moved to turn the oven off.
“Where are your potholders?”
No answer, and a glance showed him completely side-tracked. He stared into space.
“Murphy!”
He blinked twice and then looked at her. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Potholders. Where are they?”
“Drawer next to the stove.” He pointed to her left.
She opened the suggested location and hoisted a pair of crocheted potholders, opened the oven door, and pulled out the burnt-topped casserole. A dinner, extra crispy. “Can you grab the door?”
Murph snapped to then, pushing himself to his feet and closing the oven door so she could step forward and set the pan on the stove top. “Is your dinner supposed to look like this?”
“No.” He sounded so forlorn and lost. “I ruined it by setting the oven temperature wrong.”