by Layla Hagen
The bar is already buzzing with customers, despite it not even being five o’clock. Then again, most tourist guidebooks or websites list it as a recommendation, so chances are many of the customers are tourists who aren’t bound to their work schedule. Two bartenders are behind the counter, but Blake sits at one of the high, round tables right next to the bar. He’s with two other men and a woman who are wearing suits, and from what I can see, they are pointing to some papers on the table. He’s in serious business mode, and it’s a damn good look on him. Even though he’s talking to a group, he dominates the space and, as far as I can tell, the conversation.
I wave discreetly at Blake, then hop on one of the stools in front of the bar in a move I hope conveys that I’ll wait for him to finish the conversation. But Blake nods at the three strangers and heads toward me. The crowd parts for him as he stalks through the room. Blake emanates power and confidence in a subtle way. Everything about him makes you stand taller and pay attention.
“Hello, future neighbor. I’m wrapping up things with the group there, and we’ll go up in a few minutes, okay?”
“Sure, take your time. I’ll wait and have a glass of whatever in the meantime.”
“Great.” Blake motions to the closest bartender. “Whatever the lady here drinks is on the house.”
“Blake,” I admonish. “No way—”
“When you drink in my bar, you don’t pay.”
He smiles, but his tone leaves no room for argument.
Before I even have time to open my mouth and argue, Blake leaves, returning to his group. I order a glass of ginger lemonade and, while sipping from it, inspect the bar closer.
Before I know it, Blake is ushering his conversation partners toward the entrance. Quickly, I try to pay for my drink, and I’m smart about it, approaching the bartender Blake hasn’t instructed to provide me with free drinks. I almost manage to hand him ten dollars when Blake catches my forearm midair.
“No,” he says simply. The bartender’s eyebrows climb into his hairline but he steps away, finishing the cocktails he was mixing when I approached him.
“I want to pay for my drink,” I insist.
“Family and friends don’t pay in my bar.”
His voice holds equal parts domination and determination, and it sends my pulse into overdrive. He holds my gaze captive, and my forearm, his fingers applying a gentle pressure on my skin. The contact sends waves of heat through me. Oh crap. Any day now, I will grow immune to his charm. Any day now. But today is not the day. At least the attraction is one-sided, thank goodness.
Licking my lips, I pull back my arm, placing the ten-dollar bill back in my bag. “Okay. Thank you.” I down the last few gulps of lemonade.
“Let’s go upstairs. Unless you want another drink?”
“No, I’m good. Let’s go.”
“Follow me. There’s a separate entry though the back, so you wouldn’t have to walk through the bar every time. I’ll show you.”
Blake leads the way, opening doors for me and tucking me into his side as we step outside on the street and round the corner. His protective streak is most endearing. When Blake pushes the door to the apartment open after we climb two flights of stairs, I smile. It’s love at first sight. The place, at least what I can see of it, is even better than I imagined, even though a blanket of dust covers it.
“I’ve done improvements,” Blake explains as we step inside. “But the building has an old infrastructure.”
“I like old things. They have a soul, a history.”
“True.”
The apartment is a lovely blend of old and new. Blake gives me a quick tour. The living room is spacious and the bedroom a little on the small side, but I love it. It’s quaint.
“My bedroom is on the other side.” Blake points to the wall. “The two apartments used to be one single unit, but the owner before me divided them by a wall and made a separate entrance.”
Briefly I wonder how thick the wall is and barely manage to keep myself from asking out loud. That’s a rabbit hole if there ever was one. I suppose I’ll find out as soon as Blake has a lady friend over. My stomach churns unpleasantly at the thought, which is ridiculous. I have no business being jealous. No business at all.
“It‘s dusty, but I’ll call a cleaning company before you move in,” he says as we return to the living room.
“No need. I’ll do it myself.”
“I’ll bring in a cleaning company.”
“Is there any point in contradicting you? You’re extra bossy today.”
A grin lights up his face. “You can always try. It’s good for me to be challenged now and again. Keeps me grounded. Otherwise I’d buy my own hype.”
“You’re one of a kind, Blake.”
“Are you trying to kill me with kindness?”
“Is it working?”
“No. Just so we’re clear, I’m still bringing in a cleaning company. Feel free to give me a hard time for it.”
“Nah, I’m saving up the hard time for another occasion. Choosing my battles and all that.”
“Smart. Any changes you want to make?”
“What am I allowed to change?”
“Anything except tearing down walls.”
“I’ll buy a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf for the southern wall. I already know which one it’ll be.”
Excitement coursing through me, I take my phone out of my bag. I’ve bookmarked the page with my dream bookshelf, but have yet to be able to buy it because it’s huge, and it couldn’t have possibly fit in my old apartment. I turn the phone, showing it to Blake, who seems a bit taken aback by my enthusiasm. I make a mental note to dial it down a notch or two. I know I can come across a bit manic when I’m excited about something.
Blake zooms in on the size of the bookcase. “That will fit right in.”
“Exactly.”
I do a full turn and see dust motes playing into the light streaming in through the windows. The window is immense with French doors that open onto a balcony. The place will be bathed in sunlight on clear days.
“If you don’t mind, I’d also paint the southern wall.”
“Sure, what color?”
“The one you have in your bar. You’re going to have to tell me the exact color code because I love it.” It’s somewhere between champagne and peach. “I know I’ll only be here for a little while, but I like... personalizing my spaces.”
Blake nods. “Want to see the balcony? It’s the only downside.”
Before I have time to ask how on earth a balcony can be a downside, Blake opens the French doors and we both step outside.
“We’d have to share it.”
“Ah, so this is why you don’t want to rent out this place.”
“Yeah. I could have it remodeled and split it in two. It would take a shitload of permits, but it could be done.”
“It’d be such a shame, though. Besides, maybe one day you’ll want to tear down that pesky wall between the bedrooms, and then you’d have a split balcony.”
“My thoughts exactly. I was thinking of doing something with the balcony, get rid of the beanbags.” He points with his thumb behind him to the two bright green beanbags stacked in a corner. They look comfy, but this balcony deserves more love and attention.
“Hmm, some nice lounge chairs. Oh, and a swing would be nice.” I animate at the thought, bouncing back and forth on my toes. “Just imagine sitting out here and watching the sunset, drinking a glass of wine. I bet it’s beautiful.”
I could also see myself sitting out here and sketching illustrations, which is hands down the best hobby in the world. Keeps me afloat when things get too cray-cray at the studio.
“Lounge chairs and a swing,” Blake declares.
“You don’t have to buy them just because I want them,” I say reasonably, even though the thought of a swing makes me bounce back and forth from my heels to my tiptoes again.
“I asked for help, you shared your ideas. I like them.”
“Okay.” I’m trying to rein in my excitement, I really am, but I can’t help grinning widely at the thought of lounging on chairs on sunny days and curling up in the swing with a book, looking up over the roofs when I need to rest my eyes.
I move over to the edge of the balcony. The railing is sturdy black metal curled in intricate patterns. A little low, but the pattern is thick enough that no one can see on the balcony from the street. It offers privacy while not obstructing the view. I love it. At least I do until I accidentally catch my skirt in said railing. In my efforts to free myself, I lose my balance. My stomach churns horribly as my upper body lunges over the railing. For a split second, I’m convinced I’m about to hurtle two stories to the ground, before two strong and sturdy arms pull me back to my feet. I don’t protest when Blake pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me. I just inhale his manly scent, losing myself in the safety of his strong and muscular frame, my eyes firmly closed.
“Shit!” I mutter into his chest. To my horror, I realize I’m trembling.
“I’ve got you.” Blake’s voice is soothing but tinged with unease, and I discover I’m not the only one trembling. I scared the living daylights out of us both. “I’ve got you, Clara. You’re safe.” I remain in his arms until the last of the tremors subside and my heart is in the right place again, no longer in my throat.
“I’m okay,” I whisper. “You can let me go.”
“As soon as you stop tugging at my shirt.”
I blink open one eye and then the other. Sure enough, I’m fisting his black polo shirt like I’m planning to sink my claws into his chest. I unclench my fingers right away, my hands hovering awkwardly just above his pecs. I can’t exactly lower my arms because Blake hasn’t let go of me. I’m still pressed against him, my breasts squished against his granite chest. Our bodies are aligned, touching in more points than I want to think about. Blake is looking down at me, his pupils a tad more dilated than before as they search my face, resting on my lips. I lick them, almost unconsciously, and he exhales sharply, his hot breath landing on my mouth. Sweet baby Jesus. What’s happening here? Am I imagining things? Have I misread Blake and my attraction isn’t quite as one-sided? That’s a dangerous thought if I ever had one. I must have imagined it. Wouldn’t be the first time I mistake people’s attention for affection.
One of the group home supervisors once explained that orphans sometimes grow into adults with attachment issues because the lack of parental love in the formative years leaves a huge hole. I certainly fit that pattern. As a rule, I’m careful with the people I let in, but those I do let in? Oh boy, they’d better brace themselves for excessive displays of affection. There might be a lot of pampering involved, even surprise cuddling sessions if I decide to go crazy, which I often do. Some aren’t that keen on being showered with affection. Past boyfriends, in particular, haven’t been. The words “clingy” and “suffocating” popped up during a break-up fight or five, which make my hope of a husband and kids as likely to happen as world peace, but that’s an issue for another time.
Back to my current issue. I’m still wrapped in Blake’s arms, and his gaze is still zeroed in on my lips. Right... time to face the music and either confirm or eliminate my suspicion. Slowly and deliberately, I lick my lower lip again. Blake’s reaction is almost primal. Another sharp and hot exhale lands on my mouth while his fingertips press into my skin. Sweet baby Jesus on a unicorn. What am I supposed to do with this? As I extract myself from his arms, I can barely wrap my mind around this shift between us. I knew from the start that moving next to Blake is a risky business. Even when I thought the attraction was one-sided, I was dabbling in dangerous territory.
But if it’s not one-sided? This just turned into a minefield.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks as I step back.
“Yeah, it was just a scare. Won’t go close to that railing again anytime soon.” I back away from it, heading back inside, with Blake hot on my heels. “Let’s talk rent. Where I live now I pay—”
“You’re not going to pay anything here.”
I cross my arms over my chest, turning to face him. “Yes, I am.”
“This place is empty, and if you don’t move in, it’ll continue to be empty.”
“We already talked about this at the wedding.”
“About that... I was just shutting you down, telling you what you wanted to hear so you could relax and enjoy.”
I open my mouth, then close it, unsure what to say. “I feel like I should be mad at you for being sneaky.”
“Feel free to be mad.”
“I can’t,” I admit. “I happen to abide by the rule that sneakiness is allowed for a good cause.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Look, I know you don’t need the money.”
“I really don’t, and I’m not saying it to be a prick.”
Right, how do you negotiate with someone who doesn’t need anything? Blake doesn’t just own this bar but also co-owns three restaurants with Alice. I saw the profit they make about two years ago. Nate helped them get featured on the Delicious Dining show, and I worked on the pitch for the network with him. They make a truckload of money and then some. The entire family is well-off. More than half the siblings work at Bennett Enterprises, one of the most successful players in the high-end jewelry market.
“Doesn’t mean I get to stay here free. It’s not right.”
“It is if I say so, and I’m saying so.”
He steps closer, towering over me like he’s determined to dominate the conversation. Dominate me. He should really stop because everything about this pose is alluring.
“Stop being so stubborn.”
His face breaks into a Cheshire cat grin. “Why, am I wearing you down?”
“No.” I pull myself up straighter. Unfortunately, this doesn’t do much, seeing how Blake is more than a head taller than I am, even if I’m wearing heels. “But I’m running out of good arguments. Just so you know, I will circle back to this topic again.”
“Excellent. Warning you though, I can hold my stubborn.”
“So can I.”
“So, what do you say? Willing to take this very bad deal?”
“Oh stop, Blake. You know you’re doing me a huge favor. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible. I promise I won’t impose while I’m here.”
“You won’t impose, Clara.”
“Wait until you have a lady overnight and she realizes you’re almost house-sharing with a woman. That won’t go over too well.”
He jerks his head back, clearly not having considered this. “Don’t worry about that. You’re a friend. Practically family. Anyone who has a problem with that isn’t welcome in my home.”
His words touch me deeply, make me feel important. I’m unbelievably lucky to have him and his family in my life. I try not to think too closely about his future overnight guests. He’s not dating anyone, which is why he went alone to the wedding, but during our numerous girls-only outings, Pippa and Summer let slip that Blake enjoys... variety. As he should, considering he’s twenty-nine and sinfully attractive.
“What about you?” he asks. “Do you date much?”
“I try, but I keep meeting men who want different things than I do. They’re looking for fun or just hanging out in a friends-with-benefits sort of way.”
“What are you looking for?”
“I want a family, so someone nice and dependable. Someone safe and not argumentative. Trustworthy. I know some people think safe is boring, but I don’t think that at all. I think it’s just…safe.”
“Clara, relax. You don’t have to defend your choices.” His eyes search me for a brief moment before he adds, “I mean, starting a family right now is the last thing I’d want, but...I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone speak so openly and honestly about what they want.”
I’ve never voiced these thoughts, and now that I have, I suddenly feel very vulnerable, which I hope to mask with a joke.
“Well, I am
one-and-a-half-years older than you. Wait until you hit the thirty mark—hormones go haywire, though it might have something to do with being a woman. Biological clock and all that. Anyway, don’t worry about any sexy nocturnal activities on my side of the wall. I don’t plan for any until I’m with someone who at least seems to want the same things. Speaking of...nocturnal activities, can you give me heads-up when you plan to bring someone home? Not to pry, but I have to know if I should have ear plugs on hand... that’s a fake wall between our bedrooms and bathrooms. Can’t be too soundproof.”
Shit! If I were any more transparent in my prying efforts, you could see right through me. Placing the glass on the counter, he leans into me slightly. Not in an intrusive manner, but close enough to make me wish simultaneously that he’d step back and lean in closer. I’m officially losing my mind.
“We’ll figure this out as we go. We’ll improvise.”
He steps away from me. Thank heavens for small mercies. I nod wordlessly. What is there to say? The man is right, and I’m great at improvising. Seeing how most of my life has been a big improv all in itself, I’m a pro at it. I don’t know why I’m getting all up in arms about this.
“Okay. Just...as I said, I don’t want to impose.”
“That’s a terrible word. I don’t want to hear it again.”
“I’ll make a mental note. Anyway, no need to worry. I won’t walk in on you romancing anyone on the balcony. I know how to be invisible when the situation requires it.”
***
Blake
She almost shrinks into herself, and I instantly see red at the thought that others made her feel small or wish she’d be invisible. My first instinct is to ask who made her feel that way and make them pay, but I don’t see how that would make this any better. So, I follow my second instinct—reassuring her that I won’t ever make her feel small.
I close the distance to her, placing my hands on her shoulders, pressing one thumb at the base of her neck. Her pulse is erratic.
“I want you here, Clara. I wouldn’t have offered this place otherwise.”