Chapter 02 KAIDEN
“This is a complete disaster. Oh, he’s so nice, you know? Maybe a bit hesitant at first, but I could just see the curiosity. I really hate to disappoint him.”
I’ve been listening to Sadie rant for the past five minutes. First to her fiancée, who she immediately called after her client hung up, then to me and the other assistant on this set. Apparently, the other participant for this Stranger Session just canceled since he didn’t have a way to get here with all the snow.
“Don’t you have, like, a backup list or something?“
I ask. I don’t even know what the fuck I’m talking about. I’m just a temp assistant she hired through the HandlR app to haul equipment and shit. It’s a business-to-business thing—companies can order all kinds of last-minute help when they need it.
Like me.
Even though I’m technically part-owner of the company—the founder being a buddy from college and all—I enjoy being hands on and occasionally pick up a pending request myself, especially when it fits my schedule or when I know I can actually get there.
Just like today. Not a lot of our Handlers have the means to reach the job site on time and I just happen to have brand-new cold-weather tires on my Yamaha R1.
Is it smart to ride in the snow, regardless? No. Not at all. But most of the ride was through the tunnel beneath the IJ anyway, and there wasn’t much of a layer yet. Not like there is now.
And maybe I had an ulterior motive as well. When I recognized the requester of this HandlR gig, I immediately snagged it.
The other assistant—hers, I assume—finally speaks up. “I already tried calling one other person who signed up, but no luck. Sadie pairs them beforehand, so it’s not really a good idea to swap someone at the very last minute.”
Well. Thank you. I press my lips together, trying to hold back a snappy remark.
Sadie sighs as she leans against a table, arms crossed. “I guess I’m just going to tell him he can go back home. At least he lives close-by. Maybe we can try to reschedule, but I fly out in a couple of days to be home for Christmas.”
She looks genuinely disappointed, and something tugs in my gut.
“I can do it,“
I say—the words out of my mouth before they’ve even formed into a conscious thought.
“What?“
Her big brown eyes blink up at me, a small frown of confusion slowly forming.
“What, what?“
I cock my head. “I’m single, and it sounds kind of fun. I’m always up for new experiences.”
“You asked if I had time to chat a bit after the shoot…”
I grin and bite my lip, because yes. Yes, I did. I point at my open backpack on the table she’s leaning against, where my camera peeks out. “That was a professional invitation, actually. I’m kind of obsessed with your work. I didn’t know you were in town, but when your name popped up on the HandlR app, I had to butt in and snag the job for myself.”
“Uh. You shoot?“
she asks. “And—wait—you snagged the assistant job from someone else?”
“I’m a co-owner of the app.”
“Huh.”
“And yes, I shoot. Still consider myself an amateur, but I like it. A lot.“
I’m not much into portraits and shit, more of a nature guy myself, but I’ve been following her on socials for ages and just had to take the opportunity to learn a thing or two.
“Glad to hear it,“
she says. “Because I have a fiancée and I was thinking of a nice way to turn you down.”
I chuckle. “I know. You already told me about her, remember? And you seem nice enough and all, but…“
I lean closer and stage-whisper. “I like dick. A lot.”
She’s the one snickering now. “Well, I guess that settles it.“
The corner of her mouth lifts before her expression shifts into a slight frown.
“What?”
“Did you see him come in? It only works if you’re strangers, you know. It’s called a Stranger Session for a reason.”
I shrug and push my dark curls back. “Kinda. Not really. All I saw was the hood pulled over his head and the back of his leather jacket.”
And the kick-ass TXC biker boots I’ve had my eye on for a while now. But I’m not telling Sadie that. You don’t own those if you don’t ride. And the fact that he might be a rider could be the deciding factor here.
One of them, anyway.
I’m easy. Laid back. I like spontaneous shit—going on an adventure, so to speak. I’m not one to stay cooped up for long, or live a nine-to-five life with the same job every day and a couple of kids running around. That’s not me.
I like my freedom. I like riding, traveling. I like being able to say “fuck it“
in the middle of my day and join a photoshoot just because I feel like it.
And because I’m a tad curious about the guy in those boots. What kinda bike does he have?
“Good enough for me.“
She nods, gesturing at my hoodie. “But lose the sweater. Do you have anything underneath without the company logo?”
I look down at the hot-pink HandlR logo on my chest—a smaller copy of the bigger one stamped across my back—and shrug before grabbing the hem and pulling it off in one smooth motion, revealing the black henley I have on underneath.
“Oh!”
Sadie’s gasp makes me blink.
“What?”
“You two would pair up just beautifully.“
She gestures at my wrists and neck, eyes lighting up like she’s already framing the shot in her head. “Are your entire arms covered?”
The corner of my mouth pulls into a smirk as I push up my sleeves. Her grin takes over her entire face.
I love my tats. I really do. I know some people think they’re a bit much. Shit, my mom complains about them every time she sees a new one. Says I’m going to run out of skin before I’m thirty.
And then, five minutes later, she’s smothering me with croquetas and cooing that I’m her beautiful, bestest ni?o.
Shit, I miss her.
When she moved back to Spain after my father died, the apartment felt twice as big and half as warm. She said she needed sun. Needed her sisters to heal. Needed home. I told her I understood. I did. I do.
Doesn’t mean I don’t feel like I was being left behind, even though it’s my choice to stay here in Amsterdam.
I try to visit her as much as I can, it’s only a fifteen hour ride after all, but it’s mostly just video calls and her asking if I’m eating enough, if I’m sleeping, if I’m working too much…
If I’ve met someone nice.
Always that last one, slipped in so casually.
I swallow and drop my sleeves back down. “Yeah,“
I say lightly, like none of that just hit me out of nowhere. “Pretty much covered.”
She claps her hands before conjuring up a blindfold and pushing it in my hands. “Put that on! This is perfect! And we’re going outside if you’re okay with that?”
Wait. What? I take in the set I just spent the entire morning building, all the equipment I hauled from the van to this location. “Outside?”
“Yes!“
She ushers me toward the door and points up at the roof windows, frosted and heavy with snow. “It’s lighter outside. I think the worst of it is over. And there’s this beautiful mural just outside that would match your and Milos’s art perfectly.”
Milos?
Before I can ask her anything more about this Milos, we’re outside and the cold hits me like a damn wall—sharp, immediate, stealing the air straight from my lungs.
Yeah, it stopped snowing hard all right. Now it’s just flakes drifting down in an easy, lazy flutter. Almost peaceful. But holy shit, it’s not pleasant. Beautiful, sure—cinematic even—but cold enough to bite through denim and ink and straight into my fucking bones.
She veers around the front of the industrial building. An old tram-turned-bistro sits beside the wall, closed for winter, its windows dark and fogged, the tables and chairs covered under tarp. Right next to it stretches a massive mural of bold strokes in neon pink and electric blue, abstract faces layered over spray-painted typography, streaks of orange slashing through like light trails. The kind of art that looks alive against the steel-gray metal. A violent splash of color against the whitewashed world.
“Over there, okay? Right next to the wall. Yes, like that.“
She positions me with quick, decisive movements. “I’m going to fetch him. I’ll be quick, promise. Please pull up your blindfold and stay just like that so you can stand back to back.”
She hurries off, arms wrapped around herself to keep warm, boots crunching over frozen gravel.
I watch her go, a shiver running through me when a snowflake melts against the trees inked around my neck.
Right.
We’re doing this.
Doing as she told me, I pull the black cloth up over my eyes, tying it snug. The world goes dark. The cold feels sharper without sight, louder somehow. I square my shoulders and stand still, back straight, palms loose at my sides, my shoulder against the cold mural.
Waiting.
For Milos.