6. Kaycia
Chapter 6
Kaycia
“H oly shit! What the fuck?” I exclaim, jumping up as a freaking falcon lands on the balcony rail. The movement is so sudden that I slosh wine, sending the pale liquid all over my lap and the cushion beneath me.
“Shoo! Go away!” Jamila waves her hands at the bird, which cocks its head and stares at her for a moment before it looks at each of us seated on the balcony, then takes to the air with another shrill cry.
What a wild afternoon already: I’ve seen my hot neighbor in a towel, randomly gifted him a plant like a weirdo, met his two friends—who happen to be beautiful women—and now a bird of prey has landed on the balcony and screamed at us.
Raquel muffles a laugh, transforming it into more of a cough when Jamila gives her a pointed look. Raquel dips her chin and her glossy dark hair drops over her forehead to hide whatever gleeful expression shines in her brown eyes while Jamila hands me a napkin to blot at the wine on my chair.
“What the hell was that? I’ve heard of falcons nesting on buildings in cities before, but never seen one so close! Does it live here?” I ask, looking curiously between Raquel and Shane, who has hopped to his feet and moved toward the door. I quickly add, “I’m sorry about the spill.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He holds his phone in one hand as though he received a text. “Max is almost here. Be back in a few,” he mutters, avoiding my question and closing the sliding door behind him. I can’t help but track his movements through the tinted glass now that I know exactly what’s under his plain black tee and jeans.
“So, Kaycia, tell me about yourself,” Jamila says, pulling my attention from my lustful musings just as Shane grabs a backpack and heads toward the front door. I puff out a little breath and refocus, feeling silly at the heat in my cheeks, and other places, from watching Shane.
“Let’s see…” I take a deep drink of my remaining wine, ignoring the pit in my stomach leftover from my mom’s call. “I’m from just outside Summerville. I grew up there and went to school there and finally escaped by moving here.” I’m trying to decant my entire life story for them, serving the innocuous details while leaving the more personal aspects of myself behind, but I find there isn’t a lot to tell. “I studied art in college. But I ended up working in a miserable financial firm as an assistant from the time I graduated until late last year. Then I decided to finally say ‘fuck it’. I sold almost everything and moved here to focus on my art.”
Good Kaycia. Simple and to the point without oversharing . I take another small sip of my wine. There’s not much left now between my clumsiness and need for fortification.
“Well, as a native to the city, welcome! That’s amazing that you have work displayed at Red Lark. I love when I get to bartend for their events. What kinds of things do you create?” Jamila asks, probing for more details. Her deep brown skin creases at the corners of her eyes when she gives a genuine smile and encourages me to continue to speak.
“I paint. Mostly oils, sometimes acrylic. I do both figures and landscapes, but I love to combine the two. We’re nature, too, after all.” I feel comforted by Jamila and continue, “I’ve been working on a collection since I moved here to prep for an exhibition. I need to finish the last few and it will be ready to go. My inspiration has been a little lacking lately, so some have been sitting longer than I expected.”
“Don’t let her be modest. Her work is beautiful.” Shane’s voice surprises me at my back. He’s leaning against the frame of the slider, still holding his half-empty beer and smiling at me. “I got to see some of it earlier.”
I swallow my grin and finish the last of my glass, but my cheeks heat at the praise and I know it’s not from the alcohol or the low-hanging sun. “Thank you.”
“Who is this ?” Another male voice carries from the kitchen before the man I assume is Max walks out the door with a beer in his hand. He’s shorter than Shane, a bit broader and more muscular, wearing a tight-fitting band tee, faded jeans, and a pair of worn sneakers. His shoulder-length, light-brown waves paired with manicured facial hair exude effortless cool. I picture him in front of a camera with a model draped on his arm, or on stage strumming a guitar with groupies vying for his attention. His smile is as bright and welcoming as Jamila’s and he snags a chair to sit on her other side while raising his brows in question at me.
“This is Kaycia. My neighbor,” Shane answers, stepping back onto the balcony to sit in his corner spot, watching over the group with his sharp gaze.
“Where have you been hiding, lovely?” Max’s grey-green eyes glitter with amusement as his slow drawl caresses each word. “Shane, why haven’t you brought her around more often?”
“Because I knew you’d say shit like that, Max,” Shane grinds through his teeth, surprising me at how not friendly he sounds. I cock my head to the side as I watch him take a deep breath and finish the rest of his beer. He scans all of us, then retreats to the kitchen for another. It’s as if he can’t sit still like he’s nervous or anxious or… something .
“So, now that I’ve talked incessantly about myself,” I say with a small laugh, hoping to lighten the mood, “tell me about yourselves.”
As I finish my question, Shane reappears on the patio with a new beer for himself, as well as fresh ones for Raquel and Jamila balanced in one palm, and my bottle of wine in the other. He tops off my glass with a sideways smile and places the almost drained bottle on the low table in front of us.
“Me first!” Raquel grins, taking a deep swig of her beer. “I moved here when I was sixteen after I was emancipated from my asshole parents. I waited tables, did odd jobs, and lived wherever I could until I could afford to go to trade school. Now I work on bikes at Shane’s shop and live with this babe.” She leans over and places a light kiss behind Jamila’s ear, both their smiles softening when they look at one another.
“And, like I said, I’m a local,” Jamila adds. “I’m a part-time catering assistant, part-time bartender, and all-the-time writer of poetry, short stories, songs, what have you. And yes, I can’t seem to get Quel to leave so I’m stuck with her.”
She wrinkles her nose in mock disgust, and sticks her tongue out at Raquel, who returns the look and answers, “You love me and would miss me so much if I ever left.”
“You two make me sick with your happiness,” Max teases with a laugh. “Max Acheson. I do freelance design and sing in a band.” I knew it! He holds his beer aloft as if he’s toasting me from across the balcony. “You’ll have to come see me play sometime. Force Shane to leave his den and have a good time.”
Shane’s jaw flutters. I wonder if he’s always this prickly around Max, or if it’s just the idea of taking me out that makes him annoyed. Shane’s been polite, but I realize I barely know him. I start to worry again that he’s only invited me over as a charity case, the idea beginning to erode my confidence.
“And you?” I push Shane to answer, trying to ignore my self-doubt.
“Well, you already know my name and that I own a bike shop. I’m from Woodbine Hollow, it’s a small town in the mountains a few days drive west of here. But I’ve lived in Argent for the past five years. There’s not much more to know.”
When he says his last sentence tension suddenly seems to hum between his friends, as if a thread connecting them has been tightened. But they each mask the unease, settling quickly and making me wonder if I need to slow down on the wine. My senses seem to be going haywire tonight.
“Let’s order dinner,” Shane changes the subject abruptly.
The takeout from the deli down the block arrives within thirty minutes, and it doesn’t take long before we are all gathered around the island in the kitchen to eat, perched on stools or sitting on the granite countertops themselves.
“What kind of music do you play, Max? Do you and Jamila ever write songs together?” I ask between bites of the overstuffed sandwich I now regret ordering. There is absolutely no way to look attractive when you have sandwich fixings dripping down your chin and escaping onto your lap every few minutes.
“Ha! As if he’d be so lucky!” Raquel jabs, receiving a chip tossed in her direction from Max. She snags it midair and pops it in her mouth with an impertinent smile.
“Different styles for sure, but we sometimes bounce ideas off each other,” Jamila adds. “Max’s band plays at the bar I work at pretty regularly, though. They’ve got a more folk rock/indie country vibe than I usually write.”
“I could never do her poetry justice,” Max admits. “She’s extremely talented.”
“The man does have some sense after all,” Raquel murmurs in mock surprise.
Jamila smiles in thanks at his compliment and inclines her head. “Maybe one day we’ll write a hit song together.”
“How is it that you’ve attracted a whole host of artists as friends? Are you hiding secret notebooks of poems or watercolors somewhere?” I ask, looking toward Shane before pointedly sweeping my gaze around his masculine loft. It’s meticulously clean, which I find charming for a bachelor. He does have a shelf of books, a few pieces of art on the walls, and a couple of coffee table books laid on the table in front of his leather sofa with photos of motorcycles and nature on their covers, offering a glimpse of his interests.
“I can’t seem to shed these misfits, but I’m not an artist myself,” he answers, his lips lifting into a sideways smirk as his eyes travel over his friends. “I just get to reap the benefits of their creativity.”
“Ha! What benefits? You never come out with us!” Raquel challenges.
“That’s not true.”
“It’s a little true,” Max adds.
“Max—” Shane warns.
“Prove it then,” Raquel interrupts. “Come to Max’s show at Lucy’s next weekend. Bring Kaycia. Jamila’s working so we’ll all be there. I don’t want to stand around alone.”
The tension between the trio seems to build while Jamila looks between everyone, then catches my eye and offers a wink.