18. Kaycia
Chapter 18
Kaycia
“S o, are you going to ride on his bike or just him?” Meg teases me over the phone. The sound of cartoons blares in the background, but I’m so happy to be chatting with my best friend that I don’t even care that she can only half listen to me talk about my weekend.
“Stop!” I laugh, pretending to be shocked. “And I already did the latter, soooo…”
“ What ? And you didn’t start with that part? You slept with the hot neighbor on a first date?” she squeals. “I’m scandalized. Tell me everything!”
So, I do. I tell her about hanging with his friends, our date, the bar, the night we spent together, and the next morning, leaving out the part where he tore my panties off and his cryptic confession about his past. I don’t want to ruin the illusion of a perfect date just yet, and, fine, I don’t want to think about the sadness and tension that conversation brought out in Shane. Furthermore, what did happen to my panties?
“Kaycia? Are you there?” Meg asks as I get lost in my own thoughts.
“Yeah! Sorry, what?” I answer, feeling the heat in my cheeks at the memory of Shane’s hands on me. It’s Monday morning and I’ve been lounging in my pajamas with my coffee, daydreaming about how to finish the piece on the easel, and about my whirlwind weekend.
“Are you seeing him again?”
“I mean, he’s my neighbor. I’ll probably see him all the time,” I answer with a grin.
“Smart ass. You know what I mean. Are you going out again? Or was it just kind of a one-time fling situation?” The baby starts crying in the background and I know I only have a short time left on this call before she has to get back to mom life.
“Yeah, we’re set to go out again Wednesday and then he’s going to help me out at the gallery to get my stuff taken over.”
“That’s great! I hope it works out. I’m so happy for you, friend. It’s like everything is falling into place. I’m so proud of you. You’re doing the damn thing, Kaycia! Just like I knew you would. I wish I could fly out for the show, but you know how it is,” Meg says wistfully. “Money and childcare and life are just not working out this time.”
“I know. Thank you. You’re the only one from home who’s proud, I think. And don’t worry about it, I wish you could come, but I get it. I miss you, though. You’ll have to plan a visit soon.”
“I miss you, too,” she replies before her toddler’s voice screeches over the television, “I gotta go. Text me later, okay? Keep me posted on how this week goes.”
“Will do! Talk soon!”
“Bye!”
And then I’m alone with my thoughts again in my empty apartment. But this time, instead of feeling a twinge of homesickness at the loss of Meg’s comforting voice, I feel excited to get to work, to keep building whatever I’ve started here. It finally feels like I’m figuring everything out.
By the end of the afternoon, I have all the finished paintings that are ready for the gallery wrapped carefully for transport. A few that I’m on the fence about, or that need final adjustments remain propped against the walls. It will be so much easier to move them all at once in a truck rather than try to carry them one at a time, and hopefully, the show will result in sales so they don’t have to be trucked back.
When I checked my bank account this morning it became painfully obvious I need to make a few sales soon, or else I’ll be on a job hunt within the next month or two. The savings I cashed out from my retirement has most of my rent covered for a year, but my other bills and necessities are taxing my remaining savings. The reality of living in the city is starting to set in, even if I’ve convinced my parents and everyone else otherwise.
The rumble of a motorcycle outside has my heart speeding in my chest, happily distracting me from my financial straits, but I resist the urge to run out onto the balcony to watch Shane slipping his helmet off. I manage to stay inside and not look like a desperate teenager scoping out her crush when I hear his steps on the stairs. A part of me wishes he’d knock on my door, but I know that’s silly. We’ve barely started dating, even if we did end up in bed together, and we already have plans Wednesday. He wouldn’t immediately stop by—he already has a life outside of me.
Just because my personal life is woefully lacking doesn’t mean his is, too.
Shane’s door closes and I can hear the low hum of his television a few minutes later over the quiet beat of my music. I pick up my brush to start working on the half-finished painting on my easel, but I can’t focus, resigning myself to the mundane task of making a grocery list instead.
As I’m adding to my list my phone buzzes, the text interrupting my entry and making me grin like an idiot.
Shane
How was your day, beautiful?
Productive. Yours?
Shane
Distracted. :) What are you up to?
I snap a picture of my open fridge and send it with the message:
Making a grocery list. Very exciting.
Shane
Wanna go to the store on the corner? I’ll walk you?
I immediately want to say yes, but can’t decide if I should be playing harder to get. Then again, we’ve already slept together. Twice. I don’t think I did a good job playing that game in the first place.
Sure. Come over in ten?
Shane
Done.
When I open the door, Shane’s leaning against the railing of the landing. His hair is damp from a shower and his tee clings to his long lines making me want to rake my fingers over the lean muscles beneath. Instead of his usual boots and jeans, he’s wearing cuffed, cotton pants and sneakers, more casual than rugged, but something about him still gives off the don’t-fuck-with-me vibe he sported at the bar this weekend—until he flashes a grin.
“Hey,” he says, pushing off the railing and pulling me into a quick embrace.
“Hey, yourself,” I answer returning the hug and pulling my door closed. “Nice shoes.” Looking down, Shane laughs at the fact we wear the same style of sneakers.
“You have good taste,” he quips.
“Yeah, I do.” With a laugh I grab his hand, our fingers naturally folding together as we head down the stairs and to the corner store.
The store at the end of the block is well stocked with basics, so I fill my hand basket quickly, allowing Shane to take it for me as it gets heavier. He’s quiet this evening, his eyes searching the store when we walked in, traveling over the other shoppers with a stern expression. I catch the muscle of his jaw fluttering a few times, but when he sees me staring, he softens and smiles.
“Everything okay?” I whisper, finally unable to ignore his restlessness.
“Yeah, still just a little tense after this weekend.”
“How could you be tense after…” I tease, winking at him before adding a carton of coffee creamer to the basket. But Shane doesn’t laugh. “Oh. The stranger,” I mutter.
Shane doesn’t seem to be listening, though. His grip on the handle of the basket turns white and he hands it off to me quickly.
“Kaycia, take this. I’ll be right back,” he whispers.
Without further explanation, his long strides eat up the small aisle of the shop as a broad-shouldered, bald man enters the front door. I peek over the top of the shelf, watching as Shane seems to transform into a more frightening version of the man I know. As though he’s eager to accept the challenge, the stranger’s eyes glitter, and an ugly smile cuts across his weathered face.
“Well, well…” the man begins, but Shane blows past him, bumping his shoulder roughly as he pushes through the door. The man looks around, his eyes lingering briefly on me before he turns and stands on the sidewalk with Shane. The hair on the back of my neck lifts in response to the scrutiny, making me want to cower in the back of the store.
Instead, I sneak around to the next aisle for a better view out front. What the fuck is going on? I wonder, my hands trembling as I watch the two men speak through the window. I act casual, browsing the pasta and sauces, even if my eyes are focused outside, observing Shane’s expression harden and wishing I could hear what they’re saying.