Chapter 16
Sophie
The thing with putting off a simple task was that the longer I went without completing it, the more it loomed, gaining power in my mind, until what was in reality a two-minute task that the average person wouldn’t even think twice about became this tangible, giant boulder that sat on my shoulders, pressing me down, making it impossible to move.
That was why I hadn’t checked back in with Pace yet. It was the boulder’s fault.
I thought about calling him so many times in the week since our nail appointment, to see if I had ruined everything.
At one point, I debated tracking him down on his morning run and pretending to bump into him.
The whole town had the firefighter’s run schedule memorized.
It was all but pinned to the city council bulletin board at this point.
Instead, I was stuck in that terrible liminal space of indecision. I sat frozen on my bed, staring at the wall, seeing nothing, foot bouncing.
I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to see Pace.
It was true that he had way too high expectations of me.
On the other hand, he’d been so great at the nail salon, and Grandma had been right that it was progress.
Every time I looked down at my pretty toes, I thought about how much Pace made me laugh.
Or how sometimes, just his touch combined with eye contact grounded me in my body more than years of therapy.
I was moving forward in ways I wouldn’t have been able to without him. But would it ever be enough for him, or was I destined to be a constant disappointment?
“Okay, I get it!” I whisper-yelled at the floor. “You are all having the time of your lives.”
The group downstairs was especially raucous tonight. Every burst of muffled laughter added to my growing disappointment in myself. It was so easy for some people to congregate and be comfortable with each other.
I could go down there. I could join the group of gathered people and sit with them.
No pressure to even make conversation; just sitting and observing would totally count toward marking an item off the list. A glance at the class roster told me tonight was .
. . Wait, figure drawing? That’s not normally such a rambunctious class.
Usually, the group sat around with their canvases, quietly sketching a bowl of fruit as classical music streamed from the speakers, with the occasional direction from the local artist Luanne Billings.
After a particularly loud outburst, I stood up without thinking, feet propelling me to the door. I needed to prove that I was moving forward on my own.
Why did it sound like a wild bachelorette party? Now, I was less motivated to check off an item on the list than I was to see what was causing all the commotion.
I quickly made sure I was presentable—I had at least finally convinced myself to shower today.
I wasn’t disgusting, I actually loved the feeling of being clean, but the effort of showering, the whole routine of washing my hair, felt like too much this last week.
But I felt better now. Dressed in some comfortable sweats and a cute top sporting “Netherfield Walking Club,” I made my way silently down the back staircase.
At least I wouldn’t be accused of stomping like an elephant with the music and laughter overpowering everything else.
I tiptoed like the Grinch stealing Christmas until the sounds were more discernible.
Wait . . . that wasn’t Bach or Beethoven blasting over the sound system . . . Was that “Pony” by Ginuwine?
Eyes wide and straining on tiptoes, I leaned forward to see around to the craft corner where the classes were held.
Never in a million years could I have been prepared for what I saw.
Like an actual Roman statue, a male form was presented, backside to me.
Entirely.
Nude.
I understood the girlish outbursts now. This was a true marvel of masculinity that should be forever preserved in marble.
Every perfect muscle in his powerful back was flexed as he had one arm curled to hold fake grapes in his right hand, his entire flank engaged in the effort of balancing.
His muscles rippled with the occasional burst of laughter.
I should have seen right away, should have known the universe was here to punish me for dragging my feet.
His reddish-brown hair—I should have recognized from his legs—was a little unkept and curling without his usual baseball cap.
It really was like the hair on those old Roman statues.
He was on full display, and I was staring.
I tried to stop, I really did.
A little.
“Stop making me laugh, ladies. I’m trying to be professional,” Pace said, and as he did, all those delicious muscles up the side of his body and the slice of abs I could see flexed deliciously.
Oh, this is bad.
“You’re doing just fine, honey,” Ruth said seriously.
“Now let’s see that backside,” Gigi added.
“Ladies!” This was Grandma’s attempt to bring it back to a serious art form.
Pace was, quite literally, a serious form of art.
“This isn’t some strip club, and Pace has graciously volunteered his time for class today. If you can’t stop objectifying him, I’ll have to ask you to leave,” Grandma said.
A few throats cleared, and Grandma El softened her chastising with a smile. I was no better than the rest of them.
The music quieted, and after a few more stifled laughs, Pace resumed the position.
I saw now that, in addition to the grapes, he had on a little elastic strap that held a palm frond strategically in place over his private area.
It did absolutely nothing to cover his perfectly globular ass, however, complete with those strong, supportive muscles of the lower back.
“Sorry, you’re right. I’m better than this.” It was Doc, the new local doctor. “That was unprofessional. Sorry, Pace.”
Muscular shoulders shrugged up and down. “I just have to draw the line at a lap dance.”
“No. No. We appreciate you. This is serious art.”
Heat burned up my face.
I stood for too long, staring. My creepy, staring form lurking in the shadows must have drawn attention.
“Hi, Sophie. Would you care to join us? We’ve got room,” Grandma El called loudly. Clearly. For all to hear.
My mouth shut, glued tight as usual, as all their eyes moved to me in the corner.
“Um. Hi. No, thanks. I just—” Instant pricks of sweat tickled under my arms and on the back of my neck. I held on to the doorframe, aware that I must look like a creep.
Pace turned around slowly, an eager grin in place.
No . . . no . . .
Thankfully, the way he turned in, aside from accenting his core strength, had the leafy green covering the most scandalous bits.
I wouldn’t be able to handle seeing his package. I was sure of it. Once I saw that beast, there was no going back to who I used to be.
“Sophie.” He said my name like an exhale. Like he was relieved to see me.
It sent shivers down my back.
“Hi, Pace,” I said. “What is happening?” I asked, pulling my gaze away with all my power to meet my grandma’s serene face.
“Live model night, darling,” Grandma El said. “Did I forget to mention that?”
“You should join us,” Pace said. He gestured to an empty space with art supplies.
His voice was gentle, but there was a demand there. His eyes were intense and dark as they held me in place.
I swallowed, all too aware that all eyes were on me.
An excuse stuck on my tongue.
But Pace literally stood there almost naked, and so I could do this.
It would at least give me free rein to look at him.
Who said that?
I internally tsked myself. I was no better than these thirsty old birds.
I nodded and went to the extra chair and canvas. I’d taken an introductory class to sketching in college. Like many things, I collected a cursory amount of information until it reached the point where I was smart enough to know just how bad I was.
My focus was on the charcoal moving across the page.
I broke his form down into shapes, one piece of him at a time.
Soon, I had a sort of human-shaped creature.
I would not ogle anymore. But there was an ever-present tension in me, that feeling of being watched that I always carried, was upped tenfold.
Sure enough, whenever I flicked a sly gaze to his, I found him looking back at me.
What was he thinking as we all looked at his body?
Could this really be comfortable for him?
Our eyes clashed again, and the heat of my cheeks made me woozy. I was surrounded by nosey silver-hairs. I wouldn’t make a fool of myself. Or him.
After minutes of trying my best to keep it in my metaphorical pants, Pace shifted and cleared his throat.
“Do you ladies mind if we take five?” Pace asked the others, but was still looking at me.
“Actually, you’re good for the night, sweetie. I think we got what we needed,” Grandma El said.
Everybody encouraged him with gratitude. He stepped off his literal pedestal—as if I hadn’t already set him upon an imaginary one—and grabbed a waiting robe.
“Sophie, can we chat really quick?” he asked me.
I had my lips sucked in, eyeballs focused on the ceiling as I nodded.
The eyes of everybody in the room were still tangible, and I felt desperate to get away before the rumor mill took on extra shifts.
“We can go up to my apartment and talk,” I said.
Because taking the mostly naked man to where my bed was would surely stop any gossip.
“Yeah, cool.” In my periphery, he tugged on the robe, and I let out a breath.
I let my gaze drift back to him, and some of the tension relaxed out of me.
Until I realized the robe was a freaking joke.
The silky-soft fabric stopped at his thighs, the material tugged tight around his biceps, and the gap at the tie revealed his six-pack. I looked up and away. When I looked back again, I swore his muscles were somehow flexed even more.