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“Yes, it’s broken.”
“Should I call someone for you to have it fixed?”
“No, that’s okay. I don’t mind coming down here.” He stretched again. “I’d better get started on that long training ride. You could come and talk to me when you’re finished if you’d like.” He bent over to touch his toes and did a lunge stretch on each leg. Every individual strand of his clearly defined leg muscles seemed to dance and flex. Then he sauntered over to mount an exercise bike.
Anne felt faint. It was probably a lack of food. Surely it had nothing to do with Steven's effortless but effective assault on her senses. He did have an amazing body. And she’d seen him in nothing but a towel. Unbidden, an image invaded her mind. Steven was bending over the breakfast table, his body still damp from his shower, muscles flexing, straining the limits of the towel tucked low around his hips. She missed another step on the treadmill and barely caught herself before falling. She’d better cut her run short before she broke something.
She turned off her unit and dashed out of the gym quickly, avoiding eye contact with Steven. It wasn’t until she reached her apartment she realized she’d left her cell phone and keys upstairs in the gym. She returned to retrieve them, hoping to slip in quietly and escape another encounter with him. But when she arrived, his bike was empty, and he was nowhere to be seen.
She had to escape… to get away from everything that reminded her of Steven. It was dark outside, but still early. There were plenty of people on the streets. Surely it would be safe to go visit Mr. Hamilton. She hadn’t even run on the treadmill long enough to break a sweat, so she changed quickly and hurried out the front door, waving at Rayna who was busy talking to another resident. Antonio stopped her at the door.
“Hi Beautiful! Where’re you off to? Should I get you a taxi?”
“No thanks, Antonio. I’m just going a few blocks. And I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Are you sure? It’s already dark.”
“I’ll be fine. Tell Rayna I’ll call her later.”
She walked rapidly, but she didn’t feel any danger on the busy street. Mr. Hamilton’s light was on, but the door was locked. So she rang the doorbell and waited. Soon she heard footsteps and he appeared at the door.
“Come in, come in!” His eyes crinkled in a huge smile. “I’m so glad you came by. I was just making dinner. Would you like to join me?”
“I don’t want to impose,” she said, but her stomach gurgled at the scent of food drifting down the stairs.
He laughed out loud. “Your stomach says yes, so come on up.”
She followed him to his friendly kitchen and flopped into a chair at the table. He dished up two plates of spaghetti with meatballs and put a large bowl of tossed green salad on the table. Then he opened the oven and removed a pan of broiled garlic and cheese bread.
“If you don’t like Italian food, you’re out of luck.”
A loud growl answered him before Anne could speak. She giggled. “My stomach and I both love Italian. Thanks!”
She felt the tension melting from her shoulders as she chatted with Mr. Hamilton over dinner. She told him all about the stress of learning about the accident, and not knowing the outcome until arriving in Fort Worth. They discussed her new job and her misgivings about her abilities. But she purposefully avoided the subject of Steven Gherring, the source of a great deal of her anxiety at the moment.
After dinner, they went downstairs and he pulled out a vinyl record of The Lawrence Marable Quartet, entitled Tenorman. The sweet sounds of jazz filled the shop. He carved while Anne browsed through the shop. Once again, she was thoroughly fascinated, examining the precise fit where each of the puzzle-like carved figures intertwined. She went back to her favorite carving, Inseparable Love, marveling once again at the intricate pieces carved from a single piece of wood. A new sign, Not For Sale, had replaced the $7,500 price tag.
“How come you took the price tag off this one?”
He smiled. “A man actually tried to buy it from me last week. I had to make up a story about saving it for someone else. So, I decided to play it safe, since I don’t really want to sell it anyway.”
“Just out of curiosity, how much would it take for you to sell it? A million? Not that I’m planning to buy it or anything,” she chuckled.
“I don’t think I could ever sell it. I might give it to my granddaughter someday.”
“Wow—lucky girl.”
Her cell phone started ringing, and she ran to dig it out of her purse.
“Hey Rayna. What’s up?”
“Oh great, you answered your phone. I called thirty minutes ago, and you didn’t answer. I thought something might have happened. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine—I must’ve left my purse downstairs during dinner. I just had Italian food with Mr. Hamilton. He’s the one I told you about. You know, he lives above his woodcarving shop. You should come and see it sometime.”
“Okay, sure. But are you coming home soon?”
“Yes, I didn’t realize I’d been here for two hours already. I’m leaving right now.”
