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She’s not herself.
“Just… Just tired.” Her smile flickers on and off as she walks over to the kitchen. “Grits?”
I nod, watching her smile widen and her shoulders straighten up. She’s a natural caretaker and enjoys doing things for others.
And then she makes us coffee, grits, and bacon. Thank God for bacon!
“Maybe you should take a break from work,” I say, trying to figure out her mood.
“I can’t. I have an exhibition coming up. And orders. And I need money.”
“Everyone needs a break.”
She shakes her head. “I’m good at what I do, Jace. That’s what I got. I don’t want a nine-to-five job. I want to work until four in the morning if I feel like it. Or have breakfast on a terrace at noon. And have music playing all the time, and paint, and…”
It becomes too much, I get it, and she has to press the brakes.
“And I’m trying to save for a rainy day, so if anything happens, I can rely on myself,” she finishes softly as she effortlessly prepares us breakfast. Multitasking is her forte.
There’s a strange melancholy in the way she says, “Rainy day,” like she knows what those are, and maybe she does—that’s part of Lu I am yet to learn.
I wish she didn’t have rainy days, and when she does, I want to cover them and make her smile and tuck her under a warm blanket on the couch and watch a movie and tell her, “Lu, don’t worry about a thing. I’m right here.”
My heart clenches at the need to wrap my arms around her and make her feel okay.
I ask her about Virginia, her family, and her university years. And as we eat, she talks, falling into the usual Lu-rhythm, filling the air with her sweet voice.
“So tonight,” she says when I clean the dishes and she sits on the high stool and swings her rainbow-socked feet, “we are going to a bar. B, Tito, and I. Wanna come?”
Her words make my eyes snap to meet hers. “Me?”
I stall like she’s asking me to marry her, but already feeling excited like it’s an actual date, which it isn’t.
Lu is gorgeous and magnetic. It’s an effort not to stare at her. Give me a beer, and I’ll be openly gawking. Do we want that scenario? Or a worse one—me getting drunk and spilling the truth about how we met. Or Becky coaxing it out of me.
I’ve met Lu’s crew several times by now. People use phones these days to meet up. Well, not Lu’s friends, who occasionally pop in without calling. Apparently, because Lu is notorious for ignoring her phone.
“I need to discuss work, but you are avoiding me!” Becky complained a week ago when she stormed into the condo unannounced, eyeing me like I’m keeping Lu away from her.
Tito dropped by when Lu wasn’t home the other day. That was a bold move. And intentional, I sensed, when he asked if I wanted to do lunch.
So when Lu invites me to a bar, I know I should come up with an excuse not to go. Becky will interrogate me. Tito will try to get me into his bed.
“Come with us!” Lu insists, waiting for my reply. “It’ll be fun. Well, with you there. You’ll make sure B doesn’t drag me to yet another club or party. I’m so tired of those. But she doesn’t take no for an answer. Networking, she calls it.”
This is a bad idea. “Sure,” I say and already feel stressed out at the thought.
What should I wear?
Should I drink?
“Can I bring a friend?” Roey can handle any interrogations and play in his league if he’s so adamant about extracting the info.
Lu’s smile flickers off. “A girl?”
“No, my, um, colleague.”
Her smile widens again. “Sure!”
