She flipped to August. Then September.
Nah. August was good enough. Ten weeks. If she could stay date free (let alone sex free) for ten weeks, then perhaps she’d be a bit rejuvenated. Either that or she would completely break down from the lack of attention. I make it sound like I get laid every weekend. If she put her mind to it and lowered her standards…
Loneliness really wasn’t a good look on her.
August 31st marked the ending date of her experiment. Either she’d lose her fucking mind, or she would realize she could live without a damned date and start making better personal decisions. Besides, it gave her more time to focus on her translations. Rent needed to be paid in that expensive city. Rachel’s bank account wasn’t the healthiest around… especially when she added up how many private student loans she was still paying off every month. Blech.
All right. Family law time. Rachel popped in her earbuds and cranked up Spotify on her phone. Whatever had been playing last time was good enough now. Anything was better than the silence of the relatively empty café.
Rachel always worked with her back toward the wall. Gave her a false sense of privacy in a public space. It also let her keep an eye on Parvati, a young South Asian woman who was flirted with at least fifty times a day. Rachel knew her friend’s mother. There was no way Mrs. Singh approved of her daughter deflecting a million suitors every single day she went to work.
So it was no wonder the next customer looked right at Parvati proudly assembling day-old muffins and cookies for display. And it was no wonder Rachel ended up staring at him.
Because dear Lord. The man was gorgeous.
He was that tireless blend of chic and casual. The kind of guy with enough style and money to throw anything on and still look like a million dollars. The man in question wore a breezy white long-sleeved shirt, the top three buttons undone to show a hint of dark chest hair. Tanned skin marked his large hands and chiseled jawline. Or at least until Rachel started to appreciate a man who hadn’t shaved in a day and still looked perfectly put together. Even his jeans were tailored to his muscular legs, and his leather sandals suggested he spent a lot of time down at the marina. Or maybe that was the tan.
He gazed at the displays through a pair of large, round sunglasses. He removed his wallet from his back pocket and moved on to the case, where the freshly made baked goods were kept. He rubbed his stubble while checking out the drink menu.
It was only then that Rachel noticed the canvas bag hoisted over his shoulder. And that was only because it bumped against his ridiculously hot ass every time he bent down enough to see what was on the bottom row of the case. Lemon cakes, Mr. Nice-Ass. Lemon cakes that Parvati bakes herself… for people… who like lemon… Her train of thought was more than derailed. It had exploded, all passengers dead.
Please get your stuff to go. Please get your stuff to go. Rachel did not need this man walking into her life the moment she decided to be celibate for the rest of the summer. Not that she believed he would ask her out the moment he saw her. A man like that? Hmph. No way. Rachel wasn’t Queen of the Homely, but she was definitely not in this guy’s league, either. He screamed the type of guy who could bag supermodels with only a flashing smile.
The metal music drowned out whatever he said. Parvati pulled one of the lemon cakes out of the case and started a latte. The customer paid in cash, leaving five dollars in the tip jar.
Rachel kept her face pointed down but her eyes following the man’s every move. He was not getting his stuff to go.
He was sitting by the front window, pulling out a drawing pad and a collection of colored pencils. Parvati brought him his latte and mouthed “Oh my God this hottie!” to Rachel.
She let her eyes linger on the self-assured man as he began sketching, chin propped up on his left hand and his latte cooling beside the window. Once, she was under the impression that they had made eye contact. But they both looked away at the same time, the man in boredom, and Rachel in one last effort to get her ass to work. That Tuesday deadline wouldn’t wait for her to stop slobbering over the hottest artist to hit downtown on a lazy Saturday morning.
Chapter 2
He saw her the moment he entered the café. In fact, he entered the café because he saw her through the window, ordering a cup of tea while chatting with the barista.
It was the way she moved. Gracefully, but wholly unaware of how effortlessly pretty she was. Then again, Zachary Feldman thought most women were pretty to some degree or another. He was trained to see the beauty in everyone. Sometimes the greatest muses were the ones other artists decried as nothing special.
It also wasn’t until that moment that he realized he had been in an artistic slump. Because the moment he saw the young woman toss her giant bag of office supplies into one of the white chairs, Zack knew he had to draw her.
People got weird about being drawn, however. If Zack wanted to indulge, he would have to be stealthy about it. Starting with entering the café as if he went there every day, when in truth he must have passed Opal’s several times a week and never once thought to go in. Not his fault it was located right between the marina and his apartment a few blocks away.
But instead of heading straight to his yacht to do some sketches, Zack decided to follow the muse where she led him. And ignore the other muse blowing up his cell phone with texts and voicemails. I’ll get back to you later, Stef. Some of his muses grew clingier than others.
The woman he had his sights on was in her own world and hardly paid him any attention. Good. That made it easier to take advantage of the situation instead of possibly taking on yet another woman who didn’t know how to let go.
Yet like how Zack saw beauty in every person, he also saw inspiration in the most seemingly random and mundane objects. Since the barista was busy in the kitchen, Zack approached the case and counter with a methodical eye that searched every curve of metal, every flake of fake marble, and every sharp corner of kitchen appliances and decorations for even the slightest bit of inspiration.
Zack glanced up and caught another woman’s reflection in the shine of the display case. Hunched over, she diligently worked from a few pieces of papers and a notebook beneath her hand. A dictionary was opened next to her. Either Chinese or Japanese.
He ordered the first baked good to tempt him and a latte to go with it. He had foregone coffee back home in favor of having some on his yacht. This would do well instead.
Too bad he had to start answering those texts the moment he sat down – with a good view of the woman at her other table of course – and opened his drawing pad.
“Where r u bb?” Stef hadn’t shut up for the past ten minutes. “We doin anything 2nite? Maybe some inspiration? ;) ;) ;)”
Sighing, Zack punched in a response. “Not tonight, babe. Catching up on other work.” He temporarily blocked her after that. He knew how she would respond. It was how she always responded. “What??? You kiddin’!!!”
No, he wasn’t kidding. Truth was, he was bored with Stef, and had been for a few weeks. They didn’t have an exclusive relationship, though. Good thing, because Zack was the type to bounce between a different woman every weekend. Hell, every day if he had the stamina. (He often did.) A man had to do something with his days when he wasn’t sailing or creating.
But sometimes women caught him off guard. Like the woman constantly scratching at her ponytail and sighing over a dictionary.
She was both like all the other women he lusted after, and yet nothing like them at all. Zack wanted to sit next to her, to ask her questions, to put ideas of them getting dirty in the bunk of his yacht into her ear. But he also wanted to keep a respectful distance, to watch how she moved, how she spoke, and how she interacted with the big blue world around her. Even if she only commanded her microcosm of whatever the hell it was she did at her lonely little table.
Zack wiped the tip of his pencil clean using nothing but his thumb and forefinger. Lead smudged his skin. He didn’t care. Perhaps it would add a little more character to his project.
You, my dear. He reveled in calling her that without her knowing. You’re my project.
He wanted to capture her on paper. It wouldn’t be his magnum opus as an artist, but it would hopefully get his creative juices going enough to send him back to his studio and get started on the kind of project that took a week to complete. I haven’t had one of those in a while. Perhaps it was a good sign for the summer. Things had been slow in the creativity department.
Probably because he had spent more time mindlessly chasing tail instead of working. His best friend Seth, also an artist, told him that it was going to catch up with his work one day. Which was rich coming from a guy who fell in love with his muse. But he’s often right about those things. Not that Zack would ever let Seth know that. Might go to his head.
Shut up and start drawing.
That worked.
Zack’s latte cooled, since he soon forgot it was there. Same for the lemon cake, which grew staler the longer he sketched the woman sitting not so far away. He did his best to capture the wisps of her hair, pulled back into a needless ponytail. What was the point of wearing her hair like that in an air-conditioned café? Wouldn’t it be better to let it flow free around her pretty face? Her style choices were interesting as well. Not many women could do the denim shorts and flannel top thing and not look like a try-hard hipster. Her clothes and subsequent style naturally suited her. She was wearing those clothes before they were cool. Maybe she really is a hipster…