Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
“Toren Cruz Navarro, I wouldn’t go there.” I move faster, nearly running out of the house, and only stop once I’m back where my tools are. “Why do your legs have to be so damn long? I swear this family gave you all the good genes.” I start to gear up with my welding gear, turn on the machine, attach the ground clamp, but just as I’m about put my foot on the pedal and start the arc, Jett chimes in, “Who the hell is that?”
3
Indy
Okay, walking in three-inch platform heels was not the move, and I have massive regrets. I’m pretty sure one of my toes is rubbing the inside of my shoe, and my heel no doubt has a massive blister. Which is saying something because these have seen miles upon miles of concrete, yet somehow, the nearly half-mile walk is proving to be much harder than usual.
Not only that, but the red brick road nearly had me twisting an ankle. Driving would have been so much better, faster, and less dangerous.
“Alas,” I breathe aloud. I’m here, even with sweat dripping down my spine, blouse sticking to my skin, and probably looking way more disheveled than I’d prefer, but at least I’m here. The slight reprieve from the trees lining the quaint neighborhood is nice and all, but I don’t think I’m built for this kind of humidity.
I walk up the driveway from the sidewalk and know I’ve hit pay dirt by the sound and visual alone. The only thing I’m unsure of is who’s the man behind the helmet.
“Can I help you?” A woman close to my age greets me with a finger wave and a camera in her hand. I’m barely halfway up the drive and really don’t want to shout a hello. Instead, I give her a slight wave as I continue my path with a haste that has my feet hurting. At least I’m not limping. That would really be the icing on the cake.
“Hi, sorry to come at you like this. I’m looking for T.N. I was told this is their forwarding address.” While I’ve been very apprehensive about who the hot guy on the videos with the helmet on is, including his bio on his website, it hasn’t escaped my overactive imagination that he could also be a she.
“Oh, this is going to be great. I’m Juliette, Jett for short.” She holds her hand out to shake mine. “I run the social media and background for the big guy.” Once our hand shake is over, she hooks her thumb over her shoulder, pointing it at a man. He’s in what is safe to assume is welder’s gear. He’s also a mountain of a man.
“I’m Indy, short for Indigo. I’m the gallery manager for Ellery House of Art in Seattle. Is it possible to speak to, well, I guess both of you?” I’m suddenly at a loss of what to do. We’re both standing there, in a sort of a stare off.
“Oh, hold on. Let me make sure he’s okay with it, then I’ll make the introductions.” She leaves me standing there. I use my hand to shield my eyes from the sun and think better of staying in the sweltering heat. I give them the privacy, returning to situate myself under a tree. My shoulder hits the trunk, and I’m sure the bark is putting snags in my blouse. Right now, I couldn’t care less. I’m enjoying my feet getting the slightest bit of a break.
My phone goes off with an alert of a text message. I guess at least it’ll take my mind off what they could be saying to one another. I’m beginning to think being home by the end of the week is going up in flames. I pull my phone out and grimace at the notification.
Miranda: How are things going?
I talked to her nearly two hours ago to let her know what I found, or aptly what I didn’t, and how I was on the hunt for the next address. Miranda is good at micromanaging, even when it’s unnecessary.
Me: I’m here now. His assistant is asking if he wants to meet me. I’m not so sure they’ll say yes. I have to go. She’s walking back.
I quickly close out my app, lock my phone, and drop it in my purse. Jett clears her throat while my head is down, making me feel like I’m out of sorts when it comes to being professional.
“Sorry, the heat is brutal when you’re not accustomed to it. Plus, my boss, she’s hopeful and can’t stand to not have an answer right away,” I tell Jett way more than I should and am semi-hopeful it works in my favor.
“I can’t say whether or not he’ll say yes to whatever questions you might have.” We start on the path to where he’s situated, my eyes locked on him as he takes off one glove. From my view alone I can tell his hand is built for work—broad palms, fingers that are thick and steady, each movement deliberate without ever slowing down. I watch as he takes the other one off. His forearms flex, making it impossible not to fixate on the way his muscles move. Both gloves are off by the time we’re standing within reaching distance, and I can see more of him: sun-warmed skin, veins running up his forearms, subtle yet visible, mapping the strength that he clearly earned rather than was given.