Page 92 of A Forever Kind of Rancher

“Oh! Zack?”

“No. Candygram.”

“You have to go to the door, it’s next to the store.”

He looked around and saw what she was talking about. “Okay.”

“And I’ll buzz you in. I’m in 3B.”

“Great.” He heard the buzz and tugged the door open.

“The elevator is rickety,” she said.

“I’m good with the stairs,” he said, hanging up.

He was surprised how old the building was. Surprised that Grace didn’t live somewhere with a shiny lobby and more frills. Though, he did know that rent was inflated beyond reason here. Still, he’d never had a reason to look for a place in the area, so he had no idea just what that meant in a practical way.

The stairs were narrow and drafty, dirt pushed deep into the grooves between the steps. It was obviously clean overall, but not scrubbed deep. Another testament to the age of the building. It would never sparkle.

He found himself fascinated by it. The architecture. The lines. It was rooted to the earth in a way other buildings didn’t seem to be. Like it was created rather than built.

And that made him think of a potential piece. A collection.

Unusual for him to get any inspiration here. Typically, he needed to be home. Closer to all the past’s poison. He had to kind of wallow in it to feel enough to work sometimes.

Dammit. He was some kind of clichéd tortured artist. What the hell was that? He blamed it on eating fricking pâté at all these parties. Back at home that crap came out of a cat-food can.

Which was not what he wanted to be thinking about right now. He wanted to be thinking about Grace. About her soft skin. Her glossy hair. The way it felt to slide deep inside her body.

Yeah, that was better than pâté.

He knocked on the door with the correct number/letter combination, then heard locks jiggling before it opened to reveal Grace, hastily tucking her hair into a bun.

“Are you primping?”

Her eyes rounded. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“I’m going to take it down, you know.”

She leaned into the door, her posture a poor attempt at casual. “Yeah but... I don’t ever wear it down so...so it seemed like I should pin it up.”

She was wearing a purple dress that formed to her slight curves, a black ribbon tied around her slender waist. She had stockings on. He had some serious opinions on which kind they should be.

“No need to dress for me, darlin’,” he said. “But I do appreciate it.”

“You are...in a suit,” she said, looking him over slowly.

He looked down. “Oh. Yeah. I was at a thing.”

“You said you weren’t busy.”

“I wasn’t. I was bored.”

“You were bored.”

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