Page 15 of Love In The Air

“I’ve been sitting in this position too long,” she said to her empty apartment.

The great thing about being able to work from home was she never had to dress for an office, hit commuter traffic, or make small talk with coworkers. Yuck. The crappy thing was sometimes, when she got in the zone on a project, she forgot to get up and move around. Her muscles cramped as she stood, stretching her arm high above her head. A sigh of relief left her lips right before her stomach made a loud growling noise.

She also forgot to eat.

A quick glance at her laptop showed the time in the top right corner of the screen. One-thirty in the afternoon. No wonder she was hungry. The last meal she’d consumed was her yogurt and granola at seven this morning.

Iz made her way to the kitchen. Since her apartment was a five hundred square foot studio, the kitchen was approximately five feet away from the wall mounted desk where she’d been working. She opened the small single door fridge and peeked at the contents inside. The bright lightbulb in the back of the appliance highlighted the sad fact besides forgetting to eat, Iz had forgotten to go grocery shopping.

A tub of butter, questionable smelling takeout container, and a half empty bottle of wine was all that graced the shelves of her tiny fridge.

“Dining out, it is,” she said, closing the door.

Grocery shopping could wait. Everyone knew you didn’t go on an empty stomach, or you’d buy the entire store. While her job as a freelance graphic designer paid well enough to keep a roof over her head and support her aerial training, she couldn’t afford a massive grocery binge. Besides, she needed to keep her fridge sparse. She’d be going on tour in a few weeks, and she didn’t want to come home to spoiled food. Her cousin was coming into town to sublet her apartment for the next year, and their food tastes were exact opposites. No sense in leaving something in the fridge that would sit and rot.

She moved to the front door, slipping her shoes on, and debating if she should change. The black leggings and light blue t-shirt with a printed aerialist on it saying “I fly in the sky, what’s your superpower” wasn’t exactly the most fashionable of outfits, but Iz had never cared much for fashion. She wore what she liked, what felt comfortable. Why cater to what other people like when you’re the one who had to live with yourself?

It was also the reason for her choice of hair colors and tattoos. She’d gotten everything from the wide-eyed stares to the mutters of condemnation under a passerby's breath, to outright strangers yelling at her, telling her she was a horrible person for marring her skin. Why the hell did they care so much? It was her skin!

Deciding she felt fine as she was, Iz grabbed her purse and headed out the door. Her apartment was in downtown Denver, located a few blocks from the lower downtown area, or LODO, as the locals called it. The great thing about living in the city was all the amazing places to eat. She contemplated what she felt like eating as she walked down the sidewalk. The bright spring sun warmed her body, loosening up all the cramp muscles that had tightened during her morning power work session.

The client contract she was currently working on was a headache inducer. The guy had hired her to rebrand his entire company. Logos, website, newsletter, everything. He was particular about every little detail, too. She was almost finished with the eighteenth change and if he asked for another, she just might rebrand his face. But he was paying really well and since she needed all the savings she could muster before she headed off on tour, she kept at it. Besides, sometimes the hardest jobs were the most rewarding.

She knew she could still do some work while on tour, but not as much as she usually did, and while the show paid some, it was still the performing arts. The “starving artist” stereotype had come about for a reason.

She turned onto 18th street, glancing up and down at the array of bars, restaurants, coffee shops, and other stores in the area. She still didn’t know what she wanted to eat, but the heavenly smells coming from a few of the places down the way called to her. As she made her way toward what her nose determined was a bar-b-que joint, she passed by a familiar shopfront. Reflection Dreams Yoga studio.

Iz paused, glancing into the large glass window lining the front of the shop. She’d taken a few classes here with Tori a year ago. It was a nice studio, clean, calming, with a water feature that bubbled away in the background as the instructors took you through various poses and stretches. Then her schedule had filled, and she had to drop it. Maybe after the show she should take a few more classes. She liked yoga. It helped her stress levels, and she loved the owners. The place didn’t look as though it had changed ownership.

She pressed her face closer to the glass, taking in the class currently happening. Yeah, it looked exactly the same as when she’d been. The paint on the walls, the soft, colorful cushions laid around the edge of the room. The group of half a dozen people in downward dog moved, sliding down into cobra position, their stomachs pressed against the floor as they arched their backs.

A gasp left her lips as a familiar face came into view. That was the moment when Iz saw the one thing about the studio that had changed.

The teacher.

There, in the front of the room, revealed now that everyone had moved out of her line of vision, was none other than Chance O’Brien.

“What the hell?”

A few heads turned toward her. Shit! Had she shouted that? Quickly, she ducked back, moving away from the window. She pressed herself against the small bit of brick wall between the front window and the studio door. Crap, had Chance seen her? What the hell was he doing in there, anyway?

Her heart pounded, the heat of embarrassment rising on her cheeks. Did she stay and talk to Chance? Tell him she was just passing by, or did she cut and run? Pretend this never happened?

She was weighing the pros and cons of each scenario when the door to the studio suddenly opened, and people started pouring out. Laughter and conversation filled the air as the students from the class filled the sidewalk where she stood. Some moving away from her down the street, a few passing her with a friendly nod as they headed the other direction. No one said anything about her being a creeper staring into the window. Maybe the glass was opaque enough that they hadn’t seen her. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever looked out that window when she took classes there.

Maybe this would all go away, and Chance would never—

“Hey Iz, you stalking me now?” A soft chuckle sounded from the open door.

She groaned. Should have known she wouldn’t be lucky enough to get out of this one.

“No,” she said, turning her head to stare at Chance. The man stood in the doorway, a grin on his face, arms crossed over his naked chest, bare feet poking out of his harem pants. “I was just passing by.”

“Passing by the studio I work at?” He raised a brow. “How coincidental.”

“I didn’t know you worked here,” she insisted, her ire rising. “I thought you taught at a studio in Boulder.”

“I did, but I’m taking a sabbatical during the tour.”

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