Page 27 of Unhurried Hearts

“It’s open!” she hollers when I knock.

She wasn’t kidding when she described her studio apartment. I reach up, easily skimming my fingers over the bulkhead that runs along a white wall by the tiny kitchen. There’s a bathroom on my right and the rest of Anna’s space is basically a bedroom. Recessed overhead lightingmakes the space bright and at one end of the tiny quartz counter is an explosion of colourful art supplies.

“Hi!” She appears from behind a closet door, blowing hair out of her face.

She’s wearing a very short black mini skirt and an oversized t-shirt that reads, ‘wake up and smell the hairspray’.

“You look...unready.” I gesture to her mismatched outfit.

She throws herself back dramatically, landing on a low-lying bed littered with clothes. “I don’tknowwhat to wear on a hike.”

My eyes wander up her bare thighs, stopping at the shadows beneath the skirt that’s become even shorter during her theatrics.

I swallow. “Um, well, I can tell you, not that skirt.”

Cause I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.

She sits up abruptly and scoffs, “Obviously, Chris.”

Ah, there’s the tone of disdain I’m used to receiving.

I walk to her bed, which takes me all of two steps, and pull at the leg of a pair of pants that are partially beneath her. “What about these?”

“Too small.”

“Okay. These?” I find another article of clothing and toss them at her.

“Those arepyjamas.”

I flop onto the bed next to her, surprised at how comfortable it is considering it appears to fold against the wall when not in use. We’re both on our backs, shoulder to shoulder.

“Not to rush you. But I’m leaving in five minutes, and whatever you’re wearing at that time is what I will carry you out of this condo in.”

She turns her head, our faces centimetres apart. I can smell her hair which looks way too pretty for hiking.

“We could stay in. Watch a movie.” She points to a wall mounted television.

That sounds...amazing. And like a surefire way to go from one to ten in the matter of an hour. Not setting myself up for that. Isaac’s comment about ‘screwing around’ pops into my mind.

I haul myself off the soft mattress, hoping the change in position will quell the temptation to stay home like she suggested. It doesn’t. I tap the face of my Garmin watch. “Three minutes, Annie.”

“Chris!” Panic fills her eyes.

“Come on, you have to have something. Like, what would you wear to work out?”

“My workouts consist of standing all day at the salon and wielding a blow dryer for hours on end.” She flexes an arm. “See? I’m jacked.”

I laugh, but her arm does look pretty strong. I tuck a wavy strand of her thick hair behind her ear. Her eyelids flutter for a moment but she takes a deep breath. It’ll be way too easy to get sucked into a kiss. Or more. The shorts I’m wearing will do fuck all to hide a boner, so I turn and explore her space.

“I’ll be over here in your, uh, dining room?”

“It’s easier if you don’t try to break it up. It’s just…the studio.” She gestures to the space.

“Cool. Well, I’m going to sit here on this barstool in the studio and wait for you to do whatever it is girls do when getting ready for hikes.”

“I don’t know either,” she mutters.

Clothing rustles and frustrated sighs fill the air, but I stay in my spot, looking over her pile of art supplies. There’s a rack holding small bottles of paint and a box with what looks like fancy pens. Smooth, flat rocks litter the surface of a mat she’s obviously put out to protect her countertop from the paint.

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