Page 15 of Chasing Wild Heart

Where a tired neighbor might glance out the front window and spot a twenty-something white male acting suspiciously near a closed diner and hair salon.

Twenty minutes ago, I was settling to watch a few episodes ofTaskmaster(the British version, not the short-lived U.S. one). But seconds later, I was trading my comfy joggers for jeans and walking into the cold, dark night.

The liar in me whispered I was heading toward the dive bar for a drink or two, but my mind didn’t believe that for a second. Especially when my brisk pace didn’t falter for a nanosecond asI passed the neon sign in the window and the faint sounds of people laughing and talking inside.

Why the fuck am I here?My mind screams as I peek at my phone in my hands, debating if I should call her.

“Dash?”

“Argh!” I warble out nervously, turning around so fast my phone slips from my fingers, and I’m frantically juggling air and nerves to catch the device. Luckily, it lands in my open palm, and a sigh of relief escape through my lips.

Stuffing my phone into the pocket of my coat, I smile hesitantly and study her for a moment under the faint glow of the streetlight on the corner. Her tired eyes hold a mix of curiosity and amusement. Her shoulders slump from the weight of carrying her backpack and gym bag.

My eyes dart around her, noting we’re the only two people standing outside in the late October cold. Where the hell did she come from? Has she always been a stealthy little ninja?

“Are you okay?” Juni asks, moving past me to unlock the door.

Nope. Not even close.

“Uh, yeah,” I stammer, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “I think so. Are you just getting home from school or something? It’s kinda late.”

A small part of me dies from embarrassment.

She shoots me a puzzled look but says nothing else before stepping inside and holding the door open for me. “Want to come inside?”

“Uh, sure. Yeah. Thanks.”

Dear God in heaven, please kill me now.

I survey the small entryway as Juni flips on the light and drops her bags at the bottom of the stairs to grab some mail sitting on a small shelf. The area between the door and the first set of steps is comfortable enough for two people to hold a normal conversation.

My eyes trail over Juni’s shoulder and wander up the long and narrow flight of dark green carpeted stairs. Motion-sensor lights stuck to the white walls brighten the path between the two light fixtures at the bottom and top.

“Wanna come up and see my place?” she asks, tucking her mail into an outside pocket of her gym bag.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” I gulp, picking up her backpack, and shoot her a hard look that leaves no room for arguments.

Juni holds up her hands in mock surrender before turning and starting the ascent.

My ego huffs with victory after passing the first landing. Of course, the close view of Juni’s shapely ass serves as a great distraction.

But all that changes in a matter of seconds before hitting the second landing. My calves are yelling at me for being a stupid, stupid man, and my lungs are ready to give up on life. Even Juni’s butt can’t save me.

I want to collapse against the wall and gasp for air when we reach the final landing outside her door. But I don’t because my broken pride won’t let me. Apparently, three flights of stairs have the power to strip a man of his dignity in a matter of seconds.

Juni peeks at me before turning her back to unlock the door, and I discreetly as I fucking possibly can suck in much needed air into my withering soul.

As soon as I step into the open studio space, I understand her reasons for living here. Bricks walls. Exposed wooden beams. Wide windows. Wood floor. So much room.

If any of my sisters lived here, they would’ve set up makeshift walls with bookcases or whatever Pinterest suggested to create separate rooms. Dividers aren’t necessary to see how Juni separated the areas into three distinct spaces.

An unmade queen-sized bed sits a few feet away from an open door, which I’m guessing leads to the bathroom. Two short wooden cubicles serve a dual purpose of a nightstand and bookshelf. Any clothes not folded neatly in one of the open cubbies or stashed in a tall white laundry basket are hanging from a clothes rack normally found in retail stores.

The basic appliances – refrigerator, stove, and dishwasher – plus the sink, laminated marble counters, and cabinets overhead line one wall to create a one-sided galley kitchen. A small wooden table with four matching chairs rounds out the second area.

Tall easels and a second set of wooden cubicles sit on top of a few floral rugs splattered with paint and other art materials. The layout and prime location near the open windows create a makeshift art studio.

“So, wanna tell me why you’re here?” Juni asks, shrugging off her coat and hanging it on a hook by the door.

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