Page 17 of Grumpy Boss's Secret

The quotes were dense. Quotes from Kurt Vonnegut and James Joyce, and George Orwell. It was what I would have expected of Ian. Taking things seriously–a sombre attitude toward life.

But I hadn't expected him to have a range of feeling like this. The quotes he'd chosen were passionate, kind, and vulnerable…like the man he'd been in bed last night. I bit my lip and kept scrolling. I read through every post, even after the night air became too chilly for comfort, and I began shivering.

Chapter Seven

The rest of our trip was uneventful. Ian started looking at me again, and I caught that twinkle in his eyes several times. We got on the plane to leave at the end of the week. I felt tired and ready to return to a familiar bed – even if it was one back in a rented apartment. It excited me to move– into my new place with Potato.

I needed a break from Ian. He was occupying my mind more than I wanted him to. I thought about him even when he wasn’t there. I am worried about him. Sometimes I had dreams about him.

Before the plane took off, I searched for my phone in my window seat. I have been checking Ian's Instagram almost daily since I found it. That was probably why I was thinking about him so much. He'd always been an enigma, and now he felt like an enigma I could solve. I could look at this account and glimpse his soul.

It was dark and spooky and unexpected in there. I liked it.

I glanced over at Ian in the plane. He also had a window seat across the aisle and one row down. He appeared to be on his phone as well. Going through important emails, right?

My curiosity was piqued, and I opened Instagram. I wasn't following his account–obviously. I didn't want him to know I was creepily stalking his soul. But I'd searched for it so many times it came up immediately as a suggested search. I clicked on it. My eyebrows rose.

"A new post, eh?" I thought from two minutes ago. I glanced over at Ian again. It excited me.

“Wow, I’m psychic,” I thought.

I inspected the post. A photograph of the sea and the surrounding buildings of Athens. It was a beautiful photo taken at sunset. The sky was rosy with pink and orange, and lights were glowing in the windows of the buildings. It was a bright, warm, and joyful picture of light.

I realized with a start that they had taken it from the balcony above the one where I had stood that first night at the hotel, right from where I had seen the man walk away in the darkness. I'd already suspected that man of being Ian, but somehow feeling sure, he must have been watching me. I felt…

Happy? I felt swirls of something as warm and colorful as the photograph he'd taken. The quote posted along with it was from The Odyssey: “Now I am willing heart and soul to send you off at last.” I frowned. What did that mean? I glanced at Ian again. I couldn’t believe this man had just posted such a soulful, gorgeous piece of art. He was just sitting there with a blank expression, looking out the window as if he was bored.

“I guess I can’t read him well at all,” I thought. “Still waters run deep.”

During the next few weeks, I didn't think about Ian much. It preoccupied methought with my moving arrangements. Potato took up residence in my new apartment in an imposing blanket fort I had made her in the bathroom. Whenever I was there, she stayed inside the fort. I guess the phrase "scaredy cat" was coined for a reason. But I would find cat fur in various places–especially the window sills–so I guessed she came out to explore when I wasn't there.

I moved in slowly. I bought most of my furniture from IKEA, so it was easier to move inside. However, that also meant that many of my post-work evenings spent muttering in front of an instruction manual.

Finally, I moved in and out of the weird rental place that smelled like men's aftershave. I was not in my sunny new apartment with my new fluffy ghostie. I liked to call her that because sometimes she would appear in a doorway, see me looking at her, and then run back to her lair. A furry apparition.

On my first formal night in my new place, I sat on the couch under a very soft blanket and watched a couple of romantic comedies. I'd turned the lights off and just sat in the dark with one candle burning. It felt cozy that way. It was easier to lose myself in the movies.

One actor in the second movie looked a little like Ian. Actually, Ian was more attractive. I thought about him as I watched the story. I wondered how he was doing. When the movie ended, I reached for my phone and turned the screen on. An email from Kirk. I smiled. I would read it and respond to it in a moment. First, I wanted to look at Ian's Instagram.

I hadn't checked it since we left Greece. I hadn't really wanted to think about him. Thinking about him made my skin feel hot oddly, almost like an itch. I felt like I shouldn't be thinking about him – I couldn't do anything to help him, even if he was a troubled, thrilling soul.

But I was curious anyway. I clicked on his account. Seven new posts. Some photographs of the city and some pictures of people holding hands. A photo of a tube of lipstick lying open on a white porcelain surface, like a bathroom countertop. The quotes were love quotes. “She walks in beauty like the night.” “No human can stand in a fire and not be consumed." "You are warmed sunlight through a window, which I stand in."

Oh. Oh. Well, okay. Great. Good for him. I hadn’t realized how much of a crush I had on him until I saw what he’d written about someone else.

“Lord Byron, Shelley, and Jessie Burton,” I murmured, rereading his posts. "The man is well read, for sure. Where does he find the time for all this?"

I set my phone down and rubbed my temples. That’s good. It’s nice that he was in love with someone. Apparently, this person made him happy. I would not be with him, anyway. That had never been on the table. I picked up my phone again and opened the email from Kirk.

Glad your new place is lovely! How's the kitty doing? Kirk

I read the words. I had been in love with Kirk for a long time. Or at least I'd thought I had been. Had Kirk ever loved a woman as much as Ian loved this other girl? He must have. He'd written some of the best romance novels I'd ever read.

“I want to make someone happy like that,” I thought. “Maybe I could make Kirk happy like that. Maybe.”

I turned my phone to dark and sat looking out the window for a while. The lights of Seattle gleamed in the darkness. The wind picked up and rattled against the side of the building. Flecks of rain appeared on the glass.

Kirk and I got along very well. He was friendly, enthusiastic, and kind. So was I. it had drawn me to his writing like nothing I'd ever known. There was something about his mind that excited me – even enchanted me. Did he know enough about me to be enchanted by me, too?

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