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A woman on my right whispered to her friend, “He’s so fucking hot.”
Another forty-five minutes of light taps with the hammer went by, and the crowd standing around him only grew. People were riveted by a man on his knees, coaxing something beautiful from broken glass. Rafe wasn’t just talented. He was magnetic, confident in that quiet way that drew people in without them realizing it. He was handsome and talented and a natural-born showman.
How the hell was someone this good still performing at open-mic nights in local bookstores? It seemed like he should already be famous.
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Calder eventually slipped into the circle beside me. “Hey,” he whispered. “You ready to get out of here? He can take hours to finish a piece, and I have to get to the office early in the morning.”
“Oh. Yeah, sure.” I felt a little deflated yet pasted on a smile. “Of course.”
We worked our way through the crowd toward the door. Just before we stepped outside, I glanced back one more time. Rafe was still kneeling with the crowd closing in on him, hanging on his every movement.
He had all of them.
Their attention. Their curiosity. Their complete focus.
And somehow he’d gotten a stranglehold on mine, too.
CHAPTER 5
Much like the previous time I’d seen Rafe perform, the following morning I couldn’t stop thinking about the show. I needed to get myself out of this haze; I just wasn’t sure how. But I had to try. My obsession with Calder’s friend had to end, plain and simple. It was a one-way ticket to nowhere. But how do you stop ruminating about someone when, unlike actions, thoughts can’t always be controlled?
After coffee, I decided I’d make a romantic dinner for Calder when he got home from work tonight. I’d pull out all the stops, not just to make him feel better after a long and stressful day, but to reshift my focus. I needed to get my mental shit together, since I’d be starting my new editorial position before too long.
After visiting the supermarket to collect the handful of items I needed to make my grandmother’s meatloaf, I called my mother to confirm I had the recipe right.
“Hey, honey,” she answered.
“Hey, Mom. How are you?”
“Fine, but I should be asking you that.”
“I’m actually getting ready to make Grandma’s meatloaf.”
She laughed. “You just arrived in the big city, preparing to start a new job, and this is what you’re doing on a Wednesday?”
“I know that sounds crazy, but I’m feeling stressed and homesick and need something to ground me. I couldn’t think of anything better.”
“Well, your grandma certainly had a way of calming people. I’m happy you still hold her in your heart.”
“So, I think I remember most of the ingredients, but wasn’t sure how much dried oatmeal we normally add to the beef mixture.”
Mom and I went back and forth for a couple of minutes, confirming the details. Then she changed the subject.
“How is Calder handling his job at the new office?”
“He’s pretty stressed about it, but I think every day will get easier.”
“And besides making meatloaf, what have you been doing to occupy your time while he’s at work?”
Besides my full-blown crush on the artist downstairs? “Not much of anything really,” I told her. “These days are about acclimating to my environment before I have to start the job. I’ve been cleaning the apartment, doing laundry…” Masturbating.
“That sounds incredibly boring.”
“Well, we went to see Calder’s friend Rafe perform last night. I mentioned him to you the last time we talked.”
“The artist that smashes glass?”
“Yeah.” I grinned. “Exactly.”
