Even though I’d only spoken with Gabriel twice, I found myself looking for him all day. When I left for work in the morning, when I went to the building’s cafeteria for lunch, when I got off work at five. I half-expected him to step into my office every time the elevator opened all day, though he would have no reason to be there. Unless he was there only to see me, of course. The thought sent flutters through my stomach.

I spent an inordinately long amount of time pretending to dig through my purse in search of my house keys when I got home, hoping he’d hear me and come out. When I got inside, I changed into my painting clothes and tried to focus on a waterscape for the collection I wanted to show the scholarship board, but my brush hovered over the paint, hesitant and uninspired. The scene refused to become clear, and no amount of standing in front of a blank canvas would help.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I shed my paint-smeared clothes in exchange for a pair of skinny jeans and a loose black t-shirt, grabbed a bottle of wine from the back of my fridge and two wine glasses, and crossed the hallway.

When Gabriel answered the door, everything I’d planned to say rushed straight out of my head. He had on a pair of black athletic shorts, revealing his tanned, muscular calves, and a gray t-shirt. His dark hair was perfectly tousled like he’d been running his hands through it all day, and I wondered what it would feel like to run my own fingers through it.

“Lindsay,” he said in way of a greeting, breaking me out of my thoughts. He sounded surprised and surprisingly friendly.

“Hi,” I said, shaking my head slightly, trying to clear my nervous thoughts.

Gabriel’s eyes darted from my face to the bottle of wine. One of his eyebrows raised.

“Rain check?” I asked, shrugging my shoulders, and lifting my alcoholic offering. “I told you I’d buy the drinks, remember? Plus, I thought I could help you unpack.”

He stepped aside and ushered me in. His condo looked very similar to mine, though in reverse. His kitchen was off to the left, the living room to the right, and the hallway that led to his bathroom and bedroom was straight ahead. He had a balcony just like mine in the corner of the living room, but his view looked out over a park, the Chicago river peeking through between the buildings.

“I actually don’t have much to unpack,” he said, taking the bottle and glasses from me, and setting them on the kitchen counter.

He wasn’t kidding. He had an open box in the kitchen, two boxes in the living room, and a bookcase.

“Are you a minimalist or something?” I teased. “I have more stuff than this in my bathroom.”

He popped the cork and poured us each half a glass of red wine. “I threw out everything I didn’t need when I moved.”

I sipped my wine and peeked into his boxes. He had books, extension cords, and table lamps. “Did you get rid of all of your décor? I don’t see any artwork anywhere.”

“No.” He paused before continuing. “I never had artwork.”

I turned on him, eyes narrowed. “What?”

He shrugged. “I was never much into decorating. I’ve never seen anything beautiful enough to hang it on my wall.”

“So, you just left your walls bare?” I asked, trying to hide my horror. My walls were a collage of paintings I’d done, as well as drawings and photographs I’d purchased from amateur art shows. I couldn’t imagine a house with plain walls. It would be like a prison.

“I decorate with books,” he said, kicking his box of books as he passed. “Colorful and functional.”

Was this a deal breaker? I tried to search down deep inside of myself and discover whether I could be someone who didn’t see the importance of art. It was my life passion, what I wanted to devote my existence to.

“You’re an artist, though. Maybe you can help me find something.” He didn’t smile, but there was a softness to his features I hadn’t seen before.

“Yeah, of course. Did you not have anyone to help you look for art in New York?”

Gabriel tilted his head to the side and pulled his brows together. “Are you asking whether I had a girlfriend?”

I opened and closed my mouth, shaking my head as warmth spread across my face, flushing my neck.

He saved me from having to explain. “None of the women who saw my apartment were there long enough to worry about decorating. It was just me most of the time.”

He was a stereotypical bachelor, then. I bit my lip, jealousy rising up at the thought of all the women he’d been with before. I didn’t know him well enough to be jealous, but that didn’t seem to matter. “Gotcha. Well, I’d love to help out.”

“With my loneliness or the art?” he asked, taking a step towards me. His hips were pointed towards me and I couldn’t help but judge the space between us, calculate how many steps it would take until we were flush, until the wine was forgotten, and our clothes were gone. I burned at the thought.

“So, what can I unpack?” I said, turning away from him before I could melt into a puddle of desire.

“I can unpack on my own. Like I said, it isn’t much.” He sat his wine glass on the shelf behind me, his arm brushing against mine. I felt a rush of electricity flow between us.

If I didn’t get busy doing something productive, I was going to end up doing him. “I’ve seen how you unpack,” I said, winking at him. “My way involves a lot less broken dishes.”

“There was a welcome mat rolled up in the hallway!” he said in a burst of emotion I’d come to realize was uncharacteristic. “I tripped!”

I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t see a mat when I was out there helping you.”

He kicked a box of books towards me. “You can help me organize these.”

I clapped my hands together. “Alphabetical or by genre? Or alphabetized within genre?”

Gabriel gave me free reign to organize the books however I would like—alphabetized within genre—and by the time I was finished with the box, I’d worked off enough of my nervous energy that I no longer felt like jumping his bones. When I finally stood to leave, we’d finished most of the bottle of wine and his living room was box free.

“You need one large painting above the fireplace,” I said, standing back and framing the wall with my fingers, squinting. Then, I swiveled towards his couch. “And a gallery wall behind the couch. We can print off some family photos or friends or whatever and sprinkle them around for a little hominess.”

“We’ll talk about it,” he said, crossing his arms, face unreadable.

I’d gotten so wrapped up in the unpacking and decorating that I’d almost forgotten I wasn’t in my own house. I barely knew Gabriel. He was probably ready for me to be out of his incredibly luscious hair, so he could have his space.

“I should get going,” I said, hitching my thumb over my shoulder. “Sorry for barging in on your evening.”

Gabriel placed a hand on my back, and I barely resisted the urge to fall back into his touch and let him catch me. “I don’t entirely mind your company,” he said with a shrug. He was playing tough, but I could sense a tenderness there.

“You’ll learn there are much more interesting people than me in Chicago. Soon, you’ll be sick of me,” I joked, spinning away from his touch and reaching out to slap his arm playfully.

Before I could react, Gabriel grabbed my hand out of the air and held it in his own, massaging my fingers. My breath caught in my throat, my heart fluttered. Warmth spread from my fingers and down my arm. I stared at where our fingers touched, too afraid to look into his eyes

“Goodnight, Lindsay,” he said, tipping his head forward so a strand of dark hair fell across his forehead. I found myself stretching up towards him. Even though I barely knew him, I would have given myself to him right then and there. But then, he dropped my hand and closed the door, leaving me breathless in the hallway.

By the morning, I’d only barely recovered from what I was now mentally calling “the moment.” Clearly, it had been way too long since I’d been in any sort of romantic situation with a man. And unfortunately, the only person I could discuss the finer details with and figure out what to do next was Anitra, and I already knew what she would say. Keep your legs closed and paint. Not helpful.

I had a hard time turning my brain off, and when I finally did manage to fall asleep, I woke up with Gabriel’s name on my lips and the tendrils of a dirty dream slipping away. I wiped a hand down my face and took a few cleansing breaths. I jolted out of bed when I saw the time on my phone. I’d missed my alarms. Both of them.

I was already on my feet and headed for the kitchen, a checklist of everything I needed to do to get ready running through my mind. I could skip my shower and pull my hair into a messy bun to save thirty minutes. Ordering breakfast to the office would save me ten.

Even with shaving forty minutes off my morning routine, I was twenty minutes late.

“You’re late,” Mr. Sabella barked as I stepped off the elevator. Now that I was in my office I was walking, but I’d practically sprinted from my condo to the office building. A man on the sidewalk had actually shouted after me, “where’s the fire?”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Sabella. I had an issue with my alarm and—”

He held up a meaty hand, cutting me off. “We’re already running behind. I don’t need to hear a bullshit excuse and waste more precious minutes.”

I bit my lip, trying not to cry. Stress and frustration were always enough to start me sobbing, and I knew Mr. Sabella wouldn’t appreciate if I had a full-on breakdown in front of him. Especially because he was in a particularly bad mood.

“I emailed you a list of clients we need to work into the schedule in the next two weeks. Make sure that is done before lunch,” he said, walking away from me, heading back to his office. “If you aren’t done by then, you will need to stay late. And I have a few phone meetings at ten AM Eastern. Make sure you answer the phone and connect me. Do you understand?”

I was about to answer when the elevator dinged open and a raspy voice shouted my name. I turned to see a pimply delivery boy holding up my egg and sausage muffin and extra tall coffee.

“What is this, a deli?” Mr. Sabella said, turning to glare at the delivery boy before his gaze landed on me. Even though he was annoyed, he took the opportunity to brush his eyes down my frame. I’d been in a rush and slipped into a dress that was half a size too small. Clearly, Mr. Sabella appreciated it.

“Sorry, sir,” I groaned and practically ran across the lobby to pay the delivery boy. When I saw that the elevator was in the basement, I slipped him an extra five-dollar tip to take the stairs, rather than wait for the elevator to crawl back up the nine flights. He looked confused but accepted my offer.

“I hope you can work and eat at the same time,” Mr. Sabella said. “We are too far behind schedule for this kind of unprofessional—”

There was another ding and then a deep, silky voice said, “Good morning, Lindsay.”

I closed my eyes and prayed for the voice to be nothing more than my over active imagination. But when I opened them, I saw Mr. Sabella glaring over my shoulder, and I knew it was real. I turned and saw Gabriel walking towards me. He ran a hand through his thick hair and smiled at me, making me almost forget my very angry boss was standing directly behind me. Almost.

I darted forward and met him in the middle of the lobby. “I’m so glad to see you, but this is a terrible time.”

He looked past me and spotted Mr. Sabella standing halfway in his office doorway. Gabriel’s eyes narrowed for a second as if he wasn’t sure what he should do.

“Come back later,” I said, widening my eyes so he’d understand the severity of my boss’ mood. “But call first.”

“Who are you?” Mr. Sabella asked, his voice booming off the tile floors.

“A friend of Lindsay’s,” Gabriel said without missing a beat. “Who are you?”

I turned sideways, looking between Gabriel and my boss like a nature photographer—called to observe, but never interfere.

“Richard Sabella.”

“He’s the owner of Sabella Security Solutions,” I said nervously, finally jumping in to intervene. Then, I hitched a thumb over my shoulder at Gabriel. “And this is my neighbor, Gabriel. He just moved from New York.”

Mr. Sabella made no movement to offer a friendly Chicago welcome, but his eyebrows furrowed. “Your neighbor visits you at work?”

Gabriel opened his mouth, presumably to explain, but I cut him off. “He also works in the building. Maintenance and mail.”

Mr. Sabella’s eyes narrowed further. “That’s a coincidence. Working and living in the same building.”

“It’s a small world,” Gabriel said, offering Mr. Sabella a very uncharacteristic smile, though it lacked the warmth necessary to be considered friendly.

“Apparently,” Mr. Sabella agreed. “What did you do in New York City?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Little of this, little of that.”

“This and that? Are you a vagabond or something? Either you had a job, or you didn’t.”

I couldn’t understand the tension in the room. Gabriel seemed more guarded than usual, and Mr. Sabella usually would have stormed off to his office by now.

“Then, call me a vagabond.”

“Well, Vagabond,” I said with a nervous laugh, patting Gabriel on the back. “I need to get back to work.”

At the same time, Mr. Sabella was talking over me, continuing his interrogation. “How did you move cross country without a job? And find a new job with no experience?”

“It was nice to meet you, Richard,” Gabriel said, letting me lead him towards the elevator doors.

I turned to wince an apology at my boss, but he wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were boring into the back of Gabriel’s head, and I felt like the person who shows up after a food fight—everything is a mess and you have no idea how or why it got that way. There was a strange familiarity between my boss and Gabriel. Especially since Gabriel called him “Richard.” I’d worked for Mr. Sabella for years and never once dared call him by his first name.

The elevator doors opened, and Gabriel stepped inside. “I’ll see you around, Lindsay.”

I nodded and smiled at him, but his eyes were focused on a point over my head, and I didn’t even have to turn around to know it was Mr. Sabella. Finally, the doors closed, and I actually sighed with relief. I made a mental note to never invite Gabriel to my office again.