Heartbreaker (Unbreakable #1)(41)

After the third heavy knock on the front door to her warehouse however, I began to wonder if I’d misjudged. I tried to open it, but it was locked. No noise came from inside, yet her car was parked just a few feet away.

I scanned the front of the building. Then I walked a few paces and rounded the corner, checking out the nearest side wall. The only windows began twelve feet off the ground. Dim light glowed from them.

Halfway down, I heard a muffled thump, like an inside door closing.

“This is ridiculous,” I grumbled, feeling like a stalker as I skulked in the shadows of her building at night. I tugged my phone out of my back pocket, then texted her.



Answer your door.



By the time I walked back around the corner to the front, metal lightly scraped as she unlocked the door. A narrow shaft of light spilled through the crack as she opened it.

“Darren?”

I pushed through, stepping past her.

She gaped at me. “Gee, come in.”

“Thanks.” Moisture lingered in the air, along with a faint scent of vanilla. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“Depends. What’s for dinner?” She relocked the door, then turned and crossed her arms.

“Whatever kind of Chinese you like.” I held up my giant brown bag.

“What did you do, rob the place?”

“Nope. Just ordered one of every special they had. Figured one of ’em had to be your favorite.”

Her lips pressed into a line as she fought a smile. “That confident?”

“Yep.”

She stared at me a beat longer, then turned. “Okay. C’mon, then.”

In near-darkness, I followed her through her maze of metal sculptures. We passed the sitting area, with its couches draped in clothes. We walked by her worktable, covered in an array of unopened envelopes.

She led me to the metal staircase that connected to her overhead loft.

As we climbed the stairs, the soft curls of her hair glistened whenever we stepped into the occasional beams of light from above. She wore a long-sleeved black T-shirt and cotton-flannel pajama bottoms. The muffled clank with every step she took came from a pair of green-and-blue plaid slippers, their sheepskin trim peeking out each time she took the next step up.

“You’re not sick?” No sniffles. She looked great, complexion full of color.

“No.”

Okay. “But no run today?”

“No, I ran.”

“Just not with me.” I suspected it had to do with the other night, yet we ran on Thursday. And that seemed to go okay. Mostly.

“I just needed time to think. Alone.”

When we got to the top, she opened the door and stepped in.

The inside of her loft looked nothing like the stark metal outside. Soft colors on the walls and furnishings made the space a cozy home. The kitchen in front had a good amount of cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and a square butcher-block island with two barstools. Beside it sat a modern dining set with a pale gray lacquered top and four white wooden chairs. Under our feet spanned polished wooden floors.

As I looked toward the open bedroom area that was only a few feet away, she took the bag from me.

“The floor’s not real wood. It’s tile.”

“Really? Fooled me.” It looked like authentic tongue and groove, varying grains and all.

“Cheaper and more durable.” The crinkle of the bag sounded out from the kitchen.

Suddenly, a brown furry head popped out from behind her light blue bed pillows. Its eyes blinked heavily.

“And the bed?” I admired the dark curving headboard while I patted the bedding. Chipmunky bounded out from his hiding place, then stalked my hand before crouching down in the center.

“Reclaimed mahogany.”

Its low-slung style was simple, almost Asian.

I lifted the end of the comforter and slid my hand under it, then swept it quickly back and forth once. Chipmunky’s eyes darkened. He dropped lower, back twitching. I arced my hand slowly to the right. He tracked my movements, then pounced, landing on it for a solid second, before jumping away and crouching down again.

“You’re big into reusing items.” Made sense with how she repurposed items to create her art and the decorating she’d done at Loading Zone.

“I am.” Additional bag-crinkling stole the kitten’s attention and my hand was abandoned. I followed the bounding cat into the kitchen.

Kiki pointed a fork toward the space above the dining table. “Salvaged the chandelier from a hotel demolition. The bathroom’s sliding barn door came from a local farm. Cabinets from an old church. Corkboard on the walls for sound.”

“Where’d the cork come from?”

“A tree?” Her lips twitched into a smirk.

Ahhh…smartass. Well, it was a helluva lot better than the recent silent-and-avoid treatment. Since she’d already arranged the takeout boxes in the center of the table, I took a seat.

She tossed the large paper bag into the air over open floor space. The instant the bag settled, Chipmunky darted into it. Then one section of the bag punched outward. Seconds later, another punch in a different spot deformed the bag and it collapsed.

She opened her fridge. “Want a beer?”

“Sure.”

“A fork? Chopsticks?”

“Fork.”