Fated Shot

Chapter 7

Mia

I still can’t believe I was able to get everything to fit in my new studio. Thank gosh for Bev Cameron insisting on hiring the Muscle Movers because I don’t think there would have been any other way we could have tackled everything in one day.

This morning, we watched as two men filled the little U-Haul trailer that I hitched to my Jeep. By the time I arrived three hours later to Parkside Place, two new guys were waiting, ready to unload everything into my new place. It was impressive as heck.

I managed to drop off the trailer at a U-Haul parking lot down the street and have been unpacking ever since. Bean is obsessed with the view and I have to admit, the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room are pretty breathtaking. They were a huge selling point. As soon as I put his cat tree back together and filled two bowls with water and kibble, Bean was fully pleased.

“I guess we’re officially Toronto residents now,” I say to him as he meows back happily at me from the top perch. Fresh start, fresh view, fresh… me? Yeah, fresh me. Mia new and improved.

I decided to start on the highest priority items, three boxes labeled Kitchen and four labeled Bedroom. By the time I’ve filled all six cabinets in my new kitchen, I start on the box I’m most excited about. As a housewarming and birthday present, my parents got me a beautiful two-rack countertop oven. I was a sobbing wreck. The amount of time saved going from one oven to two can’t even be formulated into words. I’m so grateful .

I carefully unpack it, resting it on the counter next to my fridge. It’s a sight to behold and it looks perfect in the space, although I am highly biased. Should I be this level excited over a stainless steel, digital oven that takes up way too much counter space? Honestly? Yes. It’s life-changing, let a girl live.

All the appliances came with the unit and thankfully, are in great shape. The thought of having to immediately upgrade an oven or fridge on top of rent was more than daunting enough. With the kitchen mostly settled, I can finally turn my attention to the bedroom boxes.

I quickly found the bedding box and set up the mattress. Not the most glamorous, but who said sleeping on the floor means you can’t have a top sheet, comforter, and about ten accent pillows? I step back, satisfied. I plan to look for a bedroom set on Facebook Marketplace, but for now, this works.

Two hours later, my walk-in closet is filled to the brim, and my mental checklist is looking good: Kitchen, check. Bed, check. Clothes, check. If baking doesn’t pan out, I have a serious future as a moving professional.

Not bad for the first day. I’m freaking exhausted, but I’m glad to be at least somewhat settled. I decide the rest of the unpacking can be tackled slowly over the next few days. Throwing a few empty boxes under my arm, I walk out toward the main space.

It takes some clever maneuvering, but I manage to haul the entire stack of broken-down boxes to the parking garage. Holding the door open with my foot, I toss them into the green recycling bin in the alley.

Finally, time for bed. Making my way back up, the moment I hit my floor, a pit forms in my stomach. Ripping my phone out of my front pocket, I frantically pat down the slides of my leggings. This cannot be happening right now .

The panic sets in immediately as I rush to my door and try the handle, which doesn’t budge an inch. I’m not good under pressure, but I suppress my tears as I roll through my options.

The door is locked. My key card is probably still where I left it on the counter from this morning. Bean, in his twelve-pound glory, cannot learn to open doors in the next ten minutes. Checking the clock on my home screen, it reads 11:26 pm. The lobby has no one manning the desk until 5 am. Mom and Dad are spending one last night at the cottage. It would be nearly 3 am by the time they would get here, and even so, then we’d all be locked out. I have my phone. I could call a cab to a hotel and… Shoot, my wallet is inside and freaking internet safety 101 taught me not to save any payment information on my phone.

Think, Mia, think . I dial my parent’s numbers three times each. They’re driving up early tomorrow morning, meaning they’d have gone to bed at nine and are dead to the world at this point. Trying their cells one last time, I hold back the urge to throw my phone when they go to voicemail again.

Pacing back and forth in this obnoxiously bright hallway, I try desperately to fight off the panic attack that’s brewing. I’m on my own. Staring down at my recent call list, a name catches my eye, one phone call from Saturday night, Jack Brody.

It’s this or spending the next six hours in this asylum hallway. I hit dial immediately and wait with baited breath as it rings. Please pick up.

There’s a click on the fourth ring and a groggy voice on the other end, “... Hello?”

“Jack?” I let out way too eagerly, “It’s Mia, um, Cameron… from the barbecue?”

I hear some rustling on the other end of the phone. “Oh hey, how’s it going?” he replies, sounding significantly more lively .

“Listen, I’m so sorry to do this, I know it’s late, but I didn’t know who else to call, and I can’t get a hold of anyone and—” I pause, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill out.

“Mia, are you okay? Where are you?” His deep voice on the other end suddenly sends a wave of calm through me.

“I’m okay. I’m in my building. I just left my keycard in my apartment, and now I’m locked out, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Stay where you are. What floor?” he commands. The usual polite tone of his voice growing a bit more concerned.

“Wh-why?”

“I’m coming to get you.”

“Wait, no, you’re coming here?” Not sure what I expected when I called him, but the realization hits like a ton of bricks. I look down at my old, black leggings, oversized New York sweatshirt and navy crocs. Impeccable planning on my part.

“What floor, Mia.” He sounds incredibly serious. He’s coming to get me. I deserve this, let him see the slob kabob that is me right now. I brought this upon myself.

“Twelve,” I surrender.

“Be there in five.” There’s a click of the phone disconnecting, and I sink down to the floor in front of my door. Useless and calling a man for help less than twenty-four hours into living on my own? Lovely . I vow to keep my key card glued to me from this moment forward.

Less than four minutes later, the elevator door dings. Stepping into my hallway is Jack freaking Brody coming to save the day in his white Converse, gray sweatpants, and black t-shirt. The sight alone nearly makes me burst into tears, and that’s not the exhaustion talking. There is no reason that man has any right to look this good.

As he walks toward me, out of breath, I ask, “Did you run here? ”

“What? N-no,” he replies in a poorly convincing voice. He stretches his hand out to me. I take it as he pulls me to my feet.

“So, you’re here,” I say, as I plant my hands on my hips and turn to the door in front of us. “Got a plan that doesn’t involve breaking my door down?”

“Yep,” he says matter of factly, as he turns back toward the elevators, “Come on, you’ll stay at my place.”

“WHAT?” I let out way more high-pitched than socially acceptable, but that seems to get his attention.

He laughs, “Easy there, Tiger,” flashing me a quick glance. “I’m not leaving you out here by yourself, Mia.”

I’ve completely stopped moving, but he turns back to me, a seriousness on his face. Clearly sensing my hesitation, he continues, “I guarantee you my couch is a lot more comfortable than the floor.”

He waits for a moment as I run through my exceptionally limited options. He’s right, it’s this or the floor essentially. With no better ideas, I follow him toward the elevator.

When he unlocks his apartment, I expect a model similar to mine, given that we are in the same complex. Boy, I couldn’t have been more wrong. White and gray veined marble covers the entire first floor of his unit, and gigantic glass panes line the full back wall spanning from his expansive kitchen all the way through to the living room. To the right of the entryway, I notice a set of floating stairs leading up to some sort of loft. The entire place looks like it was plucked straight out of a Pottery Barn catalog.

“Wow, this is so nice,” I remark. Suspiciously clean too, like I have a girlfriend clean.

“Oh thanks, yeah, I moved here last year. I like it,” he says before popping off his shoes and walking into the kitchen. “Make yourself at home.”

Not likely, but I slide off my crocs in the entryway, lining them up next to his Converse, and gently sit on the edge of his couch. The moment I stop to rest, I’m fighting the urge to crash right then and there. With the exhaustion and panic that have been swirling in my body now at bay, I’m officially left with zero energy. I swear this couch is comfier than my bed. I let out a yawn as Jack hands me a bottle of water.

“Are you hungry?”

“No,” I say as I grab the bottle from him, “thank you.” He nods and walks over to the other end of the couch before stretching out slightly.

“Thanks for picking up, I-I promise I’m not always this… helpless . I’m really sorry if I’m ruining your night.” I send an apologetic glance in his direction.

His expression is sincere as he smiles calmly at me, “I’m glad you called.”

“Did you have big plans?” Like with a very clean and gorgeous girlfriend? “Ya know, besides rescuing a desperate neighbor?”

“I was sleeping, actually,” he grins sheepishly at me. My momentary relief is bodied by a wave of guilt.

“Oh my gosh, of course you were. It’s late. I’m so sorry. Go to bed,” I say, zipping off the couch and pulling his arm. “I promise I’ll just sit on the couch. You won’t even know I’m here, and in the morning, I’ll be out of your hair.”

Despite my excess of effort, his body remains static. I swear I hear him chuckle at my frustration as I give up, dropping his arm.

“You take the bed, I’m comfortable out here.”

“I’m not sleeping in your bed!” I respond, my voice coming out squeaky and panicked. I seriously need to get my tone in check. He arches an eyebrow in amusement.

I flop back down on the couch, exasperated.

“I’m comfy right here.” I make a point to settle deeper into the cushion that begins morphing around my body. Another yawn slips out as I look back at Jack. He shakes his head almost smiling to himself as he grabs the remote from the armrest beside him, and flips on the ridiculously large TV in front of us.

Turning my attention to it, I try not to focus on his handsome face as he scrolls through the TV guide—a difficult feat, for sure. Sportsnet plays in the background, and I’m thankful for the faint chatter of the sportscasters. It fills the silence, like calming white noise.

I’m so tired, and the sudden shift from panic to comfort has already taken its toll on me. My body sinks deeper into Jack Brody’s couch, and before I know it, my eyes close, and I fall sound asleep.

As the sound of my alarm blares through the apartment, my eyes dart open. It takes me a full minute to get my bearings before I sit up and try to reach around for my phone. I’m… warm? Looking down, I whip off the Tundra blanket that’s draped over me as the search for my phone continues. It’s still dark outside, but the lights of the city shine through the window as the first speckles of morning light start to paint the sky.

Standing up, I head toward the small glow of a screen on the kitchen counter. Pressing the End button on my alarm, I notice the battery is at one hundred percent. He charged my phone for me? Unplugging it, I turn to look around the room.

The spot where I was lying down looks disheveled, with the massive blue blanket half draped on the floor. The last spot where I saw Jack, however, is in perfect condition, remote back in its space on the armrest, and a neatly folded blanket on the cushion. I tiptoe through the living room, leaning my head down the little hallway to the open bathroom door. Empty. Taking a few steps up the hardwood stairs, I peek into the loft. Similar to the rest of the apartment, it’s meticulously tidy, with a king-size bed, a carefully tucked duvet, and four giant fluffy pillows lined up across the headboard. Also empty .

He’s gone? Okay, he’s gone. Irish goodbye, easy enough. I step into the living room, grabbing the fuzzy blanket and trying to fold it neatly. As I smooth it out on the couch, a soft beep from the door makes me freeze. My head snaps up just as Jack walks in.

He’s wearing the same black t-shirt, but this time with black shorts showcasing his thick legs. I shamelessly watch his muscles compress as he steps forward, raising my eyes slowly to meet his.

“Morning,” I manage through my not-so-subtle gawking.

A gentle smile emerges. “Sleep okay?”

How does he look this perfect right now? I nod, clearly unable to formulate words. He knocks off his shoes one at a time, and I watch as he lines them back up neatly by the door with his foot. The slight curls in his deep brown hair are resting perfectly on his forehead, framing his sculpted face.

“I got you a coffee,” he says, handing me a warm cup.

“You did not have to do that. That is so nice,” I say, reaching for it happily as I take a step closer. My hand lightly grazes his as I grab it, sending a shockwave through my body.

His eyes widen at the contact, but he recovers with a casual shrug. “No biggie.” I feel his blue eyes on me even after I break contact and take a quick sip.

The subtly sweet flavor instantly warms me the moment it hits my tongue. As the caffeine enters my system, making me feel more lively, the realization sets in.

“Vanilla latte?” I ask, looking toward him.

He nods and averts his gaze ever so slightly, taking a slow sip from his own cup.

“Lucky guess?” I press, genuinely dumb-founded as to whether I really do come across as this level of basic or he’s just some jedi level mind-reader.

He avoids my gaze, eyes fixed on the floor in front of him, his broad shoulders slumped against the wall in the cramped entryway. I struggle to read his expression. His voice barely reaches me, a quiet mumble, “I remembered.”

“You remembered?” I ask, more confused than ever. He gives a small nod, this time holding my gaze. There’s an uncertainty in his eyes, like he’s trying to read my reaction. I try to think back to our walk. When did we ever even talk about coffee? I didn’t have a cup on the ice during the near-fall fiasco either. When would he have even… Light. Freaking. Bulb.

“YOU!” I shout, marching toward him and jabbing a finger to the center of his rock-hard chest. “You’re a booth thief.”

His expression lightens as he smirks, quirking one eyebrow up at me, “Booth thief?”

“Yes, always in my spot at Cordelia’s, lurking in the corner and destroying the bench cushion with your freakishly large body!”

“Freakishly large, eh?” he chuckles.

“The structural integrity of the cushions will never be the same.”

“Geez, didn’t realize you were so passionate about seating.”

“Well, now you do. I’ve staked my claim and demand you relinquish my spot from this point forward.”

“Oh yeah?” he says, staring me down, a smile spreading across his face, “Or what?” he adds, amusement flooding his eyes. Is he flirting with me right now?

The intensity of his gaze causes me to drop my hand down, lightly brushing his stomach as it falls. I hear a throaty grumble escape him the moment it does. The sound tugs at my core, making me bite my lip. Nope, nope, nope. A sound alone should not be making me feel this way. Taking a half step back, I’m suddenly much more aware of the limited space. We’re squeezed in the entryway that’s only slightly wider than the front door .

Noticing the distance I immediately placed between us, he takes a slow breath. The flicker of excitement in his eyes dwindling with every passing second.

“How about next year, we rock-paper-scissors for it?”

“Deal,” I manage to say with a steadying breath.

Still trying to process, I recite more to myself than anything, “So you memorized my coffee order and stole my booth.”

How had I not noticed him? I mean, I definitely noticed him, but I never, I don’t know, noticed him. Just great, Mia. Now, you’re not even making grammatical sense. Lovely.

“Why didn’t you ever say hi?” I look back up at him, trying to decipher his now more serious expression.

Looking at the ground, he shakes his head slowly. “I wish I did.”

As if in a moment of trying to convince himself not to, we lock eyes once more, and he moves his body toward me, my back officially reaching the wall.

He towers over me, his body radiating heat, his head tilted down slightly as I peer up at him. His woodsy scent engulfs me. I watch his throat as he swallows slowly, trying to control his breathing. It’s like he’s feeling this as much as I am. The thudding of his chest does nothing to tame my own.

I can’t even think straight, but I can feel my head moving slowly toward his, drawn to the moment, drawn to him. Like two magnets feeling the pull toward each other, inching closer to the instinct to snap together. He agonizingly slowly closes the distance until I can feel his breath on my face, lips nearly grazing mine.

My alarm blares again from my sweatshirt’s front pocket, snapping me out of my daze. He instinctively steps back as I yank it out, turning it off. Saved by the bell .

I clumsily fumble around to slip on my crocks, only allowing myself a quick peek in Jack’s direction, who has now backed up to be flush against the opposite wall, staring straight ahead.

“I-I’ve really gotta go. Thank you for everything,” I spit out as I race through the door into the hallway.