Shadow Play

7

While I was never particularly gifted in creating art, it never seemed to diminish my love for the arts. And if I couldn’t create it, then I wanted to do the next best thing and be a part of a museum to help honor and share great works of art with the world. Having the opportunity to do that was what I had been working toward for years and I was positively giddy to finally be achieving my goals. The city had been more than I could have imagined and added in large part to the happiness of my new situation. Although I wasn’t sure exactly how I knew, I was certain, this was where I belonged.

4 When I left the museum that evening, I stopped at Medinah’s Groceries and picked up ingredients to make a celebratory dinner commemorating my first day at the museum. I loved the process of creating a meal—preparing fresh ingredients and exploring new recipes and flavors were one of my favorite pastimes. My love stemmed from the years my mom and I spent cooking together in the kitchen. I loved to put on some good music, have a glass of wine, and get lost in the kitchen creating a new dish. Fortunately, the grocery wasn’t much of a detour on my walk home. There were corner food markets, hair salons, restaurants and drugstores at convenient locations all over the city. At some point I would think about buying a car so that I could venture outside of the city, but for now, I was focused on my job and getting settled in my new home. Even though it was still nearly two months from the middle of winter, early November in Belfast meant the daylight hours were already limited. The sun set at about four-thirty, so my evening commute home would be in the dark. The evenly spaced lampposts cast enough light over the sidewalk that I didn’t feel particularly unsafe, but I certainly wasn’t going to take any longer than necessary out on the streets. With that thought in mind and my head tucked against the misty, cool air, I wound my way toward the market. There were a few people headed to and from evening activities, so the streets and sidewalks had the occasional passer-by but nothing compared to the claustrophobia of a New York City sidewalk. Lost in my thoughts, I almost didn’t notice when a voice called out from the street just to my right. “Do I know you?” called a deep voice in a slow Irish drawl. While I might not have been a New Yorker born and bred, I had been there long enough to know that you do not under any circumstances talk to or make eye contact with strangers. However, this voice was so commanding, so compelling that my steps faltered and despite my better judgment, I turned to its source. My lungs forgot how to work as I took in the gorgeous man leaning against a sleek black sports car. He was tall with broad shoulders under his finely tailored dark grey suit. With his arms folded across his chest, I could see his biceps threaten the strength of the suit fabric—not to say he was a muscle-head, more like he had just the right amount of bulk to make other guys envious and women throw themselves at him. His blond hair was cut short and neatly kept. His strong jaw line covered in a thin layer of scruff, more out of convenience than a style choice. I was pretty sure, despite the darkness surrounding him, that beneath his furrowed brows, his assessing eyes were a deep blue. “I’m sorry, what?” I asked, dumbly. Apparently, that was the best I could do in front of this Adonis. “I don’t believe I stuttered. Do. I. Know. You?” he repeated evenly and stood to his full height but didn’t approach. Well over six feet, and Lord Almighty was he rude. Why were the hot ones always assholes? That or gay. “No, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. Should I know you?” Mirroring his stance, I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes. We held each other’s glare until his eyes, devoid of all emotion, slowly raked down my body and back up leaving my skin seared in their wake. “You have no idea who I am?” he asked as his eyes once again met mine. “Good grief! If you couldn’t tell from my accent, I’m not from here and I have only been in the country for less than a week, so no, I have no idea who you are.” My voice raised as my frustrations grew. I was cold and hungry and a bit freaked out so I was definitely less patient than my mother raised me to be, sorry Mom. He approached and with every measured step closer, my breaths became more shallow and I could feel a tendril of fear unfurl in my chest. “How did you get here?” Countering his advance, I took a step back toward the vacant storefront, keeping my eyes locked on his. Not that I could read his intent, his face was a mask giving nothing away. With such an attractive face, he didn’t seem like he should be dangerous, or perhaps I just didn’t want him to be, yet my skin crawled and adrenaline started coursing through me, making my palms sweat and my head pulse. “I flew American,” I said, lifting my chin in a pathetic attempt to assert myself. Sneering, he leaned in so close that his face was just inches from mine. “You think you can toy with me?” His warm breath ghosted across my cheek. “Be very careful. If you play games with me, we will play by my rules, and I doubt you’ll like them,” he growled at me in a deep rumble. I wasn't sure if I was more terrified of him or frustrated with myself, because despite his intimidation and massive size, my stomach flurried in awareness of him. My brain was a mess of contradictions, fluttering from one thought to the next. Is he going to kill me? Kiss me? Would I scream if he did? Was he insane. Did I care? Eventually, my cautious side won out and in a shaking breath, I tried to extract myself from the hold his eyes had over me. “I have absolutely no idea what you mean and I think we’re done here.” I tried to slip away from him but he grabbed my arm in his firm grip before I could get far. “Don’t run from me. If you do, I’ll catch you, it’s what I do.” “Please let me go.” My voice shook as fear trumped everything else. My eyes darted around to see if anyone else was witnessing our exchange and could possibly help me but the immediate area was surprisingly empty. “I’ll make you a deal, tell me your name, and you can go … for now,” he conceded in a husky tone. I told myself that if he wanted to hurt me, he would have done it by now and having my first name wouldn’t give him anything substantial so, if it would speed this along… “Rebecca.” My voice was practically a whisper. His hand slowly released my arm and as soon as I was through his grasp, I quickly fled in the direction of the food store. Almost too quietly to hear, the low timbers of his voice had me securing my coat around my middle. “We are most certainly not done here.” But once I had stopped to venture a glance back, he was already sliding into his car and with startling speed, he pulled away from the curb and was gone.