Beyond Walls

Chapter3

She walked through the spinning doors, got on the elevator and went up to the twelfth floor, then she got out and walked into the fancy waiting room of Morrison & Associates, which was the name of her new workplace.

The receptionist was really young. Had great eyeliner. She said, “You must be Isla," with a smile. My name is Jade. Nice to meet you. Everyone’s so excited you’re here. Vanessa’s been talking about you for weeks.”

Vanessa Morrison was her boss. They got along well from the start when they were doing the interviews. The reason they clicked was that they were both really into their work; they both loved learning about what people buy and why. They both thought that making a good advertisement was a mix of being creative and using facts and numbers.

“Happy to be here,” Isla said, and meant it.

The day went by fast with all the new people she was introduced to, getting access to passwords, getting a tour of the office, and having strategy meetings. She was given the Hendricks account to work on by Vanessa, a chain of artisanal home goods stores that are struggling now because they managed to get their target audience to hate them. The Hendricks account is the kind of challenge Isla loves.

She put her heart into it with the kind of focus that made her special. She did market research to look at what her competitors were doing. She even did consumer surveys. By the time she stopped to look at the time it was, after seven and the office was almost empty.

Her phone had several texts. Three from Rachel (How’s the new job? Did you make friends? STOP WORKING AND EAT SOMETHING),

One from her mom (Hope your first day went well, sweetie!), and one from Damien.

She opened that one last, trying to ignore how her pulse jumped.

Damien: How’d it go?

It had been sent two hours ago. She thought about not responding to him. She had spent all day trying not to think about the guy. It seemed really rude to ignore someone who had actually asked about her day.

Isla: Still alive. Might have stayed too late on day one. Classic overachiever move.

The response came immediately.

Damien: Did you have something to eat?

Isla: Does coffee count?

Damien: No.

Isla: Then no.

Damien: I have some leftover Chinese food in my fridge. You are welcome to eat it.

Isla stared at the message. It was a kind offer. A neighborly offer. The kind of thing people do for each other in apartment buildings.

It was also potentially dangerous.

Isla: That is okay. I will grab something to eat on the way home.

Damien: Everything will be closed by the time you get here. I have done the late night walk of shame through this neighborhood once. The options for bodega sandwiches are terrible.

He had a point.

Isla: I like bodega sandwiches.

Damien: Liar. Come by when you get home. Door’s open.

Isla: That’s a good way to get robbed.

Damien: Only if you’re planning to rob me. Are you?

Isla: Not currently on my agenda.

Damien: Then we’re good.

She shouldn’t go. Going to his apartment at night, when she was tired, and he was probably looking unfairly attractive in worn sweatpants or something equally hot was a bad idea.

But she was hungry. And the Chinese food was excellent. And it was just leftovers between neighbors.

Isla packed up all her things and said goodbye to the people who were still at the office. Then Isla headed home.

The apartment building was quiet when she arrived, most of her neighbors had already settled in for the evening. She stopped at her door first, dropping off her bag and slipping out of her heels with a sigh of relief. Changed into comfortable jeans and a soft sweater.

Then, before she could talk herself out of it she walked across the hall. Knocked on the door of 3D.

The door opened immediately.

Damien really looked different now. He was wearing his gray sweatpants and a very old T-shirt with lots of paint stains on the front. His hair was all messy like he had been pulling his hands through it. There was also a blue painted mark on his neck that he probably didn’t know about.

He looked better than anyone had a right to look in sweats and paint stains.

“Hey,” he said, stepping back to let her in. “Come in. Fair warning, it’s a disaster.”

It wasn’t. Or rather, it was, but in an intentional way. The main living space had been converted into a studio — canvases everywhere in various stages of completion, easels, jars of brushes, tubes of paint organized by color. The walls were splattered with years of creative chaos, somehow managing to look artistic rather than messy.

“Wow,” Isla said, turning in a slow circle. “This is…”

“A lot?”

“Amazing.” She moved toward the nearest canvas, an abstract piece in blues and grays that somehow captured the feeling of being underwater. “These are incredible, Damien.”

“Thanks.” He sounded almost shy, which was oddly endearing. “Kitchen’s this way. The food's still warm.”

The kitchen was tiny but had everything one would need. He took out a container from the fridge. It smelled like stir-fried rice. Then he got some plates, so they could help themselves.

“I can just take it to go,” Isla offered.

“Or you could eat here like a civilized person,” he said, already dishing out generous portions. “Unless you have somewhere else to be?”

She did not. The empty apartment was waiting for her and so was the big pile of paperwork that she had brought home from work.

I think I will stay for a while, she responded.

They ate at his small kitchen table, the conversation flowing easily. He asked about her day, and seemed genuinely interested in the challenge of the Hendricks account. She asked about his painting, learned that he’d been working on a new series inspired by the idea of liminal spaces, doorways, windows, the moments between one place and another.

“Why that theme?” she asked.

Damien was quiet for a moment, twirling noodles around his fork. “I guess I’m interested in transition. The space between where you were and where you’re going. Most people rush through those moments, but that’s where the interesting stuff happens. The uncertainty, the possibility, the fear of jumping from one state to another.”

“That’s… really profound for Chinese food conversation.”

He laughed. “Sorry. This happens a lot. Artists can be really full of themselves, you know,” he said with a wink.

“You’re not one of them,” she said softly.

The air changed suddenly.

Damien put his fork down on the table. “Isla,” he said.

Her phone rang, shattering the moment. She fumbled for it and saw Rachel’s name on the screen.

“Sorry, I should....”

“Take it,” he said, already standing, picking up their plates. “I’ll give you privacy.”

She answered as he went into the bathroom. “Hey, Rach.”

You are alive. I was getting really worried.

“Still alive. Just working late.”

Did you eat at least?

Isla looked over the bathroom door. “Yes, I had something to eat.”

I want to know everything. How’s the job? The apartment? Have you met the neighbors?

“The job’s great. The place is good. And yeah, I’ve met one of my neighbors.”

Something in her voice must have given her away because Rachel’s tone immediately sharpened.

“One of your neighbors. Is this neighbor cute?”

“Rachel...."

“Oh my god, he’s cute. How cute? On a scale of ‘nice to look at’ to ‘would definitely make you reconsider your life choices’ cute?”

“I’m not having this conversation.”

“So definitely the second one. Isla Monroe, are you seriously telling me that not even two days into your fresh start, you’ve already found a hot neighbor?”

“Found" is a strong word. He exists. In the apartment across from mine. That’s it.”

“Sure. That’s why you sound like you’ve been running a marathon.”

The bathroom door swung open. Damien walked out. Isla felt his eyes on her from all the way across the room.

“I have to go,” she said quickly. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“This conversation is not over!”

She said, “Love you, bye” and hung up before Rachel could say anything else.

Damien leaned against the doorframes with his arms crossed and a smile on his face. “Friend checking in?”

“Best friend. And she worries a lot.”

“Sounds like a good friend.”

“The best,” Isla stood, suddenly aware of how intimate this all felt eating together, the easy conversation, the comfortable space. Dangerous territory. “I should get going. Early morning tomorrow.”

“Right. Of course,” he walked her to the door, and she was hyper aware of how small the space felt with both of them in it.

“Thanks for coming by.”

“Thanks for feeding me. You saved me from a very sad bodega sandwich.”

“Anytime.” He reached past her to open the door, and for a moment they were close enough that she could smell paint and something warm underneath it. “Isla?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you moved in. To the building, I mean. It’s… nice having you across the hall.”

Her heart did a thing in her chest. She said, “It is nice being across the hall.”

They stood there, in the doorway, neither moving. His eyes dropped to her lips, just for a second, then back up.

She should leave. Right now. Before she did something stupid, like lean forward, like close the distance, like find out if his lips felt as good as they looked.

“Good night, Damien.”

“Night, Isla.”

She forced herself to step into the hallway, to walk a few feet to her own door, to get her key in the lock even though her hands were shaking slightly.

Her apartment felt emptier than it had that morning. Quieter. She changed into pajamas, washed her face, and tried to focus on the paperwork she’d brought home.

But her eyes kept drifting to the window. To his window. The light was still on in his studio. She could see his silhouette moving back and forth, probably working on one of those liminal space paintings.

She watched longer than she should have. Long enough that when she finally closed the curtains, she wasn’t sure anymore whether she was trying to keep him out or keep herself in.