Chapter One
Charlie spent months curating Pinterest boards, pealing and sticking tile backsplash under her kitchen cabinets, saving up for her West Elm white oak canopy bed, and only buying paintings from Houston artists to decorate her urban, midcentury modern studio that overlooked Montrose. Her space was where she was most content. She surrounded herself with greenery and spent a majority of her time watering her peace lilies and snake plants, sitting on her tan leather sectional and reading something that would feed into her hopeless romanticism. Her rose-painted walls reflected devotion to herself, along with always hanging eucalyptus in her shower to calm her before sipping zero proof wine from stemmed glasses.
It became routine after she redirected her mind from CSS back to the quiet disdain she tried to suppress about her day-to-day life. She’d journal it out before cooking blackened catfish over rice or shrimp and langoustines over grits, her favorite meals she’d cook at least once a week. She hated her job, but it was stable. It was her best option with no direction when it came time for her to pursue a career after her failed college dream didn’t have a plan B attached. She was already designing website for fun. She even blogged a bit. When the opportunity came for her to design a website for a startup, she found that she could get paid by doing something she already knew how to do. She freelanced for five years making decent money until the pandemic hit. Then she needed to make a waitlist.
One by one more people reached out to get a website developed. The boom of situational entrepreneurship and the Great Resignation forced her to find a way to manage all her new inquires. She knew all about monetizing skills and her home décor was an outlet that wouldn’t drain what creativity she had left after hours of being creative for everyone else. She never complained about her job no matter how much she hated it. She made her own hours and could now afford her luxury high-rise. Her clients were generous, and she never had an issue with invoices going unpaid.
Every day she forced herself to go outside to let the sun hit her warm skin - also to make sure she wouldn’t become a recluse since she could spend days at a time with no social interaction due to solopreneur life. She’d walk to Credo di sì, a small Italian coffee shop that refused to serve Americanos, and order an espresso after she was finished with her morning client sync meetings. If she had time she’d sit and people-watch as she finished her cup or talk to Charlie the barista who loved making jokes about having the same name. No matter the mood she was in, he’d make sure she was taken care of before she left – and today was no different. What would break from their routine was the barista's defeat, because she didn’t leave smiling.
On this day she had an extra hour to pass, so she found a seat next to the panned windows that had the right amount of sunlight to comfortably warm her on this fall day. The shop was typically empty around this time, but she’d seen Charlie greet a few visitors, make them lattes, then send them on their way. Montrose is a unique neighborhood of characters filled with artists, fellow tech remote workers, and the corporate folks who you knew just took the job because of the security – they’d rather being writing, taking photos, or doing something else creative. From time to time she’d also spot River Oaks old money who would order their drinks and tip well, or not at all. She had plenty to see as she sipped her espresso, but she could go without seeing the person who caused her to leave the shop that day.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy to see him, but she could have gone a lifetime without seeing him again. When their eyes met, she lost a breath before taking a filling inhale hard enough to tighten her chest. She stayed in her seat and let him walk over to her. He asked to sit and she nodded before he pulled out the chair, set down his matcha, and placed his backpack on the floor.
“It’s good to see you,” he said.
“This is definitely a surprise,” she followed. “Are you visiting?”
“I just moved back,” he said with a smile. She didn’t return his gesture.
“I’m sure your dad is happy about that,” Charlie said.
“Yeah, I’m sure he would have been,” he said.
Still impassive, she was able to let out an, “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” he sighed.
“And your mom?” she asked.
No response.
“Well, it’s great running into you,” she says as she grabs her bag and empty mug before pushing her chair out to prepare to leave. He follows her.
“Can we grab a coffee here soon and catch up?” he asked, “Is this still your spot after your client meetings?”
“It is,” she said, “and I don’t think so.”
“Let’s talk, Dion. Come on. I moved to the neighborhood and you know how we move. I’m sure I’ll see you around. Let me warm that cold shoulder you’re trying to give me just so it won’t be this awkward.”
“I doubt we’ll run into each other, Houston is huge. Why’d you pick this neighborhood?”
“You’re making me work hard to get a ‘yes’ from you. Like always.”
“Fine,” she says on her way out of the door.
“Amoré, where’s my smile!?” the barista shouts as she rushes out of the shop.
“Not today, Charlie,” she says.
“Dion!” the guy shouts as he chases her out of the shop. She stops. She’s not used to hearing that name anymore, but she knew the voice clear as day.
“Yeah?” she replied, collecting herself from the built-up adrenaline that had formed from trying to keep her composure getting out of there.
“When are you free?” he asked. He attempts to grab her hand but stops mid motion. Because she’s so standoffish, he could sense that’s probably not the best approach.
“Later tonight,” she said, “Is that cool with you?”
“I mean yeah, that’s cool with me,” he responds, taken aback a bit. “I didn’t want to impose that option based on your vibe right now.”
“I’ll help you unpack a few boxes,” she says.
He smiled. “Why are you assuming I’m not unpacked already?”
She looks down and stares at the worn shell toes he’s wearing, then looks back up at him with a smirk. “Let me guess, you got here a few days ago?”
“You’d be correct,” he says, “And I need you to stop trying to play me right now.”
“I’ll help you set up your 1s wall.”
He smiles and stares. She keeps her composure, only giving him a tiny smirk back. That’s all she was going to give him, even though she thought he deserved way less.
“You’re much appreciated,” he said.
“Uh huh. Where do you live?” she asks.
“This high-rise with the tinted blue windows,” he says pointing down a increasingly congested road. “It’s on Montrose right before you hit the museums.”
Charlie’s smirk disappeared, returning to her blank face. She was surprised, but she didn’t want him to read it through her expression. She was very familiar with that building. It was right across from hers, taller and blocking the scenic views her building once had before it was built. She thought she had made a major accomplishment when she moved in, but thanks to newer and nicer building for those with much more money than her, she’s always reminded that she has more work to do whenever she looked outside her window.
“Are you still living at these apartments right here?” he asked as he pointed above Credo di sí.
“No, I moved,” she said, “But I’m still in the neighborhood.”
“Oh word? Where are you now?”
“I need to head back to get some work done for a deadline I have today. I know where you’re staying. Send me your apartment number and I’ll come over around 8ish.”
“I’m on the top floor, at penthouse 3. I don’t have shit else to do today besides unpack so come over whenever.”
“Of course, you’re on the top floor,” she mumbled. He didn’t hear her.
“Alright,” she said.
He went in for a hug, but she quickly dismissed it and watched as he pulled back, smiled at her, and started walking back to those tall blue windows she hated.