soon as Mike led me into the arts room, my focus narrowed in on the man at an art table.
It was Javi. His head was bent down, and he was drawing on some kid’s arm, but I recognized that lean, muscled back and dark hair instantly. Something in my body hummed to life at the sight of him, an unwanted intruder.
What had happened after was one surprise after another: Javi, shaking my hand and staring at me with those hazel eyes brimming with wariness. My mind worked double time to balance my party-loving neighbor with someone who volunteered at a center like this one. Then there was his chest tattoo, so intricate and powerful that I’d stared at it too long, my fingers itching to trace the hard lines of the shield over his heart. It had felt, briefly, like a challenge, and a challenge was the last thing I could afford.
Finally, the boy at the table had gotten loud with his frustration. Javi had rushed over and identified the problem. Then—and I thought my jaw was going to hit the floor—he began to sign with the boy, their hands dancing with crisp movements, and Javi had used a pen and paper to show the boy what to do.
As I sat near them and watched, I realized that the director and I had interrupted Javi giving the kid a marker tattoo, which was unbearably sweet. Now Javi was teaching him how to finish it. There was an ease and comfort between the two of them that spoke of friendship and mentorship, and Javi was gentle with his instruction.
When the rooster—as I’d finally determined it to be—had been finished, the kid had whooped like he’d won a marathon. When he’d thanked Javi, I could hear the awkwardness in the words; the kid was deaf, and if he was spending time at the center, he was probably having a hard time. And Javi had made his day.
By the time the mom had pulled Javi into a hug, my mind was unraveling with it all. I’d constructed this narrative of my neighbor, one based on the silent, looming man he’d been in our previous interactions. Sure, he’d come to apologize and tell me the parties were on hiatus, and I appreciated it. But there’d been a stiff set to his shoulders, his eyes like daggers and his words, when he bothered to say anything, short and clipped.
Yet the Javi at the center was relaxed. He smiled. He seemed comfortable in that intricately decorated skin, and my mind was blown. Who the hell was this guy, and why was my heart racing so fast every time I looked his way?
I smiled tightly at Javi and walked back over to the director, trying to keep some semblance of cool. After all, this was part of the job—a job I very much needed if I was going to build a life where I didn’t have to stick my daughter in daycare for ten hours a day.
Just the threat of that kind of life, one so separate from Giuliana, made me desperate to do whatever it took to make sure I could keep that from happening. Currently Mason’s wife helped me with childcare when I needed it, but I wouldn’t be able to rely on her full-time. I’d chosen Giuliana and made her my world, and nothing was going to stop me from following through on my promises to her.
“Javi’s great, isn’t he?” Mike had his hands in his pant pockets, smiling like a proud dad.
He wasn’t wrong, though. “That was incredible. You say he’s a regular volunteer here?”
“The best one we have. Several times a week, too, and never asks for anything in return. I don’t know what I’d do without him. He knows the center and our kids inside and out.” Mike’s face lit up like it was Christmas morning. “Hey, you’ve got me thinking—Javi! Come over here, will ya?”
My jaw clenched even as my blood began to thunder in my ears. The closer Javi was, the hotter I felt. But my neighbor seemed unaffected. Curious at best—and, based on how his gaze slid over to me for a brief moment, wary as well. He stood closer to the director, I noticed. As if he was afraid of me. But why would he ever be intimidated by someone like me?
“Gentlemen, we have a plan,” the director boasted with such exuberance that I had a sinking feeling in my gut. “Javi, you should work with Gordon—his