Loving Again

4

Maya

The sun was warm on my face as I pulled my car into the parking lot downtown. My hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than usual as nerves crept up on me. I hadn't seen Marcus since our brief encounter in the building, and I wasn't sure what to expect from this visit. It felt casual enough—a quick tour of his art studio—but there was something about him that made me feel... unsettled. Not in a bad way, but in a way that made me think I might be walking into something bigger than I was ready for.

I shook off the thought, reminding myself that this was just a friendly visit. I wasn't rushing into anything, and I needed to keep my focus.

After parking, I slid out of my car and smoothed down my shirt, brushing off the imaginary wrinkles. The downtown area was buzzing with life, the air thick with the sounds of passing cars, conversations, and the occasional distant horn. Skyscrapers loomed above, and the streets were a blur of motion—people heading to lunch, carrying shopping bags, or hurrying to their next meeting.

I checked my phone to make sure I had the right address for Marcus's studio. It wasn't too far—just a block away. As I made my way down the street, the smell of street food and coffee mingled in the air, and I found myself smiling.

There was something invigorating about being in the city. Charleston had its charm, but Los Angeles was electric. It made me feel like anything was possible. Just as I rounded the corner, my attention was pulled to a woman who bumped into me, nearly knocking my bag off my shoulder.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, reaching out to steady me. "Are you okay?"

I looked up and met her eyes, smiling reassuringly. "I'm fine. No harm done."

The woman in front of me was stunning—her light brown skin glowed in the afternoon sun, and her makeup was flawless. Dark eyeliner accentuated her almond-shaped eyes, and her lips were painted a soft nude that complemented her overall look. Her long hair fell in sleek waves down her back, and she had a natural confidence about her that made it hard not to notice her.

"Honestly, I didn't even see you," she admitted with a laugh, her voice warm and light. "I was in my own world, thinking about a client I have later today."

"No worries," I said, brushing it off. "I've been there."

She glanced at my outfit—casual but put together—and her gaze lingered just long enough for me to notice. "You new around here?"

"I am, actually. Just moved from Charleston a couple of weeks ago," I explained.

She smiled, clearly relieved. "I'm Jordan. Jordan McCall."

"Maya Langston," I introduced myself, shaking her outstretched hand.

Jordan's smile widened, and she glanced at my outfit. "You have such a great sense of style. Are you in fashion?"

"Interior design, actually," I corrected her. "But I love playing around with colors and textures, whether it's in a room or my wardrobe."

"Interior design? That's amazing! I've always thought about hiring someone to redo my studio, but I've been too swamped to even think about it." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm a makeup artist. I run a little business called *Glow Up by Jordan*. Ever heard of it?"

My eyes widened in recognition. I had heard of her. Some of her work had popped up on my social media feeds—celebrities and influencers raving about her makeup skills. She was one of those artists who could transform someone's look without making them unrecognizable.

"I've seen your work," I said, my voice full of admiration. "You're incredibly talented."

"Thank you," she said, beaming. "It's been a lot of hard work, but I love it. Honestly, I can't imagine doing anything else. I think makeup has the power to make people feel confident in ways they didn't think possible. Kind of like how designing a space can make someone feel completely at home."

We fell into step together as we walked down the busy street, chatting like old friends. Jordan had a contagious energy that made her easy to talk to, and within minutes, we were swapping stories about moving to LA and navigating the city.

"So, what are you up to today?" she asked.

"I'm actually on my way to visit a friend's art studio. He's just down the street."

Jordan's eyes lit up. "An artist, huh? Sounds like fun. Is it more of a gallery space or a work-in-progress type of studio?"

"I'm not sure, honestly. I haven't seen it yet, but I imagine it's more of a workspace," I said, shifting the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder.

"Well, if you ever want a makeup artist to glam you up for a gallery opening, you know who to call," she joked with a playful wink.

"I'll keep that in mind," I said with a laugh.

We exchanged numbers just before she had to head off for her appointment, promising to meet up for coffee or lunch soon. I watched her disappear into the crowd, feeling a sense of ease wash over me. It was nice to meet someone who seemed so genuine, and I had a feeling that Jordan and I would get along just fine.

The thought of Marcus's studio slipped back into my mind as I rounded the next corner. I took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for whatever this visit would bring. When I finally reached the building, I spotted the name etched into the glass window: **Marzano Studio**. The name was bold and artistic, a reflection of the man who worked behind those walls.

I stood outside for a moment, trying to steady my breathing. Through the window, I could see Marcus, completely engrossed in his work. He stood at a large canvas, his movements fluid and confident, each brushstroke purposeful. His brow was furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted as if he were in a trance. I watched as his hands moved gracefully, painting something that looked both abstract and deeply personal.

For a moment, I forgot where I was. The way he moved was mesmerizing, almost like watching a dance. His focus was so intense, so absorbed in his world of color and form, that it felt like intruding just to stand there.

And yet, I couldn't look away.

The longer I watched him, the more I felt something stir within me—a quiet, undeniable pull. I didn't know if it was his passion, the way he seemed to lose himself in his work, or something else entirely. Whatever it was, it made me stand there, frozen, my heart beating a little faster than it should have been.

But then, without warning, Marcus looked up.

For a split second, our eyes met through the glass, and time seemed to slow down. He didn't smile right away; instead, he just held my gaze, his eyes curious, as if he was trying to figure out why I was standing there. I could feel my face flush, heat rising to my cheeks as I realized I had been caught staring.

My stomach flipped, and suddenly, all the confidence I had built up melted away. What was I doing? Standing there like some kind of lovestruck teenager? I hadn't even made it inside the studio, and already I felt like I was losing my composure.

I glanced around quickly, making sure no one else had noticed, and in a flash of embarrassment, I turned on my heel and walked away, my heart racing.

My steps were hurried as I put more distance between myself and the studio. I didn't stop until I was around the corner, safely out of view. I leaned against a wall, pressing a hand to my chest as I tried to calm down.

What was that?

I hadn't felt something like this in a long time—this strange, magnetic pull. And the way he had looked at me, as if seeing right through me, unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.

I couldn't believe I had just walked away like that. I had come all the way downtown to visit his studio, to see him, and yet, the moment our eyes met, I had panicked.

I sighed, shaking my head at myself. I wasn't ready to face him again, not yet. Maybe tomorrow, or the next day. I needed to regroup, to figure out what it was about him that made me feel this way.

*Get it together, Maya,* I told myself, glancing back in the direction of his studio.

But for now, I decided it was best to leave before I made an even bigger fool of myself. With one last glance toward the studio, I turned and walked back to my car, my mind still racing with thoughts of Marcus and the way he had looked at me through that window.

Next time, I would make it inside.