Love Notes (Equilibrium Book 1) Read online

  Love Notes

  Equilibrium Book 1

  Christina C Jones

  Warm Hues Publishing

  Copyright © 2017 Christina C. Jones

  Cover art by Christina Jones,

  Images courtesy of istockphoto.com.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real locations, people, or events is coincidental and unintentional.

  I’ve lost count.

  It doesn’t even really matter what number this is – what matters is that I’ve loved every part of unraveling this story. I feel privileged that these characters chose me to tell their story, honestly, and I hope that some measure of that leaks over into your enjoyment of this book. I hope you love it as much as I do.

  Thank you, as always, to the people who make this possible for me. Alex, Nicole, Love, Phyllis, for the daily encouragements that keep me on my feet. L.W, M.W, D.P, R.J, J. M, C.J, for the feedback that helped reassure that my path was straight.

  And my readers.

  Who knew that three years ago, when I first published A Crazy Little Thing Called Love, that fictional backdrop would morph into a vibrant little neighborhood full of character and life? That wasn’t all me – that was you. Your love and encouragement pushed me to keep going, pushed me to look deeper, and that is why Mahogany Heights (Special shoutout to the ladies of Team CCJ – Love in Warm Hues for naming the neighborhood) is what it is today.

  Thank you.

  I hope you enjoy this story! Please consider leaving a review when you’re done. You can also reach me via my website (www.beingmrsjones.com) on facebook (www.facebook.com/beingmrsjones) on twitter (www.twitter.com/beingmrsjones) or instagram (www.instagram.com/beingmrsjones) For notifications about new releases, sales, events, or other announcements, you can subscribe to my mailing list.

  Enjoy!

  One.

  Yeah, yeah, yeah.

  Packing up all your stuff and moving to a whole new place was a cheesy, overused way to signify a fresh start. But the thing about clichés is that they got that way because they were relatable, familiar, relevant to the situation. Say what you will about being the new girl in town, but it was common because it worked.

  And I needed this to work like I needed my next breath.

  Desperately.

  Lucky for me, that next breath came, along with a breeze that swept the faint aroma of sidewalk barbecue, car exhaust, and something else – something sweeter – right across my face. I breathed in deep, trying to place it before some other distinguishing scent of the city overwhelmed my senses.

  “Jules!”

  A familiar voice pulled my attention, and I looked around, following the sound to the building behind me. My gaze traveled up, past the striped awning of the bike shop that lived on the first level, up to crimson, weather-worn bricks. There, on an ivy-covered wrought iron balcony, stood the highlight of spending a week driving cross-country alone, in a car that had definitely seen better days.

  Anika.

  “Took you long enough,” she fussed, contradicting the smile on her face.

  It was easy to return her smile with one of my own as I finally stepped away from my car, closing the door. “Sorry cousin. I was trying not to rush it, you know? Taking time to enjoy the scenery, appreciate the open road…”

  “That’s bullshit and we both know it,” she laughed, gripping the edge of the railing as she leaned over it, practically bouncing on her feet. “Get your ass up here, let me show you our place.”

  “I got here like two seconds ago, and you’re already bossing me around?”

  Anika smirked. “Did you expect that to have changed?”

  “Not really.”

  “Good. Get up here!”

  Shaking my head, I hit the lock button on the car, then glanced around the neighborhood again. So much had changed in the nine years that I’d been gone that it was barely recognizable, in a good way. What had been an area replete with abandoned buildings and sketchy figures, the kind of area Anika’s mom used to rush us through to get home, was now completely revitalized.

  All it had taken was a few to decide on investing back into the community their ancestors had built as a refuge, instead of lining the pockets of others. It wasn’t long before that became the standard – became the priority for the people who grew up here. Their action spurred more action, and that action had been the cultivation of what Mahogany Heights was now. A Black neighborhood that was absolutely thriving.

  I pulled open the exterior door of the bike shop, which led into a little foyer. From the entryway, I could open another door to get into the bike shop, but I already knew from Anika’s instructions over the phone that I needed to take the hallway around to the back of the tiny shop, which led to an apartment the shop owner used, or a stairway up to the second level, which was where I needed to go.

  I took the stairs two at a time, excited about the prospect of hugging my cousin for the first time in years. I clutched my crossbody bag against my side to keep it from bouncing as I went, not letting it go until I burst through the door at the top of the steps.

  I was barely on the other side before a warm body smacked into me, clutching me so tight my lungs could barely expand. The only thing I could do – the only thing I wanted to do – was squeeze Anika right back, choosing hugging over breathing for the moment. The embrace was clearly more important.

  “I didn’t know how much I missed your face until just now,” she exhaled in my ear, the crack in her voice letting me know that she was already on the verge of tears.

  “I missed you too,” I whispered back, deciding right then that I wouldn’t tease her emotional ass, even if she decided to let those tears flow freely. Not today. Not yet.

  “Okay. Okay, I’m cool,” she said, suddenly releasing her grasp and stepping back to fan her face. “Come on. Let me show you the apartment.”

  “Can we talk about this first?” I asked, reaching up to run my fingers through the soft, super short curls atop her head – lush coils that replaced the thick mass of ringlets that had been her signature feature for the longest. “When did this happen?”

  She sighed. “Just a few days ago, actually. Needed a change.”

  I waited until we were inside the apartment, and she’d closed the door to respond to that, with a raised eyebrow. “What was his name?”

  “Why do you assume it was because of a guy?” she questioned, crossing her arms and pursing her lips, even though we both knew why, and that my supposition was correct.

  “Educated guess. And, I know you didn’t cut it because of a guy, but I know one of these fools led you by the hand to whatever space you were in that made you decide to do it. Am I lying?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, so….” I waved my hands, circling them around each other in a gesture to get her talking. “What was his name?”

  “Oliver.”

  Immediately, my nose wrinkled, lips curled downward. “Oliver? Ew.”

  “I know!”

  Good.

  Or, maybe not.

  That “I know!” meant that she remembered Aunt Darcy’s lesson about not letting men with nerd-ass names dog you, when they should be honored that they – and their nerd-ass name – were even allowed in your presence. It also meant that she hadn’t heeded it.

  “He must’ve been some kinda fine…” I said, moving in to nudge Anika’s shoulder with mine.

  She pushed out a heavy sigh that managed to be dreamy, even though it was thick with regret. “F
ine as frog hair, girl.”

  “Yeah, that’s usually how they get you.” I wrapped my arm around her waist, pulling her into something of a sideways hug as I finally really looked at the apartment.

  It was small – something to be expected in the city – but managed to still feel breezy and open, thanks to big windows and high ceilings. Built-in bookshelves lined the walls, cozy furniture grounded the space, and I wasn’t the least bit surprised to see that Anika had managed to make a small piano fit in the space.

  “Let me show you your room,” Anika said, grabbing me by the hand to pull me towards a short hall. “Now, I already warned you that it was tiny, but I did my best to make it where you’d love it still, okay?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t need much space, you know that. Just a place to sleep and a desk to work.”

  “Well, you have at least that.” She gave me a nervous smile before she pushed open the door to a room that made my minimalist heart smile. It was tiny – the full-sized bed turned sideways, and pushed right up against the window was the entire width of the room. It was covered in soft bedding and enough pillows to use it as a seating area when I wasn’t asleep, and a small desk and chair sat against the opposite wall. A door right across the entryway opened into a surprisingly large closet, and above me, Anika had strung lights across the ceiling – a touch she knew I would love.

  “It’s perfect, Nik.”

  “You really think so? You can tell me the truth. I know it’s small, but mine is only like two feet wider, and—”

  “I said it was perfect,” I assured her, stepping in to get a better feel for the space. “You call it tiny, I call it cozy. And look – I have plenty of space.”

  Anika watched, then laughed, as I used the empty space in the middle of the room to do a cartwheel, nearly busting my ass when the rug slipped from under me on the hardwood floor. I straightened up, laughing too as I turned the chair in front of the desk around, and dropped into it.

  “I’m really glad you’re here Jules,” Anika said, leaning against the doorframe. “Not gonna lie… I was kinda scared you wouldn’t show up.”

  I scoffed. “Come on, I’m not flaky like that.”

  “I know, you aren’t… usually. However. You told mama you were coming up for the service, but then…”

  I shook my head, breaking away from her gaze to stare out the window, at the non-existent view on the other side of the sheer curtains. “Is that what we’re about to do, my first day here?”

  “No,” Anika came immediately. “We’re not about to “do” anything, I’m just talking to you. That’s okay, right?”

  “About literally any other topic? Sure? Talk my ear off… which I’m sure you planned to do anyway,” I teased, trying to lead us back to the lighter vibe from before.

  Anika’s expression was unyielding, not immediately taking the bait. But after another few seconds, her shoulders relaxed, and she rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m not the one who always got scolded for talking too much. That was you.”

  “Not how I remember it cousin, but I’m gonna let you cook,” I laughed. “We’ll have plenty of time to be motor-mouths together now. Starting with you helping me unpack.”

  Anika let out a snort of laughter. “Girl, bye. What do you have, one box of clothes, two boxes of cameras? We have way more stuff than that to talk about.”

  I pushed myself up from the chair, heading toward the door. “Um, for your information, I have two suitcases full of clothes… and three boxes of camera equipment.”

  “Jules!”

  “Whaaat?” I shrugged. “You know where my heart is Nik, don’t front on me now.”

  “Ain’t nobody fronting on you,” she laughed, leading the way back to the front door. “I’m just hoping you’ve got something cute in one of those bags, because I’m taking you to the coffee shop tonight.”

  “I don’t drink coffee, you know that.”

  Anika tossed a grin over her shoulder as she pulled the door open, and started for the stairs. “Oh, you just wait. You’ll see.”

  “See what?” I asked, following her.

  “The coffee shop,” she said, turning to me as we reached the first level. “Don’t let the name fool you. It is so much more than that.”

  “Of course you think so, don’t you work there? Or are you talking about a different one?”

  She gave me a disbelieving scowl as she opened the door to get outside, heading straight for the coral-painted Jeep I’d rolled up in. “Once you’ve been to Urban Grind, you’ll understand why around here, it’s the only coffee shop anybody is talking about.”

  “Spoken like a head barista,” I teased, handing her a suitcase from the back.

  “Just you wait, okay?” Anika grinned, hooking a box under her arm to take upstairs with the suitcase, and still managing to hold the door for me as well. It really did only take a few trips to get my few possessions moved into the apartment, and then Anika came with me to move the car to one of the designated spaces for our building, in a parking deck a block over.

  On the short walk back, I discovered the source of the sweet aroma that had welcomed me to the neighborhood. A tiny bakery, with f.w.b. etched into the window was a few doors down from the bike shop.

  frosted. whipped. buttered.

  “This is cute,” I commented to Anika as I stopped to peer through the window, only to have her grab me by the wrist, tugging me away.

  “Yeah, it is, and so is the guy who owns it.”

  I planted my feet in my yellow converse, stopping her from pulling me any further. “Hold up. You got history with him or something?”

  “What? No. He’s barely ever there.”

  “So why are you so eager to pull me away? Those honey buns looked good!”

  She nodded. “Yeah, and that is why I’m pulling you away. I’m pretty sure they put crack in their icing – I was eating one every day for breakfast, and had full-fledged withdrawal symptoms when I stopped cold turkey because of what those honeybuns were doing to my thighs. Trust me – that’s not a habit you want to start.”

  “Damn, it’s like that?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Well girl, let me keep it moving then,” I laughed. I had plenty of time to introduce myself to all the local businesses, but for now I was more interested in getting back to the apartment to unpack and get settled in.

  It didn’t take much, honestly. Anika’s joke about me having more camera equipment than clothing was deeply rooted in the truth. I’d sold every piece of furniture from my apartment in Emeryville, packing nothing except my wardrobe and shooting equipment for this move. That money had paid for gas and a new set of tires, and everything else went straight into my little bank account – the same account I was draining for this venture.

  When Anika’s parents – my Aunt Darcy and Uncle Will – had begged me to move back, to be closer to my family, they’d offered a lifeline.

  Their checkbook.

  While I appreciated their generosity, one of my biggest goals for this move was making my business happen on my own. Well… mostly on my own. Any offers to clean, help paint, or otherwise set up the space I’d leased without ever stepping foot in it myself would be gladly accepted.

  “This is really like… a perfect night,” Anika gushed a few hours later as we stepped out the door of B.Spoked, waving at Brittany, the owner, as we passed. Anika’s big silver hoops flashed bright, reflecting the streetlights as she tipped her head back like she was letting the warm, breezy Spring air settle over her face.

  I didn’t say anything, but I agreed. I wasn’t sure if it was the weather, the neighborhood, or both, working in concert to create a vibe that only lifted my already great mood. Anika grabbed me by the hand to lead me down the pavement, dodging a giggling pack of teenage girls, people walking dogs, a flower vendor packing up her sidewalk display for the night. Across the street, there was a guy selling hats and watches, and all I could do was smile and wave when he called out, asking me to check o
ut his merchandise, because Anika was on a mission.

  As we approached the big coffeehouse on the corner, I understood why.

  “Why is this place popping like a club?” I asked in Anika’s ear as she led me right to the front of the line of people waiting to get inside. Even on the sidewalk, people were grooving to the heavy bassline and guitar of the music carrying from the building, so vibrant that I could practically feel it on my skin.

  “Because it basically is,” she told me before she turned, flashing a smile at the security guard at that door before he stepped aside, letting us in. The lights were low, and the crowd was thick, but Anika moved with authority, pulling me past all of that to end up back outside, in a different area this time.

  I grinned as she urged me into a chair on the patio, at a table that was already half full.

  “Jada, Andrea, Whitney, this my cousin Juliet,” Anika said, finally introducing me to the homegirls I’d heard about over the years.

  “Jules is fine too,” I told them, returning the warm greetings they gave me before a server came past, asking about drinks. After we’d put an order in place, I nudged Anika in the side before I leaned to speak into her ear.

  “You didn’t tell me it was like this,” I said, and she shook her head.

  “I definitely did. You just didn’t believe me,” Anika laughed. “Tonight is kinda crazy though. Songbird Dani is singing, so everybody and their mama is out.”

  My eyes went wide. “Are you kidding? A coffee shop, with the kind of juice to get friggin’ Dani, on a Thursday night?”

  “I told you. Urban Grind isn’t any regular ass coffee house.”

  She wasn’t lying. She had. But I guess I needed to see it to believe it, and sure enough, the crowd that had gathered went wild when Dani stepped on stage, accompanied by her heartthrob keyboardist, Logan. From our seats out on the patio, we could only see her back, but we could hear that pure, soulful voice perfectly, and there was a live feed on the TV monitors that anchored along the pergola-style walls.