Free That Touch of Ink by Diane Vallere Page A

upcoming fire alarm inspections and water shut-off. I paid him immediately and constantly offered him partnership in either the business, the building, or both. He always thanked me and always refused.
    I peeked inside the folded piece of paper before unlocking the door. Instead of an invoice, it was a note . Madison, call me when you get a chance. –H .
    I folded the paper in half and in half again before going inside. Rocky ran ahead of me. I stopped, two feet in, and dropped my keys on the floor. They clattered against the newly exposed hardwood flooring. I stepped back two steps and checked the number on the outside of the door even though I knew I was home. I went back inside and shut the door behind me.
    Soft yellow paint glowed in a satin finish from the walls. It was like stepping into a ray of sunshine. The apartment-grade carpet had been torn up and replaced with hardwood flooring, and the furniture had been repositioned. Vases of daisies peppered the room on tables, shelves, and window sills.
    Above the sofa was a canvas, painted in vertical stripes of white, yellow, and ivory. It was about as wide as the sofa, six feet, and about two and a half feet tall. All in all, it was a beautifully designed room, and, being an interior designer myself, it surprised me that I didn’t want to change a thing.
    I unclipped Rocky’s leash and he ran to the sofa and hopped up. His stuffed black panther had been carefully placed on top of a pink pillow, and he grabbed it with his teeth and shook his head rapidly, the legs flapping against the sides of his face.
    A snaky tendril of anxiety crept up my back and chilled my shoulders. I turned around and looked at the room one more time.
    Of course it was perfect.
    Of course it was me.
    Brad had done this.
    But when? The only time I’d been away from the apartment was to go to dinner with him. He couldn’t be in two places at the same time. The initial delight I’d felt at finding the room so suited to me now faded.
    I wasn’t ready to admit maybe Brad did know me better than anybody else in my life. I looked at the piece of paper in my hand—Hudson’s note. I turned my back on the room and called him.
    “Hudson?”
    “Madison.”
    I smiled to myself. Hudson’s deep voice made me feel cozy and protected. It wrapped around me like an electric blanket on a cold night, though cold nights in Dallas were few and far between. “You wanted me to call you?”
    “Yes. Are you free tonight? Can you come over? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
    “Sure. What time?”
    “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll be here.”
    “Give me half an hour.”
    “See you soon.”
    I half considered wearing Connie’s clothes to Hudson’s house for a reaction, but once presented with the option of changing, I did. I set the pencil skirt and sweater on the bed and stepped into a lavender-and-white checkered dress with a drop waist. The pleated skirt of the dress grazed my knees, revealing my ACE bandage. I kicked off the white sneakers, stepped into purple ballerina flats, and fluffed my hair with my fingers. After a quick kiss to Rocky, I slicked on lip gloss and left.

    Hudson stood in front of his house by an easel. A card table next to him held an assortment of paints and brushes. He waved to me as I pulled into his driveway.
    “That was fast,” he said.
    “I was happy to have an excuse to get out of my apartment. Besides, I didn’t want to interrupt your dinner plans.”
    “Tonight, I’m planning on tossing a steak on the grill and enjoying this nice weather. I’d invite you to stay, but I only have the one steak.” He smiled. “Care for a glass of wine?”
    “Love one.”
    He wiped the bristles of the paintbrush off on a towel and set both on the card table. “Follow me.” He headed to his garage.
    I snuck a look at the canvas as I passed it. He had just started it, or so I assumed by the amount of white space still on the canvas. Squares of color in orange, yellow,