Free Vulnerable by Bonita Thompson Page A

“Amazing!” She swallowed hard.
    â€œLet me grab a towel so you can dry yourself off.”
    Rawn left her in the living room and D’Becca shut the front door.
    She began walking around the generous room, taking in how personal and unpretentious it was. She decided Rawn had an artsy nature. She loved the black-painted hardwood flooring and generous windows. She started flipping through his albums and was surprised someone his age even bothered with LPs anymore. Fromthe corner of her eye, she could see a photograph atop a set of books, and D’Becca was moved to reach for it because Rawn was posed with a young woman. It had to be his sister, Tera—the resemblance between them was striking. If their smiles were sincere, in that moment they were quite happy and the world owed them nothing. She returned the photograph to its place and walked to a chess set made of granite which was set on a small, round table. Gingerly she touched one of the pieces. D’Becca was not schooled in chess, although she was familiar with the pieces. Studying the arrangement of the pieces, she could tell Rawn was in the middle of something because a king, a bishop and a pawn were not in the initial position. Above the chess set, she was arrested by a stunning piece of artwork in an expensive-looking frame. The painting stood out in the otherwise unassuming room.
    Rawn returned holding a towel. “Here you go.”
    She reached for the thick chocolate-colored towel and started to dry herself off. “Thank you. I was admiring your painting.”
    Rawn glanced over at the hanging artwork. “It was my grandfather’s. He was an artist. When he passed away, he left some of his work to me. Perhaps you can see the New Orleans theme in his work.”
    â€œYes, I do. I love New Orleans.” She draped the towel around her neck. “Can I take off my jacket? It’s soaking wet.”
    â€œYeah, sure.”
    Rawn helped D’Becca take off her jean jacket.
    â€œYou must be a big fan of Dante Godreau. You have all of his albums.”
    With his head bowed slightly, Rawn replied, “He’s… was a genius.”
    â€œIt was so tragic, his sudden death. It reminds me how swiftly life can be taken away. There you are, standing in a bodega to purchase a pack of smokes…”
    â€œI’ve always been a fan of Godreau’s music,” Rawn butted in. “He changed—his influence on a generation was incredible. It wasn’t that widely commercial influence. But he managed to leave his flair on the culture, and he stayed relevant. You know?”
    â€œI saw him once. In Rio de Janeiro. Did you know that one of his daughters lives in Seattle?”
    â€œReally? I didn’t know that.”
    She wanted to shift the mood. D’Becca sensed that Rawn was still moved by the musician’s violent, recent death. “So… Can I see the rest of your apartment?”
    A year from now, Rawn would not be able to recall how it got so far so fast, and why he invited D’Becca to his apartment. But a force would sculpture the outcome of that choice. His decision was not necessarily reckless but no doubt impulsive. And in that moment Rawn concentrated more on how unsure of himself he was feeling more so than the impetuosity of the situation; it was not how he generally handled situations with a woman. He always made sure he had an out. “Sure. Come on.”
    They entered the large kitchen where books were piled in various areas of the room. Bottles of wine were in a simple wine rack and majority of them with Chateau Ste. Michelle labels. A cookbook was set on the counter like it had been looked through that morning; and there was an espresso machine and French press. At one end Rawn made a corner into office space, and a computer and dozens of books assembled the farmhouse console table and the sandstone floor.
    D’Becca liked what she saw and in her mind tried to think of a