DEEP

8. Black Dog Forge

I pause, a frown forming as I process his unexpected directive. "An ironwork shop?"

"Yeah, long story. We're in the basement, when you get here ring the buzzer."

"Fine," I sigh again, "see you in a bit."

With a snort, the umpteenth this morning, I hang up the phone with a tinge of irritation.

"Well, today just took a turn." I mutter to myself, a perplexed furrow forming on my brow. Heading to the wardrobe, I feeling reluctant to leave my peaceful home.

While buttoning up my shirt the mere thought that Eddie will be there sends a playful shiver through me. Memories of that evening with him tiptoe into my thoughts, each button accompanied by a fleeting image of his eyes and the warmth of his smile. The echo of his laughter intertwines with the soft rustle of fabric, and for a moment I let myself be enveloped in the recollection of shared moments and stolen glances.

The mental imagery becomes more vivid as I continue dressing. I recall the way his eyes lit up thinking about what awaits him here in Seattle, about how excited he was. A subtle sigh escapes me, caught between the nostalgia of what was that night and the awareness of what can never be. With a final glance in the mirror I shake off the daydreams, reminding myself that Eddie has a girlfriend, and I need to tread carefully.

Exiting my apartment, I find myself into the hallway with an air of resignation. As I extend my arm I sigh again, delicately exploring the surface above Stone's door frame in a quest for his spare key.

Finally the tips of my fingers find the familiar metallic outline of the key, and with a deep breath I guide the key into the lock, turning it with a soft click.

His place is surprisingly messy. The coffee table appears abandoned, adorned with scattered sheet music, half-empty coffee mugs, and an open notebook filled with hasty scribbles. The floor is covered with clothes and other random objects, but I somehow manage to make my way through it all.

"How the hell..."

As I navigate this creative battleground, my gaze seeks the elusive papers amidst the organized mess. The moment my eyes lock onto the vibrant red folder on the floor, a triumphant grin creeps across my face. Bending down I scoop it up, fingers tracing its edges like a treasured artifact.

Setting out towards Belltown, the city's rhythm pulses in the background. I stroll through this neighborhood that exudes youthful energy and a somewhat underground vibe, colorful murals adorn every wall, vibrant and bold, creating an open-air museum of artistic expression. It's as if these streets are whispering tales of rebellion, creativity, and bold dreams. Each step among the murals is a dive into the pulsating soul of this part of the town, where art and youth intertwine in a lively dance under the sun's rays.

Despite my curiosity about this place, I find myself in the midst of a delightful confusion. Walking up to a pair of locals with a hopeful expression, I inquire about the place I'm searching for. I describe it as best as I can, but their puzzled looks reveal that it's not ringing any bells as they exchange a glance, shrugging in unison, expressing their regret that they can't be of much help.

I decide to step into a cozy coffee shop, where the inviting aroma of coffee fills the air. Approaching the counter, I'm met by a barista with an easygoing smile and I can't help but be drawn to the vibrant tattoos peeking out from under the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel shirt. As I ask about Black Dog Forge, he leans in with an air of genuine friendliness.

"Yes, I know that place," he says, "but just so you know, until not too long ago that place was sketchy. Like, serious crack dealing going on."

"Oh, really?" I inquire, eyebrows raised, a mix of disbelief and a tinge of fear coloring my tone.