ought to warn you,” he added, “the next month or so’s going to be chaotic. You’ll be moving in, plus there’s a big mixed martial arts competition arranged for the first week of October.”
Jenna nodded. She knew her father had switched the gym from straight boxing to include kickboxing and other disciplines in the past decade.
“Your dad sank a bit of money into it when the proposal first came up, to get our name on the event,” Mercer went on. “We’ve been co-planning it for over a year with a few other Massachusetts gyms and a promotions outfit. We’ve got a few guys who’re training their hearts out for it. I’m coaching a kid whose career it could launch.” Pride warmed his voice and brightened his eyes, softening his fight-roughened features. “People are going to be really keyed up, so apologies in advance if my head’s all over the place.”
“Understood. Is it taking place here? Downstairs?”
He laughed. She hadn’t heard him laugh before. It did something odd to her middle, the sound seeming to hum low and hot in her belly. Oh dear.
“No, not here,” he said. “It’ll be at an arena outside the city. Have you never watched any UFC?”
Any what? “No.”
“Well, ours isn’t a UFC event, but it’s the same idea, and still a pretty big deal. Got a couple important names on the card, and scouts coming from the major organizations, looking for the next generation of pros. We’re hoping for five thousand people.”
“Whoa.”
“Not much by Vegas standards, but not shabby, either. I’m hoping it’ll be just the shot in the arm this place needs to finally shrug off its lousy rep, earn some due respect and attract new members. Turn those books around,” he added pointedly.
“I’ll have my fingers crossed for you, then.”
“You should come. See what it is your dad helped start.”
She cooled at that. “Maybe.”
“Jenna?”
She raised her brow.
“Is there any chance I can talk you into extending the gym’s…you know. Trial period? Through next year, or even just through the spring?” The sincerity in his eyes broke her heart a little.
“Unless something amazingly encouraging happens, I can’t, no. Not without risking bankrupting both businesses.”
“I figured you’d probably say that.” After a disappointed huff, he slapped his thighs and met her gaze. “Couldn’t hurt to ask.”
Primary mission tackled, Jenna turned her focus to a more awkward one. “I need to see the apartment.” The apartment where her father had lived since he’d walked out on Jenna and her mom. She’d been dreading this, having to sort through his things and confirm exactly how much of a stranger he was to her. “Do you have keys to it?”
“I do. And I already took care of your dad’s stuff.”
“Did you?” She bit her lip, torn between relief and annoyance.
He nodded. “I wound up moving into the spare room about nine months ago, when he was getting really bad.”
“Oh. So you’re still living there now?”
“I am. But needless to say, my name’s not on any lease, so never fear, I’ll vacate the second you say the word. I’m sure you’re eager to get that place rented out to a paying tenant.”
“And you got rid of all my dad’s things?”
“Not all of them. But he asked me to do that, in the run-up to…you know. So you wouldn’t have to.”
So her father had trusted Mercer with his possessions, as well as his business. To spare Jenna the burden, ostensibly, but she couldn’t help but feel she’d been excluded. She’d been left nothing but property and papers and account numbers, impersonal gifts, nothing imbued with a father’s affection for his daughter.
Though what had she expected, really?
“He’d already started giving stuff away toward the end,” Mercer went on. “To the guys he’s trained over the years. I didn’t touch the really sentimental things, pictures and books and letters. I thought you might want to go through that yourself.”
“I would, I guess.”
“He had a lot of photos of you, you know.”
A sensation like a cold breeze tensed her. “No, I didn’t know.”
“Your mom must have sent them.”
“I doubt that.” Never in a million years. “My grandma, maybe.”
“Well, he had tons of them. There’s a big picture of you from some graduation, hanging right over the sofa.”
Too many emotions surged through her, bringing tears she wouldn’t shed in front of this stranger. “It was thoughtful of you to take care of that,” she said tightly. “I’d like to move into the apartment, if it suits me.” And seeing that it was free, she knew it would. “But I didn’t realize anyone was living there.”
“Squatting now, technically.”
“Only technically.” She warmed a little toward Mercer, grateful he was turning out to be a reasonable guy in the face of her showing up with plans to upend his livelihood. She’d return the favor. “I won’t ask you to move out until you’ve got something lined up. Maybe two weeks? By September first?”
“I’d appreciate that. You want to see the place now?”
“Sure.”
Mercer locked the office behind them and led Jenna to the back, through a door beyond the steps to the gym and up a flight to the second floor. Doing her best to ignore the flex of his shoulders under his T-shirt, she followed him down a hall toward the front of the building, where he unlocked the apartment—one dead bolt among several. Not the best omen for the neighborhood, but she’d heard repeatedly that Chinatown was on its way up. She could be a part of that, start fading the ugly mark her dad had left. Her branch of Spark could be a great addition to the swanky new tapas bar and upscale florist that also shared the huge, block-long building.
The door opened into a high-ceilinged living room, the far end drenched in noontime sunlight from the tall windows. The furniture was sparse and dated, but the raw space was an interior decorator’s dream.
She looked to the wall above the couch, where a large framed photo of her hung, a flashback to her high school graduation. She quickly glanced away. “It’s what, twelve hundred square feet?”
“Maybe not even that, but two bedrooms, nice kitchen if you remodeled it. Laundry, great storage.”
Jenna was already itchy to get to work on this place. Her first apartment, all to herself… A thought occurred to her, surely too complicated to even consider negotiating. Yet her mouth burst out with, “Can I see the spare room?”
“I guess your dad’s room is the spare room now.”
“My dad’s room, then.”
He led her past a big combination kitchen and dining room that was begging for new appliances and a fresh coat of paint. Then Mercer’s back drew her eyes again, that interesting shifting of muscle behind taut cotton.
He pushed in the door to a modest bedroom, bare except for a bed frame and dresser. Its window opened onto a fire escape, facing an intersection and the garish sign for a Thai restaurant. An interesting view, but not one conducive to privacy or peace. She looked around, taking in the squares where posters or picture frames had preserved the slate-blue paint on three walls, brick comprising the final one.
She turned to Mercer. “Was this always his room, do you know?”
“I couldn’t tell