Page 25 of Beneath the Indigo Sky

A strange new tension had grown between us that had filled the room and sizzled across my skin. There were times I’d felt his eyes on me for a few heartbeats longer than they usually lingered. His laugh had felt deeper, his spirit had felt brighter, and there were touches of calm gold that floated from him in my direction. He’d felt different. He’d felt open and hopeful, and maybe, just maybe, it had felt like he’d been attracted to me.

We’d lingered inside his truck for a moment when we said goodbye, and I’d let myself wonder how he’d respond if I reached out and took his hand. His pale-green eyes had searched mine as if he were looking for something, as if he wanted more from me too. My world had been filled with the scent of oil and cinnamon and leather. I’d let my fingertips brush his leg through his beat-up jeans, and I’d wanted to kiss him so much that it hurt. His voice had been rough when he smiled and said goodbye. It had felt like…something.

Today, he’s the same.

Today, there is no tension when he leans against the office door and talks about the weather and the car he’s working on. His gaze doesn’t linger on mine as he thanks me for being so kind about his art. He doesn’t walk me to the door when I tell him I’m finished for the day. It’s the first time since I began working for him that we haven’t at least gotten coffee afterward. He’d texted me early this morning to tell me he’d have to skip our breakfast tradition today to finish a rush job, so I hadn’t really expected it, but somehow, it still hurts.

Today, he feels the same.

I’m not the same.

I am in love with him.

I am stupidly, hopelessly, completely in love with him.

I sit in my truck in the empty parking lot in front of the shop and fight down the swell of emotion that clutches at my chest. My eyes burn, and the cool air in my truck stings my lungs as I try to suck in breath after breath. Nothing works like it should anymore; my throat is closing up and my heart is racing and I ache. I ache in a way I’ve never imagined was possible.

I want to watch him in his shop and walk with him in the park. I want to lace my fingers through his and rest my hand on his waist. I want to know what his skin feels like against mine, if his body trembles when our tongues tangle together, what it’s like to lie with him in the dark.

I’ve known from the moment I met him that this is where I’d end up. That I’d fall so deeply in love with him that my soul would feel like it’s on fire every time I look at him, and that’s what’s happened.

After our time in his studio, I thought maybe things wouldn’t end up like this after all. For the past few days, I’ve let myself think…maybe. Just maybe there might be a chance he could feel the same way. But today he’s the same. Today he’s my friend.

I’ll learn to be okay with that. I’ll watch him and love him and find a way to be thankful that I’ve gotten to discover what it feels like to fall in love. It will fade, and I’ll be forever grateful to have him in my life in any way I can. I’ll be okay loving him from a distance.

Won’t I?

Chapter 8

Jayce

It’s been a month, and everything is back to normal. Whatever it was I’d felt the day I took Namid to my studio was just a fluke. He’s my friend, and I’m perfectly happy with that. I don’t know what I’d been thinking that afternoon.

Namid has come to do my books every other week for months now, and ever since the Saturday I first told him about Jordyn, we’ve had brunch every weekend. As the short Alaskan summer has passed and it’s gotten cold again, on the days he works on my books, we’ve shifted to having our coffee and pastries in my small break room before we head our separate ways to work for an hour or so. On the alternate weeks, we meet in the small café corner of the grocery store. Those are the boundaries of our friendship, and neither of us has pressed for more, so I was surprised when Namid texted me yesterday and asked if there was any way I could help him and Ken move some old metal cabinets out of the basement of the funeral home.

The basement of the funeral home is the last place I ever want to go. In fact, I’d be happy if I never even had to look at the funeral home again, but Namid has never asked me for anything before. After all he’s done for me, I’m thrilled to return the favor in any way possible, even if this particular favor takes me into the realm of funeral home basement nightmares.

When I arrive, they have the door propped slightly open, and I can hear the slight screeching of metal sliding on concrete as soon I step into the building. I can’t stop the chill that runs through me at being back here, but as the sound of Ken’s voice and Namid’s bright laughter floats up the stairs, I can’t help but smile and head in their direction.

“Hi.”

Ken jumps slightly at the sound of my voice.

Namid just laughs harder.

They’re both filthy, covered with streaks of old dust and cobwebs, and there are half a dozen large metal cabinets that have been pried away from the wall sitting in the middle of the room. They’ve clearly been at this for a while already, and despite the dirt and hard work, they’re obviously enjoying themselves. A fleeting wave of jealousy washes over me. They’re family, something I no longer have.

Namid’s eyes seem to darken, and his smile fades.

“Everything okay?”

Huh. Why would he ask that? I’m smiling, I’m sure of it. My expression must have changed for a moment, even though I didn’t notice. I can’t help but soften and smile once more at his concern as the momentary jealousy passes. It’s hard for me to feel anything too negative when he’s around.

“Just wondering if we shouldn’t just burn the place down and move to the Caribbean with the insurance money instead of trying to get those upstairs,” I joke in an attempt to bring back Namid’s laughter.

Ken snorts out a laugh. “Not the first time I’ve had that thought.”

“Sorry it’s such a mess, but thank you for coming to help.” Namid scrubs his hands through his hair in an attempt to push it off his forehead and out of his eyes. It falls back into place the instant it leaves his hands.

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