Page 30 of Kiss Me, Maybe

I shake my head, mind reeling. Damn Julian for getting in my head. It’s not that I actually believe Natalia is a rabid murderer, but what if this meeting doesn’t go the way I’m hoping?

“Come on.” Krystal rings the doorbell and grabs my hand. She squeezes once, assuring me that everything will be fine. “You never know unless you try.”

When the door cracks open, I recognize Natalia immediately from photos I’ve seen of her online. From what I can gather, she’s around my age, and her dark hair is pulled up in a bun at the top of her head by a giant velvet scrunchie. She’s wearing leggings and a tank top, and her feet are bare. She crosses her arms over her chest, face scrunched in confusion.

“Hi.” I step forward, letting go of Krystal’s hand to holdout my own to Natalia. “I’m Angela Gutierrez. Let me just start off by saying I’m ahugefan of your work.”

“I can’t imagine how you found me, but I won’t have any new pieces to share until the next First Friday.”

I’m confused for a moment, and then flummoxed when she shuts the door in my face.

My confusion is echoed in Krystal’s expression, so it’s at least good to know I’m not the only one thrown here.

“What the hell was that?”

“You said she and Stephanie were roommates, right?” Krystal asks. “Did Natalia not know you were coming?”

I pull out my phone and read Stephanie’s last message again.

I’m sure Natalia would love to meet you.

On my second read, it’s not a definite indicator that Natalia was expecting me. It’s not even an indicator that Natalia knows who I am, despite Stephanie’s assurance that this meeting would be okay.

“I figured Stephanie told her about me.” I shake my head. “Should we try again?”

A second later, the door swings open but it’s not Natalia on the other side. “Angela! So glad you could make it.”

“Stephanie, hi.” I take in the woman’s fair skin dotted with freckles and light brown hair falling in waves past her shoulders, immediately recognizing her from her profile picture. “Is this a bad time?” Odd, since this is the time we planned to meet.

“No, please.” She opens the door wider and gestures us inside. “Come in.”

I glance at Natalia, who offers the couch with a reluctant wave of her arm, before taking a seat in the armchair beside it. Krystal and I take seats on the couch next to each other. We’re cramped even closer together when Stephanie takes a seat on Krystal’s other side.

“This is my friend Krystal,” I say to Natalia, who barely looks up. “We actually went to the Tower of the Americas a few days ago because I wanted to show her the mural you painted. It’s beautiful.”Was.But I’ll get there. “It’s actually how I discovered you. I’ve probably spent hours going through your online portfolio.”

“I already told her you’re a fan of her work,” Stephanie says from the other side of the couch.

“You wanted to show your friendthatmural?” Natalia’s head snaps up.

“That’s the one.” I nod as Krystal’s knee shakes slightly, pressing her thigh even closer to mine.

“But you’ve already seen it.” For a moment, I don’t realize that Natalia’s gaze has slid over to my side, and that her next words are directed at Krystal and not me.

“Wait, when did you see it?” I turn to Krystal in surprise, but she doesn’t seem to have heard me. I recalled how I caught a flash of recognition in her eyes. I thought I’d imagined it.

“That reminds me.” Natalia turns her back on us and makes her way over to the desk shoved in the corner of the living room. “I came up with a suitable replacement for you after all.”

“What is she talking about?” I ask Krystal once Natalia’s back is turned. Her face is impossibly close to mine. When she turns to me, we’re practically breathing the same air.

“Remember the mix-up I told you about?” I nod at her. “The piece she gave me—”

“I’m in a bit of a slump, so you’ll have to forgive me. I don’t make a habit of being six months late on commissions,” Natalia calls out as she riffles through a filing cabinet. “Here it is. Sort of a twin toThe Woman in Wanting, you could say.”

She hands Krystal an eight-by-ten print of the most breathtaking piece of art I’ve ever seen, aside from the mural I’ve grown abnormally attached to. The same colors and overall style are used in this piece, but the woman in it is undoubtedly different from the one depicted in the mural. The features of her face are different, her hair sleeker and straighter, but her expression is… sad. Her eyes are closed in anguish. A delicate hand is raised over the outline of a beating heart inside her chest, as if shielding it.

The Woman in Waiting, the title below it reads.

“It’s beautiful,” Krystal says, staring at the print in awe. Then, as if shaking herself out of a trance, she says, “Thank you.” She’s in the middle of digging through her purse when Natalia raises a hand.

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