Page 38 of From the Ashes

Once I’m in the short, narrow entrance hall, I slip my shoes off. There are doors to my left and right as well as a little morehallway on the right, too. That way seems to be the bathroom and maybe the bedroom, so I’m not surprised when he indicates I should go left.

My bare feet slap lightly on the tiles, and a ceiling fan turns lazily overhead. To my right, large windows show palm trees rustling outside in a comforting way.

The space inside is noticeably sparse. Colt hasn’t been back in Redwood Bay for long and I imagine he’s not certain what he’s doing long-term, so I assume he’s renting. Still, the lack of personality is jarring.

I look back at Colt and he’s staring at me. My face heats like I’ve been caught doing something bad. But he rubs the back of his neck and sighs.

“It’s pretty depressing, isn’t it?”

I shrug. “It just needs a little TLC.”

He shakes his head and moves to the open kitchen area, pouring us a glass of water each. “I’d love to tell you that my place back in New York was much better, but I barely even had any house plants. There was a series of large black and white photos of the city that I liked. My colleagues got them for me one year after I closed a huge case. But they’re so generic, they wouldn’t look out of place in a hotel room. I haven’t even unpacked them.” He hands me a glass. “I haven’t unpacked a lot, actually. Half of my stuff is still in a storage locker in town.”

I sip my water and think about what he’s telling me. “Did you feel like you couldn’t show who you really are?”

He scoffs and leans against the counter. “Damn. We’re, like, two minutes in and the heavy shit is already creeping out. Yeah, that’s probably it. I’ve been carefully projecting this neutral, masculine image for so long, it’s like I don’t even remember what sparks joy for me anymore. I didn’t want to risk anyone seeing the ‘real’ me. Still don’t, I guess.”

I hate that so much. “What would you do with this place if you could? If there wasn’t anyone who’d judge you for it or if no one set foot in here aside from you?”

“I’d hang your art,” he says quietly and without hesitation. I blink, not certain if I heard him right. But he looks into my eyes and offers me a small smile. “I didn’t see anything when were at your place. Do you have some hanging elsewhere?”

Ouch. I swallow and glance away. “I don’t, no,” I say with a sad chuckle. “That side of my life was something I mostly shared with you and my teta. After school finished, I didn’t get much time to paint what with all my training, and I no longer had the free studio space to work in. So I just sort of let it go.”

He nibbles his lower lip. We’re both propped against the breakfast bar, glasses of water cradled protectively in our hands, as if they’re acting like shields. It’s unsurprising that we’d both be feeling a little defensive after jumping into such a raw conversation right away. But I’m glad we’re being authentic rather than skimming the surface with small talk. I’m so exhausted of hiding who I am for fear or being judged or rejected, and it sounds like he is, too. Maybe even more so.

“Painting makes me think of you,” I say softly. “It was as if you were the one I was trying to bare my soul for, so I had to get my feelings out onto the canvas for you to see.”

“And that’s why you don’t have any up on your walls now,” he guesses correctly. “Please tell me you didn’t throw them away.”

I shrug. “No idea. My teta had them all in her bigger house, but I assume when she moved, she sold them or gave them to Goodwill or whatever. I never asked. It’s okay,” I assure him. “I’ve spent a lot of time dwelling on the past. I try my best now to focus on the present and look to the future.”

He nods and licks his lips. “I get that. The past is done. There’s nothing we can do to change it. But we can control whathappens in the here and now. Would you still paint, though? Can you create new pieces?”

“Do you still want to see into my soul?” I say with a laugh, intending it as a joke to lighten the mood. But Colt’s expression is completely serious and sincere.

“Yes,” he says, his gaze unwavering from mine.

Slowly, he places his glass down, then steps closer to me, taking my water from my fingers and placing it next to his before cradling my hands in his.

“I’ve missed you so much, Zee.”

My breath catches. No one calls me that but him. I haven’t heard it in fifteen years. My heart races, like that one tender nickname has unlocked a door, pulling me back into the past like a time traveler.

“I’ve missed you, too,” I admit, my eyes burning so I have to close them. I haven’t admitted that to myself in a very long time. I haven’t admitted it to anyone else ever.

He rubs his thumbs across my knuckles in a soothing manner. “I’d really like to kiss you, if I may?”

Not trusting myself to speak, I manage a stilted nod. The only thing that could stop me going for this right now would be the fear of losing this all again. But I can’t lose anything if I don’t even try to hold onto it. I’ll deal with the future when it comes.

This moment, I’m focusing on the present and nothing else.

Our last kiss was frantic and messy. This one is sweet and tentative. His lips ghost over mine, barely skimming before coming back for a little more each time. I whimper as I lean in, chasing his touch. I slip my hands out of his so I can slide them over his hips, tugging so our stomachs bounce against each other.

“I was going to cook us dinner,” Colt mumbles against my mouth. “I got expensive wine.”

“Later,” I promise him. I want all that, I really do. No man has cooked for me in years, and I want to keep talking like this, earnestly with our hearts on our sleeves.

But I need something else first.

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