Page 45 of From the Ashes

I watch the four of them walking away, the dad explaining to his son about why it’s important to stay near him and stranger danger, which is totally fair. He had no idea if I was bad news or not.

The encounter still leaves me feeling warm and hopeful. I’m not convinced I believe in signs, per se. But having a small child pop up just as I was contemplating parenthood certainly feels like the universe might be giving me a little nudge.

It’s wild to think that just a few short weeks ago I was furious at Colt’s reappearance in my life and now I’m seriously considering a future together that could involve building a family. I’m not sure if that’s what he wants or if he’d even consider it, but in that moment, something becomes clear to me.

If he’s going to commit to us, that will probably involve some drastic upheaval in his life. Will he really consider that seriously if he’s not certain how I feel? I’ve been so terrified of being vulnerable and wearing my heart on my sleeve, but how can I expect him to risk such big sacrifices if I don’t put my cards on the table and make sure he knows I’m all in? By protectingmyself, I could be giving him doubt that will just lead to us unravelling again.

I can’t ask him to be brave if I’m not willing to do the same.

Looking down at my little painting, an idea strikes me. If his love language is action, then maybe that’s how I need to communicate with him. I could tell him I love him. Those words are long overdue to be spoken out loud anyway.

Or I could show him.

I make sure the palette is dry enough before closing it, standing up, and stretching. If I’m going to paint him something, it’s going to be the beach, and it’s going to be on bigger sized paper with more than eight colors. The beach has always been our special place, but it’s also where destiny brought us back to each other a few weeks ago. I’m going to bare my soul to him exactly the way I used to do, but for the first time, I’m going to paint specifically for him as a gift that I want him to hang on his wall. It’s up to him if he takes it down when his parents visit. That’s his journey to go on. But I want a way to show him that I’m not just committed to him, but that he’s bringing out the best in me.

We’re never going to move forward if he’s constantly reliving how he hurt and betrayed me in the past.

The idea of exposing my belly like this scares me. I’m not going to let that stop me, though. Yara and my teta will probably warn me that I’m taking a huge gamble or even making a big mistake. But I know Colt is the one for me. If I let him slip through my fingers because I’m too afraid of getting hurt again, not only will Idefinitelyget hurt again, but I’ll also never forgive myself.

I don’t want Colt to look back on his life with remorse, and I don’t want that for me, either. So it’s with purpose that I walk back down the path to where I parked my car, ready to swap redwoods and dirt for palm trees and sand.

When Colt first reappeared in town, my fear came from allowing him to have power over my heart again. But the power is all mine. I’m going to make it clear how I feel and where I stand. What he does after that is up to him.

Life is too short or too long. Whichever way you look at it, I don’t want to waste any more time, especially when it comes to Colton Ross.

CHAPTER 19

Colt

As I stepout of my car at the storage facility, I’m buzzing from head to toe. Like, my whole body is vibrating with glee.

When Zahir came over to my place last night, he brought a present with him. A series of three small paintings he’d done on the beach of people surfing that he specifically wanted me to put up in my apartment. I could tell that he was nervous about this request, but as soon as I managed to swallow the lump in my throat, I’d sprung up to find the adhesive picture frame strips I’d already bought to hang up my photographs from New York.

As I’m only renting right now, I can’t go banging holes in the walls. But I’m seriously over the lack of personality in that place, so you bet those paintings were on display in a matter of minutes. Zahir pointed out sticking them down like that would make them harder to take down if I had any company over. I assured him that if I have company, I’ll tell them myboyfriendpainted those piecesforme.

After his brain unfroze from me using the B-word, we had sex for about six hours, and he called mehisboyfriend every chance he got. Twenty-four hours later, I’m still giddy with excitement, which led me to come here.

If he’s all in on this relationship, then so am I. That means I’m staying in Redwood Bay and I need to start acting like it. I’m not sure if I’m going to keep all the bland stuff I currently have in my storage locker. However, I’m freshly motivated to sort it all out and get rid of anything that I previously purchased in an attempt to hide who I really am.

Then I’m going to replace those things in colors and styles that say something about my true self. I refuse to keep passing over furnishings that might be considered even a little bit gay.

I’ma little bit gay. I’m alotgay. It’s ridiculous that in the twenty-first century I’ve felt like I had to conceal that for so long. If my parents turn their noses up at anything in my home, then they don’t get to visit. It’s that simple. I’m done trying to be their perfect alpha male.

The only other time I’ve been here was to drop everything off, so I remind myself of my unit number then follow the arrows that lead me in the right direction. I pass a couple of people milling around at their own locker spaces and nod in hello, but mostly, it’s as quiet as I would expect for a Thursday evening.

Until I turn a corner and suddenly come face to face with someone it takes me a second to place. Her eyebrows shoot up in immediate recognition, though.

“Colton Ross?”

The older woman is barely above five foot and has a scarf draped loosely over her head and around her shoulders. It’s that context that eventually makes me clock who I’m standing in front of.

“Farah?” I splutter. “I mean—Mrs. Delacroix! I mean—as-salamu alaykum.” I touch my hands together and bow ever so slightly, hoping I haven’t completely mangled my pronunciation.

“Wa-?alaykumu salam,” Zahir’s grandma replies, tilting her head and looking me up and down. “You look well. It’s been a long time.”

I shift guiltily on my feet. Of course she was going to bring up the fact that I left town and ghosted her grandson the first chance she got. I don’t blame her. Zahir wasn’t the only one I neglected to say goodbye to. Farah was always so kind, making sure I felt welcome every single time I went to her house—which was a lot, probably more than Zahir’s parent’s place—and never let me leave unfed. She was warmer to me than my own parents or extended family ever were.

“You look well, too,” I say, trying not to let my awkwardness get the better of me. But all I can think of is that I want to say I’m sorry, but I don’t know if that will be opening a can of worms.

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