Page 75 of Beautiful Exile

“Oh, I’m dead in the water.”

Isaiah barked out a laugh. “He kicked my a—” Isaiah glanced around. “My, uh, butt for bringing Ardy coffee one day.”

Arden rolled her lips over her teeth, trying to stifle her remaining laughter. “What can I say? I’ve got high standards.”

Isaiah shook his head. “Heartbreaker. Just leaving a trail of trampled shards in your wake.”

“Hey,” Arden argued.

“I don’t doubt he’s right, baby,” I said. “You have no idea of your power.”

“She really doesn’t,” Isaiah said, shaking his head.

Arden’s cheeks reddened as she glared at Isaiah. “Don’t you have something important to do?”

He just grinned at her and then clapped me on the shoulder. “Yeah. I gotta put your boyfriend through his paces.”

Boyfriend.The term was ridiculous for a thirty-seven-year-old man, but I couldn’t deny that I got a surge of pleasure from any link to Arden. Any claim. Because the truth was, I’d do anything to be hers.

I satat the ridiculously tiny table, my knees coming up so high they were practically at my ears. It was a miracle the minuscule chair I sat on hadn’t simply given way under my weight, but the three kids at my table had no such issues.

The little girl to my left had brown hair and freckles, her lip tugged between her teeth as she went after her paper witha gusto I admired. There was no hesitancy in her at all, no second-guessing. Isabella was ready for whatever came her way; no challenge was too big.

To my right was a girl named Gracie. She was much more timid. Her dark hair hung in a way that mostly hid her face from view, and each brushstroke she made was thoughtful and deliberate. Her worn clothes and shoes made my heart clench. Suddenly, I knew I’d be asking Arden if there was anything I could do to help.

There was nothing timid about the energy coming at me from across the table. Benny glared at me with a hatred fueled by a thousand blazing suns. He only moved it away to paint little pieces of his creation at a time.

I studied my piece. The assignment had been to paint something that made us happy. I’d wanted to paint Arden, but I didn’t think ole Benny would be too happy about that. Plus, my art skills were fairly limited. So, I’d gone with a simple landscape: the view from the plot of land that had officially become mine two days ago.

I leaned slightly to my right and peeked at Gracie’s paper. “That’s so pretty.”

Her head lifted for the barest moment, just long enough for her to give me a hint of amber eyes before it ducked again. “Thank you,” she whispered.

That invisible fist ground against my sternum again as I studied the picture. It was of three people in front of a Ferris wheel. “Is that your mom?” I asked, pointing to the tallest figure.

Gracie shook her head. “That’s Hay Hay. My sister.”

“And who’s this?” I asked, pointing at the second tallest.

“My other sister. Mom doesn’t like the fair.”

Something about that set me on edge. I got that fairs and carnivals might not be someone’s thing, but you sucked it up and did it anyway if your kids loved them. Memories of escapes to Coney Island with Ellie and our mom swirled in the back of my mind in smoky tendrils I couldn’t quite grab hold of.

“Looks like you had fun,” I said softly.

Gracie’s head lifted again. This time, I got a smile. It was brief but dazzling. “It was my best day.”

“I love best days.”

Benny made a sound of protest opposite me.

I turned my focus to him. “What’s your painting of?”

He grinned, and there was a cocky air to it, even at age seven or eight. He held up a portrait of a woman with dark hair and purple eyes. “Miss Arden. She makes me happy.”

That little shit was one-upping me.

Benny’s grin only widened in challenge. “What’s yours?”

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