Page 127 of Igniting Sparks
“You’re the world’s worst therapist, you know that?”
“Hey, we could have a dance-off if you’d prefer. Either way, I’m going to win—because I’m right.”
“Cocky bastard.”
“True.” He picks up the comic again. “Can I hold on to this? Just for a little while. I want to show it to someone.”
“Promise you’ll give it back?”
“What are you worried about? You’ll have the real thing soon.” He gestures to the crowded restaurant. “Now, how about we show those dancers how it’s really done?”
I finish my champagne and place the glass on the bar with a flourish. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter 27
Art Imitates Us
Braden
Six Weeks Later…
The adage about life holds true—it goes on. Despite the pain, the loneliness, the unanswered questions, time continues its steady march into the unknown. And so do I.
My days look much like they did before Mina twirled into my life. Work is steady, and both Zane and Ash keep me busy in my downtime—though for very different reasons. Ash is remodeling the Dean Estate. Zane is remodeling his roster of lovers. One needs a handyman. The other, a wingman. I play a bit of both.
But in the quiet moments, I think about Mina. I hope she’s kicking ass and taking names in Los Angeles. That the city is as kind to her as she is to everyone else. That she’s finally found a place where she can be fully herself.
I like to think I played a small part in that.
We still talk, though not often. Between time zones and chaotic schedules, there’s not much room to connect. And maybe that’s for the best.
We weren’t really friends before our fake engagement, so I’m not sure whatwe are now.
Ori agrees with my need to step back. She said it happened when she moved to Sparkwood, that many friends simply fell by the wayside. There was no falling out, no lingering grievance—just distance. Ori went from a subway stop away to a two-hour drive. And that’s nothing compared to the miles between Mina and me.
So, after a few weeks of moping around, my trusty friends by my side, I opted for a new tack. I signed up for a Figure Drawing class at the university. Creating the Dynamo Dancer comic for Mina reawakened my love of portraiture, a far cry from my Old School tattoo style.
Not that I’ll ever leave the world of ink, because that’s my home base, but this class has been a fun adventure, pushing the boundaries of my artistic aesthetic.
Plus, there’s someone in the class.
No, she’s not one of the nude models, although each of them has been striking.
She’s the instructor.
Her name is Sarah, and she’s witty and talented with an offbeat sense of humor. She’s also stunning. We enjoy the same food and movies. Hell, we even share a birthday.
How do I know all this information? Well, I’ve hung around after class a few times under the guise of helping her clean up.
I know it’s bullshit. So does she. Still, every time she suggests grabbing a drink or dinner, I make up another excuse—each one lamer than the last.
It felt wrong, like I was cheating on Mina, even though there’s nothing between us anymore but space.
That changed after Mina’s text the other day.
Don’t get me wrong—it was sweet. She thanked me for the comic, said it reminded her of how amazing she was. But her words felt… distant. Like something you’d send to a colleague, not the man who once held your heart.
And in that moment, I knew—she’s moving on.
