Page 46 of Finding Romance
“Goodnight, illustrator,” he replies, and I smile as I turn, loving my new nickname.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Kasen
I couldn’t sleep last night, so I got up and scoured the building for Cornelia’s necklace. Spoiler alert: I didn’t find it.
Now, I’m downing coffee at the café.
“Dude, that’s your fourth coffee in as many hours. I never like to turn down customers but maybe try to drink some water,” Cam says as she pushes a bottle of water toward me.
“I need to get back to work. I’m just exhausted,” I admit.
I’m also nervous. I have my first appointment this afternoon with the therapist that Bray recommended. I hate therapy. It’s never worked and I feel stupid trying again, but something deep down keeps gnawing at me that I need to work on myself.
“Water,” she states again and pushes it closer to me.
I glare at her, and she crosses her arms. I sigh, take the water, and head back to my apartment. I wrap up where I was with my project and get on the telehealth call.
A man appears on the screen after a few seconds.
“Kasen Saddler?” he asks. He’s about my age and is clean-shaven, wearing glasses, and in the background, I see a photo of men in Navy uniforms. Fucking Bray. He knew that’d make it easier for me.
“Yeah,” I answer and we begin our session.
One hour later, I need some air. I walk up to the roof and find Piper sitting in the greenhouse painting a pot. I stand by the door for a long time. I watch the way her hair moves with her head. The way she scrunches her nose and sticks out her tongue as she concentrates. The way she smiles when she gets it how she wants it. She’s not putting on an act for anyone. She’s just being authentically herself.
Finally, her head moves and her gaze meets mine. I grin as I see a swatch of paint on her right cheek. She’s a wonderful, beautiful mess. She’s perfection. All the heavy thoughts from the past hour melt away like ice on a hot summer day. I’m not thinking of the device buried in the sand on the beach where it killed my friend Tyler. I’m not thinking of the boat sinking and my parents disappearing into the dark, stormy night. No, I’m just thinking about Piper, and how she’s like a sun so bright she blinds me from seeing all those dark things.
She sets down her paintbrush and wipes her hands on an old rag. Slowly, she walks over to me. I can see her brows furrow as she approaches me, and then without explanation, she wraps her arms around my midsection and pulls me against her. Her cheek presses against my chest and I bring my arms up and around her shoulders. I press my lips to the top of her head and inhale. I can smell her floral shampoo. It’s a smell that’s becoming so familiar. I don’t know what type it is, but that smell will forever remind me of Piper.
“Are you OK?” she asks, not moving.
“I am now,” I reply because it’s the truth. “And here I thought you’d be excited to have me out of your hair.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, pulling back a bit so I can look her in the face.
“Aunt Cornelia has her big checkup in another week and a half and then I’m going to stay with my dad for a while,” she explains.
“Your dad?”
“Yeah. He offered up his guesthouse out in Seattle. So, I figured I’d try out life out there. I need to eventually figure out where I’m supposed to be,” she says with a shrug.
With me. That’s where you’re supposed to be.
“Oh?” I manage.
She pushes away from me, and I nearly reach out to pull her back. But I just stand there watching her.
“Why does adulting have to be so…so complicated?” she asks.
“Because it’s a choose-your-own-adventure except you can’t control what’s happening, like Jumanji,” I say, feeling quite a bit of the last part.
She steps back to me, searching my eyes. “Will you tell me what happened to you? Someday?”
I swallow. I want to tell her everything, but I’m also afraid to say a word. What if she runs away? What if she sees how broken I am and decides it’s too bad? I’ve liked this putting-me-on-a-pedestal thing. I like the way she looks at me as if I know everything and can protect her from all of it. It makes me feel powerful again, even if just for a moment.
“You don’t want to hear those stories, illustrator,” I whisper as I cup her cheek. She leans her head against my hand.
