Page 79 of How You See Me
“Let’s see what ya need. Come with me, son.” Tim waves a hand and disappears.
“We’ll get your room ready,” the woman promises on my way by. “Number four down the hall here when you’re done.”
Oh, God.Ourroom. Just one with Josie, her tiny pajamas, and my flailing willpower. Our kiss complicated things, not surprisingly, and I don’t know what the hell we’re supposed to be now.
I hate ambiguity. Why can’t new relationships come with operations orders? Something that spells out the situation, mission, logistics, and execution plan for a successful outcome? It’s needed in situations like this where there’s more at stake than just our two hearts.
???
“I think I heard the entire history of the town and everyone who lives here.” I drop onto the bed, letting out a groan. The silence is a balm to my ears and paper-thin patience.
Josie’s voice floats over from across the room. “Did you figure out the tire situation?”
“Yeah,” I answer, too tired to lift my head. “Pete, who’s married to Candy, his second wife after the first one ran off with her high school boyfriend ten years ago, said he can fix it tomorrow. Something about having to get it from an old Navy buddy who runs a junkyard in the next town. Apparently, that guy has a stash of tires that might fit what we need.”
“I think you just said more words than you have in the last two days.”
“And it hurts."
Her giggle flares something in me, and I sit up, pulled toward the sweet sound. She stands barefoot at her easel on a patch of newspaper spread over the hardwood. A stained-glass chandelier frames her in a halo of yellow light. With the rest of the room left dark, her canvas is lit like a stage. She holds a palette of paint in her left hand and a brush in the right. There’s the cutest smudge of green paint on her cheek.
She’s focused on the canvas, every movement graceful, perfected, intentional. It’s the first time I've seen her in her element, and I could watch this side of her for hours.
“What are you painting?”
“The waterfall.”
“Can I see?”
“Sure. It’s just a few base layers right now.”
I peel myself off the bed and walk over. Every part of me wants to touch her, rest my hand on her back, taste her skin. But I don’t. There’s too much intimacy in the room already, and I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to stop myself.
She points to where the waterfall will go, gesturing at swaths of color blocked on the painting. “I wish I had a photo, but it’s still clear enough in my mind for this round.”
“We can stop in Little Rock to print them.”
She twists to smile up at me. “Thanks. I’ll search online later.”
“I’ll do it.” I’m already yanking my phone from my pocket. “I’ve got nothing else to do.”
When the screen lights up, I stop short—three missed calls from Mom.
The last several hours have been overwhelming. From the blown tire and new flashback complication, to kissing Josie and learning she feels the same as me, to the B&B and Tim’s stories. Through it all, I hadn’t thought of my phone. Or Mom. Or Ava.
I stumble on my way to the door, the guilt too much to bear. I need air and space and a way back to a version of me I recognize. If something’s happened to Ava while I let myself get distracted from the mission, I’ll never forgive myself.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Everything okay?”
I freeze with my hand on the door handle, my back to the room. I can’t turn around. Not when I’m about to lie to her. If she heard the truth, that I’m falling apart for the second time today, she’ll want to help, and the steel cage that holds me together would crumble along with me. The way I see it, “Yes,” is the only viable answer.
Flinging open the door, I stalk toward the exit and out into the cool night air. It feels good on my flushed skin, and I breathe it in before tapping Mom’s number on my phone.
She picks up on the first ring. “Hi, baby.”
“Mom.” I brace for impact. “What’s wrong?”
