Page 36 of Beneath Your Beautiful
“You let Eden walk home alone?”
“No. I walked her home.”
I exhaled.
“Ugh. I burnt my tongue,” I heard Eden say.
“You need to wait until the cheese cools,” Zeke said.
Eden laughed. “I know. I do it every single time. When will I ever learn?”
What the hell? They were cooking? He was in her apartment? Zeke got party music, while I’d been treated to a dirge by The Fray that reminded me of Connor. My walkout song had been the cherry on top of the shit sundae. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’d chosen the music specifically designed to hit me where it hurt the most.
“Tell Killian the most dangerous part of my night is this grilled cheese sandwich,” Eden said. Then her voice came over the line. “Killian?”
“Yeah.”
“I got home okay. I’ll see you at work tomorrow night. Oh…and I told Louis I wanted to work outside with Brody.”
She cut the call without saying goodbye. Mission accomplished. It was better this way. Keeping my distance was the right thing to do. I leaned my head against the sofa cushion and closed my eyes. I saw her face. Her smile. Heard her laughter. I tried to imagine what it would be like to wake up with her every morning. To do simple, everyday things couples did. Go out for coffee. To dinner. A movie. I pictured her on the beach in Montauk, the breeze lifting her hair, her green eyes translucent in the sunshine. My hands massaging suntan lotion into her skin. I thought about all the stupid little things I’d never allowed myself to want before. Someone who knew me, all my faults and weaknesses, but loved me anyway.
Then I remembered who I was. A man who had killed his friend. Failed his brother. With no clue how to repair any of the damage. I had no idea what a healthy relationship would even look like. Why was I entertaining the possibility of a relationship with someone like her? She didn’t belong in my world. She didn’t need a guy who was carting around a shitload of baggage.
I needed to keep Eden out of my head, out of my bed, and out of my messy life.
For the next week, I succeeded in doing just that. At work, I treated her like an employee and nothing more. On our rides home, she didn’t ask me what I was thinking about or ply me with questions I didn’t want to answer. I was polite. Distant. Courteous. I gave her no reason to call me an asshole, and she had no cause to call me out on my behavior or accuse me of acting like a caveman. Until Friday night, when she decided she’d had enough.
“I hate this game we’re playing,” she said, as I was pouring gin from the bottle in my left hand and vodka from the bottle in my right hand. She pulled four bottles of beer from the cooler and flipped the caps. I grabbed the nozzle, poured tonic in three of the drinks, and opened a carton of cranberry juice for the fourth drink. Drinks served, I collected the money and waited for Eden to finish at the register. Normally, she was quick. Tonight, she was taking her sweet time. Considering it was three-deep at the bar, she needed to speed up.
I drummed my fingers on the counter. “Any day now.”
The drawer swung open, and she counted out the change in slow motion before shutting it and stepping aside. “Why are you acting like we’re strangers?”
I keyed in the order on the touchscreen and counted out the change. It took two seconds, tops. “Why aren’t you serving customers?” I asked, brushing past her.
Minutes later, she was in my space again. The bar was long with plenty of room for me, her, Louis, and the bar back, Manny, who was so quiet and efficient, I sometimes forgot he was there.
Eden slammed the glasses down on the bar mat and scooped ice into them, her usual smile nowhere in sight. Meanwhile, I’d been downright pleasant all night. I side-eyed her as she served the customers. No smile. No engagement when they tried to draw her into conversation. No moving her hips to the beat of the music. In other words, she did not look happy. I shouldn’t give a fuck. Unfortunately, I did give a fuck.
For the rest of the night, her bad mood didn’t lift, and I felt solely responsible.
As we left the bar, she walked beside me in silence. Got in my Jeep and quietly closed the door, staring straight ahead, her hands folded in her lap. We drove in silence, my music playing at a higher volume than usual. Neither of us said a word until I pulled up in front of her building. “That painting on my easel…it was you.”
Me? I ran my hand through my hair, not sure what to say. When I’d seen that painting, I’d studied it, trying to figure out why it affected me so much. It was just paint on a canvas. An abstract, no less. It had taken me by surprise that she’d painted something so dark and tumultuous. The only part that looked like her was the burst of yellow. Like the sunshine trying to break through a sky thick with storm clouds. It was the kind of painting people would hang on their wall and notice something different each time they looked at it. A storm at sea. Dark forces fighting the light. Beauty. Destruction. Nature at its most powerful. I’d wondered, at the time, which side would ultimately win the battle? The light? Or the dark?
And now she said the painting was me. Yeah, I had nothing. She wasn’t waiting for a response anyway. She hopped out of the Jeep and closed the door behind her. I watched her fitting the key into the lock and only pulled away when she was safely inside.
She’d gotten it wrong. That painting wasn’t me. It was us.
Chapter Fourteen
Eden
“Another round?” the waiter asked.
“Yes, please,” Hailey said, fanning herself. “It’s so hot and we’re so thirsty.”
After the waiter cleared our empty glasses, I grabbed a cheesy nacho, loaded with salsa and guacamole, and stuffed it in my mouth.
