Page 44 of Liberating Bells
I narrow my eyes at the display when I hear a crash and a string of swears from the next aisle over. Taking a few steps, Ipeek around the edge of the partitions and am utterly shocked to see Izabel.
She’s standing on her toes, trying to reach something on the over-stock shelf. Her arm is stretched as far as it can go, but her fingers are barely brushing the edge. On the ground next to her, I see a metal paint pan, the source of the crash.
“Maybe if you jump, you could reach it, shorty,” I tease her, stepping into the aisle.
Her head spins around until her gaze lands on me, and she acknowledges me with an instant smile. “It’s a serious character flaw. Why couldn’t I just be a few inches taller?”
I shrug and walk up to where she’s standing, easily reaching up and grabbing the three-pack of paint rollers she’s after. “I don’t know, Bells. Maybe talk to your mom about that one.”
She huffs and rolls her eyes. “Thank you,” she says, taking the rollers from me.
“Doing some painting?” I ask her like an idiot.
Izabel tucks a strand of brunette hair behind her ear and nods. “Yeah, Mark and I found a house. We’re moving in in a few weeks. I just wanted to make sure I have all my ducks in a row beforehand.”
“Well, congratulations, homeowner!” I try to be upbeat for her—ahouse. Things are moving right along for them. I guess that’s a good thing. But even still, I can’t deny that I’m disappointed. A part of me had hoped what happened the night of the gala would have been enough of a wakeup call for her to leave.
But I suspect Mark was able to weasel his way back in and exert his control over her even more so.
“It is pretty exciting,” she responds, not sounding at all excited.
I shove my hands in my pockets and watch her for a second. “So, what color?”
“Hmm?”
“For your walls. What color did you decide on?”
“Oh,” she pauses and rummages in her purse before pulling out a paint swatch, “I think I’m going with this forest-y green color for the living room.”
“That’s nice, Bells. I’m sure it will look great.”
Izabel offers me an appreciative grin. “Thanks, Ryan. So what are you doing here?”
“I had to pick up a plaster kit. I have a hole in the wall to patch at the office.”
She nods as if that’s the most normal thing in the world. She doesn’t ask where it came from, and I don’t care to tell her. That would lead to nothing but embarrassment.
I quietly study her, and I wonder how she’s been these last few weeks. She looks well enough. Her hair is slightly curled, and her eyes bright. Has he hurt her since? I trail my gaze over her arms and legs and don’t see any exposed bruises. But I know that he’d just as likely hurt her from the inside, emotionally. Those kinds of injuries aren’t always visible, but can be just as painful, if not more.
Izabel bends down and grabs the paint pan, placing the rollers inside of it. “Well, it was good to see you, Ryan. I hope you have a good rest of your day.”
Wow, just like that, huh?
As she’s walking away, I feel myself start to panic. I’m not ready to let her go again. I need more time with her. I take another step forward. “Hey, Bells.” She turns toward me, those blue eyes mesmerizingly wide. “Would you want to grab a coffee or dinner sometime? Just to catch up?”
What am I doing? I told her I didn’t want to stand around on the sidelines, yet here I am, asking to be back in her life again. Gosh, she probably thinks I’m stalking her or something. The last time I saw her, I told her I still loved her.
To my immense surprise, and unexplainable pleasure, another smile graces those beautiful lips of hers. “Yeah, that would be nice. Um…” Izabel reaches into her bag and pulls out her cell phone. “I’m actually free tonight if you don’t have any plans.”
I feel a surge of happiness, and the corners of my mouth tilt up. “Tonight sounds great. Want to do Siriano’s?”
Her favorite Italian restaurant.
My brain is yelling at my heart,What are you doing, you dumbass!But for once, I have zero qualms about following my heart. It’s only dinner, what’s the harm in that? Bells and I have had dinner hundreds of times.
Just dinner between two friends.
“Siriano’s would be amazing,” she says, and I feel my stomach flip-flop at the wistful expression on her face. “Around six-ish?”
