Mia Found (Starting Fires Book 3)

by Makenzie Smith

  MIA FOUND

  MAKENZIE SMITH

  Copyright © 2016 Makenzie Smith

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either or products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  www.authormakenziesmith.com

  Cover Design and Internal Formatting: Mayhem Cover Creations

  For the dreamers

  Without you, the world would be grey. Keep on dreaming.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  Paul

  THE FOG ON MY car windows made me feel isolated. Heat rolled from the vents and it burned my eyes. Even though the street was alive around me, I was alone. The outside world didn’t exist. It was only me, my thoughts, and a thread of text messages staring back at me.

  Marjorie had sent another. Why did I read them? Why did I respond?

  Nothing she said could repair the damage to my heart. She’d broken up with me less than 24 hours after Valentine’s Day. Worse, she’d left me so she could date Rick, my brother.

  I’m so sorry, her latest message said. I just have to follow my heart on this. I thought you of all people would understand.

  I didn’t.

  She and my brother had met only once. At my home. On my birthday. A month ago.

  For once, I didn’t engage her. My night couldn’t handle any more hurt.

  Inside the house, my co-worker was having a dinner party. All I had to do was step out onto the driveway and walk to the door. Instead, I strongly considered driving home and forgetting all about it. Would anyone here really miss not having me?

  My phone vibrated with another message. Please. Talk to me about this. I can’t stand you being upset with me.

  A hundred and one profane words flew through my mind. If I went home, she’d bait me into answering. I’d cave. My heart and pride wanted to understand this mess, to make sense of it, but my head knew better. There was no sense. I needed to move on and forget about her and Rick. Not wanting the temptation, I left my phone in the car, and walked to the house.

  For hours I let myself unwind and for a few blessed moments I felt normal, but it wasn’t without struggle. I actively forced myself to smile, to laugh, to talk to people. The effort became tiresome and I wanted to go home.

  Before leaving, I made my way towards the bathroom, needing just a moment to clear my head. There was no telling what temptations my phone would hold and I had to be resilient when I saw them.

  I tried the knob, but the bathroom was occupied and I gave a weary sigh.

  “You can use the one upstairs,” Amanda, my co-worker, called. “Just try to be quiet. The baby’s sleeping.”

  At the top landing, I went left. An open door was at the end of the hallway and I walked towards it, but as I approached I realized it wasn’t a bathroom. The faint glow of a television screen illuminated the carpet. Who could be up here? Curious to know, I peeked in. A girl was sprawled on the couch. Her hair fanned out, creeping down to the floor. From this angle I had a clear shot of her cleavage and quickly averted my eyes.

  “Oh,” she said, surprised by the intrusion.

  “Sorry. I’m looking for the bathroom.”

  She smiled. It was open. Friendly. Stunning. Her big eyes glistened as she pointed across the hallway. “Just there.”

  “Thanks,” I said, cursing my awkward wave and tight-lipped smile. I went inside, propping my hands against the sink. Instead of thinking about how much I hated Marjorie and Rick, my eyes drifted to the door, the thin piece of wood separating me from the mystery girl who looked at me with big, beautiful eyes and a radiant smile. Who the hell was she? I’d never seen her before.

  After a believable amount of time, I came out and peeked into the room, drawn to her. She was sitting upright with a pillow in her lap and a wide smile decorating her face.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey.”

  “Are you bored? I’m watching a movie but wouldn’t mind some company.”

  “Uh…” Why was I hesitating? This girl was beautiful and wanted to spend time with me.

  “Fiona went to bed with the baby,” she clarified, looking uncertain. “I’ve been by myself all night. It’d be nice to talk to someone.”

  Before I convinced myself not to, I stepped into the room and joined her on the couch.

  “I’m Mia,” she said. “I’m helping babysit for Amanda.”

  “Paul. She and I work together.”

  “At the Accounting Firm?”

  “Yeah. So. Uh. So, what do you do?” God, was I this bad at flirting? No wonder Marjorie left me.

  She chuckled. “I work at a clothing store.”

  I looked over, realizing she was young. Maybe too young. “Are you in college?”

  “Yep. Graduate next year.”

  Too young then.

  “You have nice eyes,” she said out of nowhere.

  “So do you,” I said, my face heating. Oh my God. Was I sixteen again? She was so exposed, honesty pouring out of her, and I found myself unequipped to deal with it.

  “Thank you,” she smiled. “But it doesn’t count if I say it first.”

  “Well…then your hair’s pretty.”

  She laughed—a full, lovely sound. “There yo
u go.”

  We fell silent as the movie played. My eyes watched, but I retained nothing. Why was I sitting here with a stranger? Yes, a beautiful stranger, but this was abnormal for me. Maybe all of the mess with Marjorie had a part to play. Mia’s attention, even if it was only friendly flirtation, made me feel desirable and wanted in a way I’d been craving.

  “Do you have any kids?” she asked.

  “Me?” I said, confused after being pulled from my thoughts. “No.” Nervously, I pushed my hands down my legs, straightening out my slacks. Something about this situation was disorienting me—the nearness of her, her hair falling down her shoulders in thick waves, her big, brown eyes studying me.

  “Me either.” She smiled then narrowed her eyes. “Married?” Her bottom lip pursed out as if she was scolding me. It was cute and I grinned.

  “No,” I said. “Not married. You?”

  “Nope.”

  Her smiled lingered, watching me bashfully. What did she see when she looked at me? Could she sense my heartache? Was she trying to lift my spirits? Or could she honestly be interested? If I’d had my phone, I would have asked for her number. At least that’s what I told myself.

  As the movie went on, she squirmed, seeming uncomfortable. Each of her movements brought her closer and closer to me. She hid the ruse well, not appearing purposeful. When her shoulder finally touched mine, she found her comfort and settled.

  I couldn’t help it, I smiled. It was the first genuine smile I’d had in days. But it couldn’t last. It was getting late and I needed to leave. I glanced at my wristwatch, realizing I’d been sitting with her for nearly twenty minutes.

  “Paul?” she said. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

  She turned down the volume of the television and reached for the end table, grabbing her phone. I watched as she unlocked it and pulled up her camera roll.

  “What do you think of this?” she asked, showing me a picture of a painting.

  At first, it was hard to know what it was, but as I studied it, I saw the outline of a woman’s face, various colors highlighting her profile. It looked as though someone had only splattered color on a canvas, the woman hidden amongst the disorder.

  It was beautiful. Intriguing.

  “I like it,” I told her.

  “Really?” she asked, her eyes growing larger. “You do? You promise?”

  “Yeah.” I laughed. “Did you do this?”

  Self-consciously, she looked down at her phone. “A while ago.”

  “It’s good. Really. I promise.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I submitted it for an art show, but they didn’t pick it.”

  “I’d buy it,” I said. “I like this.” I pointed toward one of the edges where she’d combined greens, oranges, and blacks. The brush strokes were harder, more intense there.

  Her eyes lit up and she showed me more, eventually letting me scroll through them myself. Each one was unique, unlike anything I’d seen. She had a thing for sorrowful women. Nearly all of them was a portrait of a somber woman, either in the distance or as a focal. Maybe Mia was sad, too.

  We were so caught up in it—me telling her what I thought and the ones I liked best—that I didn’t notice Amanda standing in the doorway.

  “Paul?” she said and I startled. “We were worried something might have happened to you.” She chuckled, but her eyes said much. What are you doing up here alone with her?

  I stood from the couch and handed Mia her phone. “Sorry. I lost track of time. Thanks, Mia. It was nice meeting you.”

  “Oh,” she said with disappointment. “You, too.” Her big eyes made my heart pound against my chest and I had the ridiculous notion to lean down and kiss her on the tip of the nose.

  She didn’t want me to leave. She wanted me to ask for her number or give her mine. But with Amanda watching me like a hawk, judgment pouring off her, I couldn’t. Instead of doing what I wanted, I left.

  Downstairs, I grabbed my things and Amanda walked me to the door. “I know you just came out of a breakup,” she said. “But come on, Paul. She’s too young for you.”

  “We weren’t doing anything. Just talking.”

  “Yeah, okay,” she said, sighing. “Drive safe.”

  The walk to my car was a mix of emotions. I felt happy, but also conflicted. My phone had five new messages. All from Marjorie. I deleted them without reading what they’d said.

  Amanda was right. Not only was Mia too young, but maybe I was too raw. I let out a sigh.

  “Bye, Mia,” I said, knowing I’d more than likely never see her again.

  CHAPTER ONE

  CERTAIN PEOPLE YOU MEET in life will shake you. They’ll step into your world and say, “Hey,” or another meaningless word, but it’s enough. It’s enough to bind you to them. Their mere existence leaves your life feeling hollow, because no matter what—who you’re with, what you’re doing—you know they are out there.

  Living.

  Breathing.

  Existing without you.

  Paul Macione was one of those people.

  The first time we’d met hadn’t done it. Nor the second. Nor the third.

  My heart chose him on the fourth.

  I’d just started my last year of college. Only two semesters stood between me and freedom. But I still felt so lost. Uncertain.

  My paintings were different. Unique. My dreams were big. Sometimes they felt too big, like mountainous impossibilities. What I wanted out of life was simple.

  I wanted to paint. I wanted to study other paintings. I wanted to continue to learn and grow. I wanted to surround myself with art and beauty. I wanted to swim in it every day.

  “You call that simple?” my mother would say. “Mia Lucille. Haven’t you ever heard the term ‘starving artist?’ It’s okay to have dreams, honey, but be realistic.”

  My mother voiced all the fear inside me, the impracticalness of it all, and I struggled to push the fear aside. You paint because it’s what you love to do. Not for fame. Not for recognition. So paint.

  My pep talks sometimes worked.

  Other times, like now, they didn’t.

  Another one of my paintings had been rejected for a local art project. The organizer had called my vision “too morose.”

  Now I felt morose.

  My brother, Lucas, and his girlfriend, Marlowe, were hosting a makeshift, summer potluck at the park. I’d come hoping it would ease my troubled heart and rid my mind of the doubt I felt.

  And then I saw Paul.

  I avoided him. My mood felt too sour.

  After our first meeting on a couch, I’d seen him twice. He flirted with me the first time. He practically ignored me the second.

  Paul was reserved, his quiet charm endearing. Being around him made me feel like a silly girl with a crush—a crush he’d likely never return. He was older than me by eight years. Paul knew who he was, what he wanted. I struggled with that. Maybe he thought I was too immature for him.

  Still, something drew me to him.

  The bashful look in his eyes each time we made eye contact. The way his mouth moved when he spoke, slow, purposeful. There were moments that I was so certain he wanted me.

  While we ate, I studied him. His eyes were honest and even though he laughed I saw pain beneath his skin. Something was hurting him. Something kept him removed. Paul felt my stare and gave me a wave. I smiled, loving the way his eyes twinkled. For a brief moment, his pain disappeared.

  As the lively get-together wore on, I found myself wishing for solitude. My heart was heavy. Spotting a swing set, I walked towards it and claimed the middle swing.

  What would I do once I graduated? Where would I go? I was scared and felt helpless.

  Movement caught my attention and I glanced up. Paul was walking towards me. My pulse raced and I took a calming breath.

  “Hey,” I said as he approached.

  “Hey. What are you doing over here?” Paul sat beside me in a swing, kicking the dir
t.

  I sighed. “Just needed some space, I think.”

  Paul made a noise behind his mouth, agreeing with me. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No. No. Stay. I don’t mind your company.”

  Paul smiled, looking away from me. Flirting with him was always so easy. It surprised me. I was horrible with men, only dating them sporadically and it usually never went past the first date. I’d get annoyed with that thing. They’d get put off by this thing.

  With Paul things were different. Something brewed just below the surface, something waited for us there. I wondered if he felt it too.

  “How’s the painting going?” he asked and I took a weary sigh.

  “It’s going, I suppose. Not much different than before.”

  “Is that why you need space?”

  I smiled. “Perceptive.” My feet kicked the ground beneath me, sending my swing into the air. Paul joined me. “It’s just…I feel so…” The wind blew in my face and I closed my eyes, trying to find the right word.

  “Lost,” Paul said and I stopped, my feet digging into the ground.

  “Yes,” I said, turning to look at him.

  He slowed, stopping beside me. “It’s okay to feel lost every now and then. I do.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. We all do.”

  “Well, how do you feel found?”

  Paul chuckled and stood, coming behind me and pushing my swing. “No one knows that but you, Mia. But you’re young, talented, strong. You’ll figure it out.”

  I couldn’t contain my delighted laugh as he pushed me into the air. “Where did you come from?” I asked. “Can you just hang around me all the time? You’re the first person to actually make me feel better.”

  “You can’t feel sad in a swing,” Paul said and my back warmed where his hands touched me. While he focused on taking my mind off my mood, I thought back to all the times we’d seen each other.

  That night on the couch I was bolder than I’d ever been, openly inviting him to sit with me. I’d felt foolish after he left. A different man had recently rejected me, and I’d clung to Paul, hoping he’d ease the hurt in my heart. He had. For those few moments he’d been with me, I’d thought of nothing else but him. How handsome he was. How much of gentleman he was. He hadn’t made a pass at me. We’d been all alone. He could have. Instead, he’d been sweet, kind, restoring my faith in myself even then. A stranger—someone he didn’t know if he’d ever see again.