Why had I hung that? Why would I want to put myself through that pain?
I wanted to jerk it from the wall and smash it to pieces. I wanted to press my face against it and cry.
Instead of doing either, I ran to the bathroom, stripped down, cranked up angry music, and showered until the water ran ice cold.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
DAYS BECOME NOTHING TO me. I’d been in Oregon for over a month and had a routine. I had a plan to prevent my heart from cracking open each time I felt the weight of solitude, a process to keep me from craving Paul each time I slept.
It was working, even if only barely.
My co-workers were constants and Matilda and I became friends. Thank goodness for Matilda. She was bubbly and fun, always ready to get out of the house and explore our city. She made life easier and saved me from becoming a moping mess.
I hadn’t told her much about Paul only that I’d been with someone not so long ago. She was insistent that I find someone new and always tried to push me off on men. I wasn’t interested and acted completely rude and put off each time she introduced one to me. Let them think I was cold and heartless. I didn’t have anything of substance to give them anyway.
Work became my life and I was grateful for it. On a Thursday afternoon, my last tour arrived and I was in the bathroom making sure that I looked presentable. I smoothed down my skirt and put my stray hairs in place. I practiced smiling in the mirror and then felt like a creep for doing so. With a shake of my head, I went out to the lobby to greet my group.
“Welcome to The Charles Dale Museum of Art. My name is Mia, I’ll be giving you your tour today. If you could all gather around here for a…for just a…” I cleared my throat not believing what I was seeing. “…for just a moment.” I put on a fake smile that was so wide my cheeks hurt. “One moment everyone.”
I sounded like an inexperienced goob and my face was red, I was sure of it. As professional as I could be, I walked towards the back of the group and grabbed Paul by the arm, leading him around the corner.
“What are you doing?” I hissed, resisting the urge to fall into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” Paul said. “Geez. I’m so sorry. I should have called or asked if this was okay. But I just, I just kind of did it. Not thinking. You look beautiful by the way. And I miss you. And is it okay that I stay for the tour or would you rather I didn’t? I can go.”
I would not let his presence affect me. I wouldn’t let his honest, green eyes and bashful smile sway me. This wasn’t the time or place for that. This was my job. My profession. Besides he was probably only here for the weekend, flying back to Florida in a few days. This meant nothing. This was still the same. Why hadn’t he called me in over a month? Why hadn’t he said anything to me at all?
“I don’t care,” I said. “Stay or go. It makes no difference.” With that, I stomped back towards the group, smiling again when I approached.
Paul stayed.
I should have insisted that he go. This was by far the worst tour I’d ever given. My words trailed off mid-sentence when I’d notice him staring at me. My knowledge on the pieces disintegrated every time I had the opportunity to look at him without his knowing.
He wasn’t wearing a suit. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. His arms had lost some of their tan, but just seeing them, knowing that they were attached to his torso, made my knees weak.
And that was the most ridiculous thought I’d ever had.
All of his movements seemed purposeful, sensual almost. I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to be anywhere but where I was. I wanted to be locked in a closet with him or cradled in his arms—maybe even yelling at him for showing up unannounced. Why did he always do this?
Just when I felt my heart beginning to repair itself, in he strolled. All sweet eyes and soft memories. What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to exist in the world knowing that Paul Macione was in it too?
When the tour was finally over, I felt like an utter fool, but thanked the patrons for visiting. I kept waiting for Paul to show up in line, but he never did. When everyone was gone, I went out to the parking lot.
There was no sign of him.
I searched every room, every nook and cranny of the museum and came up empty. Had I dreamed that? Was I suddenly going crazy?
No, Paul had been there and suddenly he was gone.
The museum was open for another hour, and I wasn’t set to get off for another two, but I’d been putting in my time and decided that I could leave early. I found Jim and informed him that I had an unexpected event pop up. He didn’t even bat an eye, just told me to leave.
“Hey! Where are you going?” Matilda called as I was stomping towards the exit. I knew that I seemed agitated and stressed. She took one look at my face and her big eyes widened. “What’s happened? Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Yes. It’s fine. I’m fine. I just…I just need to take the rest of the day. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Oh, okay. Call me if you need anything.”
Forcing a smile, I nodded. “I will.”
My eyes scanned the parking lot for Paul, but he was nowhere in sight. My apartment was a few minutes’ walk. If he wasn’t here, he’d be there. At least I thought he might. Knowing my family, one of them had already given him the address—Marlowe most likely.
Paul was here. In Oregon. For me.
My heels clicked on the pavement, a clack, clack, clack that calmed me, reminding me of my resolve, my strength. I wanted more. I deserved more. I wouldn’t give in.
With a determined breath, I turned the corner, and saw him.
Paul was sitting on the steps of my apartment building, his head bowed, his fingers laced together. When he looked up at me, I felt his love all the way to my bones and as always with Paul, my sigh crumbled my resolve.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
PAUL STOOD WHEN HE noticed me walking down the pavement. His eyes seemed distressed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have just shown up, but I was afraid that if I called, you’d tell me not to come.”
“Why would I tell you that?”
He shook his head, his shoulders going up with the gesture. “I don’t know. But I didn’t want to give you the chance.”
I frowned. “Well, that’s nice of you.”
“No, wait. That’s not what I meant. I mean, I didn’t want you to do that, and I was afraid that you might, but I’m not saying that I won’t respect your wishes. I think I just needed to have a chance.”
“A chance at what?”
“At winning you back.”
My chest tightened. I wanted him to win me back. I wanted him to say all the right things. I wanted nothing more than to be Paul’s again. But I had to stay strong. I had to be willing to fight for my happiness.
“Let’s go inside,” I said, leading him up the steps.
Once we were in my little apartment, neither of us knew what to do. We stood awkwardly in my living room. I fiddled with the hem of my shirt. Paul ran a hand through his hair. If he’d walked over and kissed me, I would have let him. I would have done the same thing I did last time—given myself to him, not even caring what the outcome would be.
“I still love you,” Paul said. “I haven’t for one single second stopped loving you.”
“Then why was it so easy for you to leave?” I couldn’t look at him. It hurt too badly.
“Easy?” Paul crossed the space between us. “You think it was easy for me to leave you? That might have been the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
I couldn’t decide if I believed him.
“I’m awful all right. I’m awful at this. I’ve never had a relationship that lasted and it’s because I’m a shitty boyfriend. I don’t take care of the women who care for me. I pour myself into work. I don’t think of others. I’m a selfish, work-a-holic asshole, just like my father. But with you…with you it was different. When we met, gosh, the way you made me feel. You look at me like I’m a king. Like you have all the faith of the world in me.
”
“I do,” I said. “I would have done anything for you. Gone anywhere. Been anything.”
“I know. And I couldn’t live with that. I couldn’t live knowing you would sacrifice so much of your own dreams just so I could have mine. But through all of this I realized something else. You are my dream, Pretty. You are what I want. Not a high paying job at an elitist firm. Not a big house. Not a nice car. Not contacts and meetings and plane trips. Because without you all of that is hollow. There is no joy in it. I’ve had a taste of you, and I don’t ever want to go without it again. I can’t.”
Tears streamed down my face. He was my dream, too, but I wouldn’t be able to handle it when he left again. My heart would shatter.
“I can’t do this anymore, Paul,” I said. “I love you and loving you hurts. You’re all I think about. All I want. I walk around day in and out missing you, wanting you. What am I gonna do when you leave again? How long will I have to wait before I get to see or talk to you?”
“Who said I was leaving?”
I sniffled, my eyes meeting his. My grand response was a confused, “Huh?”
“I quit. I broke my contract. I told Liza and her boss to shove it up their ass. I lost that reference, and I’m neck deep in debt with a house that refuses to sell and paybacks on relocation bonuses, but it’s done. I left. I packed up my house, put most of it in storage and drove across the country to get you back.”
Paul tucked my hair behind my ear and I leaned into his hand, unable to believe this. It felt too good to be true.
“I don’t need it,” Paul said. “I only need you. I’ll work anywhere, be anything. I’m the one who needs to be making the sacrifices, and before you say anything, I’m fine with that. I want to. I think I need to. I think that I need to prove to myself that I’m worthy of you.”
My hands landed on his waist and pulled him towards me. “You are worthy of me. You are so worthy.”
Paul gave me his lopsided grin. “I’m glad you think so, but I need to prove it. For me.” His fingers curled against my cheek and he kissed the tip of my nose. “I don’t know where I’m going to live,” Paul said. “I don’t know where I’m going to work. I don’t know if I’ll be able to buy you nice things or take you to grand places. But I do know that my soul wants yours. It needs you, Mia. I need you. I’m going to live my life how I see fit, not how my family thinks I should. Not how my colleagues think I should.” He pulled back and smiled down at me. “I kind of like the idea of being a wandering bum for a while. Figuring things out. Letting go a bit. I planned on doing that here. Is that okay?”
My face scrunched up in pain and I hid it in his chest. “Why didn’t you call me?” I said. “Why didn’t you try to get in touch with me? I’ve been miserable.”
Paul held me to him and rubbed my back. “The truth is I didn’t know if I’d be able to get out of this employer contract or if I’d be able to move. I didn’t want to give you halves. You deserve wholes, Pretty.”
He cradled my face in his hands and wiped my tears away. “I’m here, all of me is here, and I love you. Please, Mia, please…take me back.”
I looked up at him and nodded. “I only ever want you, Paul.”
Paul kissed me.
This was different than any other kiss we’d had.
This wasn’t passionate or hungry or desperate or sweet.
This kiss was healing. It took our broken parts, our lonely parts, our bleeding parts and fused them together. We were clicking in place, aligning. Both of us were where we needed to be.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
DAYS BECAME NOTHING TO me. Paul and I were blissfully unaware of their passing. He found a small apartment to rent. Even though he stayed with me nearly every night, he insisted on keeping it. He said he needed to carry his weight and couldn’t expect to move to Oregon and live off my success. He wanted to start over, to build himself up from scratch.
I let him.
Our family was complete when Ferdinand joined us. He was miserable in our tiny apartments, so I enrolled him in a doggy daycare and took him on park dates as much as I could.
It took Paul longer than he would have liked to find a job and in the end it was far less challenging than what he was used to. I worried for him the first few weeks.
After a while, it became clear the Paul was adjusting to this new, less demanding lifestyle. For the first time in years, he was able to take up hobbies. He was home every night for dinner and not rushing off to get takeout. He even had every weekend off. Not knowing what else to do with his free time, Paul tried his hand at writing.
It started out with small short stories that were fascinating. Paul had a creativity he wasn’t even aware of and with each attempt his stories became better. He was so uncertain and timid about this new passion. Late at night, we’d sit in my bed, Ferdinand at our feet, and I’d read his new stories aloud. Most often, Paul buried his head in the pillow or closed his eyes.
“You hated it,” he’d say almost every time.
But I didn’t. I loved them. Each and every one. Paul had a beautiful way of seeing the world, as if he saw everything through this shimmering lens. The mundane became fantasy. The mediocre became fairytale.
“No. Oh my goodness, Paul this is good. I never knew you could write like this.”
His smile would be bashful and proud.
“I used to,” he said. “When I was younger, and then I tried again a while back. Marjorie read some of it, but she didn’t seem to think it was any good.”
“Well, Marjorie is crazy,” I said.
As the months progressed I found myself grateful to her. I almost wanted to call and tell her how grateful I was. She had let Paul go. She had prepared him for me. True, she had broken his heart and left him feeling worthless and cast aside, but I picked up the pieces she left behind. I showed Paul how marvelous and worthy of love he was, and it was worth it.
Paul lived and breathed me. He always found some way to touch me, to hold me close. Our bubble was all around us now. Strong and fully formed. I didn’t worry about it popping, but even if it did, it wouldn’t matter. Paul and I were two souls made from the same stone. I was his, and he was mine.
It had been months since Paul came to Oregon to win me back. My job at The Charles Dale Museum wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t without stress. Paul’s job wasn’t perfect either. We sometimes fought over stupid things, like choosing a restaurant or where to go on day trips. We grew annoyed with each other in the small confines of our homes, but underneath all that was this impenetrable love. With each day it grew deeper, stronger.
One Saturday afternoon, we were sitting on my couch watching a movie. He draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side, his smile stretching wide.
“What is it?” I asked.
“This,” he said. “Sitting with you, here. I’m not thinking about work. I’m not thinking about stress. I’m thinking about you and how perfect you feel tucked into my side. This is happiness, Mia. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For loving me. For giving me too many chances. I promise you won’t regret them.”
I never did.
EPILOGUE
Paul—A small cottage in Oregon
THE MANUSCRIPT BEFORE ME was still warm, fresh off my printer. My fingers rubbed soft lines across the cover page. I’d done it. I’d actually finished it. My smile was a mix of happiness and pride.
A delighted squeal echoed through the window and I looked up to watch Mia run around our backyard, Ferdinand on her heels. The big dog jumped and frolicked right alongside her.
Her flowing, purple dress swished with her movements and I propped my chin against my palm to admire her.
Mia was life.
She’d saved mine.
I’d been tumbling down into a pit, letting life pass by. I hadn’t expected her. I’d likely even pushed her away. When we’d first met, I’d thought, to hell with it. You deserve a little happiness. I hadn’t known how she�
�d change me. How she’d come in and demand to be seen and loved.
My life today was unrecognizable from the life before her. Mia had split me in two.
Our cute house in the southern hills of Oregon was the first of many adventures I’d have with her. Our next was tucked away in my nightstand drawer. She’d say yes when I asked. She wouldn’t even hesitate. I smiled imagining her big, dark eyes beam with happiness as I gave it to her.
My heart constricted, knowing that I didn’t deserve her love. I hadn’t earned it. I hadn’t nurtured it as I should have. When we’d first started dating, I squandered it and followed my greed instead of my heart. I’d assumed Mia would be like all the rest—that she’d want something steady to cling to, something stable, secure.
But Mia was the bright wildflower in the sea of thistles.
She’d forced me to look inward, to see what my selfishness was costing me. She’d held my hand as I walked out into the unknown, leaving behind everything and starting over.
My car was falling apart. We barely made our house note each month. But we laughed. We kissed. We cuddled under the stars and talked about our hopes and dreams. Even now I felt that pull, that steady, taut string that bound me to her. My soul had been searching for her. It had needed her.
She felt my stare and looked over her shoulder to smile at me.
The weight of its love settled into my chest and I smiled back.
Mia was life. And I was gladly giving her all of mine.
Fontenot—Several Months Earlier on a Road Trip Across the U.S.
I’m a piece of shit.
I am a piece of shit.
I’ve lived my life one way for far too long. But now that I want it to change…I just…can’t.
I mean, do I really want it to change? I go where I want. I see what I want. I fuck who I want. Why would I throw all of that away?
And for what? A stupid girl?
No thanks.
I took a swig of my beer. The city landscape was stunning from this window. Where was I anyway? Nicole had told me, but somewhere between the liquor and the redhead lying in my bed, I’d forgotten.
Mia Found (Starting Fires Book 3) Page 29
