by JB Salsbury
Does he still not believe it’s me?
“Yes,” I say and shift nervously in my seat. “Oh, my hair.” I finger the ends of the short bob. “I cut it.”
Three weeks ago, I decided it was time to stop hiding and using my hair as a shield, so I had it cut to my chin. I can’t expect people to accept me for who I am if I, myself, don’t learn to love who I am. I’m getting there. Scars and all.
He swallows, and his hazel gaze flutters around my face. “You look incredible.”
My cheeks heat. “Thank you. What are you doing over here?”
He blinks as if my question zapped him back to the present. “I just had a meeting with a new client.”
“Client?”
He motions toward the bench where I’m sitting. “May I?”
I scoot to the far end, fearing what I might feel if he brushes against me. “Of course.”
He settles in at the opposite end of the bench and faces his body forward as though he, too, is worried about touching me. “I opened my own interior design business.” The pride in his expression is undeniable.
“That’s amazing. Congratulations.”
“It’s been…” He blows out a breath and grins. His smile is so captivating, so endearing, I could cry at the look of it. “A really cool experience. I’m working harder than I have in all my life.”
“That’s great, Kingston. I’m so happy for you.”
He eyes my ballet shoes. “Are you…?”
“Dancing again. Yes. It’s a slow process, but it has been healing for me.”
He thumbs the edge of his bowl nervously. “Are you still at the hospice center?”
“No. I’m working at the children’s hospital now. I do therapy with kids who have been burned or scarred. It was time to get a real job, and investing in the future and lives of kids is more life-giving than at hospice, where the investment was in death. I finally feel like I’m taking parts of my life back instead of floating around without any grounding.”
He frowns and turns away.
“I want you to know I don’t blame you for what happened that night. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Jesus, Bee.” He sets his food down as if he’s lost his appetite. “You wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for me.”
“I do have a functioning brain. I made the decision to be there that night.” I lean forward to catch his eyes. “I talked to Ainsley.”
He blows out a breath and slumps back against the bench. “Never thought I’d hear that name again.”
“She told me what you did. How you saved me.”
“Anyone would’ve done the same—”
“You refused to leave my side?”
He side-eyes me and shakes his head. “I would’ve held your hand through surgery if they’d let me.”
I angle my body toward him and bring my knees dangerously close to his. “I want you to hear me when I say this. I do not blame you. Do you understand? What happened was not your fault.”
He shrugs. “I hear you. I’m just not as convinced.”
“Can I ask you something?”
He looks at me, those hazel eyes open with vulnerability. “Anything.”
“Why did you let me believe you were gay?”
He chuckles, and the sound is a warm bath to my frazzled nerves. “Out of all the questions you could ask, that’s the one you choose.”
“What other questions could I ask?”
“I don’t know, maybe how did I find you at the hospice center? Why did I pass out on your doorway?” He runs a hand through his hair. “Why let our relationship go so far knowing what I know?”
“Okay, tell me.”
“I’ve been thinking, and you know…” He scratches his jaw as if what he’s about to say makes him itchy. “I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you.”
“That’s impossible. You couldn’t know what kind of person I was.”
“You hated me. You pushed me away every chance you got. Not that I blame you, I was obnoxious.” He dips his head and chuckles to himself. “It didn’t matter. I was so into you. You were smart and funny, and I loved how you didn’t take any shit from anyone. I was determined to win you over that night.” He frowns and stares blindly across the park. “When you showed up at North Industries to return my wallet, and you seemed happy to see me. You smiled, and I… I couldn’t let you go. I knew it was wrong to keep you, to let you think I was gay, but you genuinely seemed to like me, and I couldn’t let you go.”
“Did you know I didn’t remember you? When you woke up in that hospice room, did you know I wouldn’t remember?”
“No,” he says. “It was pretty obvious when I woke up that you had no clue who I was. I planned to walk away and leave you alone. Showing up drunk like that was a stupid risk, but I was weak. For three years, I never stopped thinking about you.”
“Did you have someone following me?”
He recoils. “No. I hired a PI just to check in on you. I had to know you were getting your life back. The plan was to stay away, but in a moment of drunken weakness, I fucked up. I saw you, spent time with you. And all those feelings came rushing back, made me desperate for another minute, another day, another night. And you should know, if you hadn’t figured it out, I’d still be lying to you today because just like the night of your accident, I didn’t want to leave you.”
I give myself a minute to let the weight of his words sink in. His honesty is refreshing, even if what he’s saying hurts. He had no plans to tell me the truth.
“Eventually, you would’ve met my family. They would’ve exposed you.”
He nods. “Maybe.”
“Remy almost exposed you. Ainsley could have. We were doomed from the start.”
He sniffs and swipes at his eye. “We were.”
“So I guess that leaves us… friends?”
He smiles sadly. “I’d like that.”
My heart splinters, and emotion swells. How did things go so wrong? Kingston is in love with me, and I might be in love with him, but the history and the lies between us create an obstacle too vast to overcome.
“I should go.” I gather my trash and things. My eyes fill with tears. “It was nice seeing you again.”
He jumps to his feet as if considering chasing after me, but his boots stay rooted when I walk away to the sound of his whispered, “Goodbye, Bee.”
Thirty-One
Kingston
The creative room at BI Designs has become my favorite place in the world. The walls are covered with inspirational images—brightly colored graffiti from around the city, industrial bridges next to naturescapes ripped from magazines. There’s even a wall dedicated to perspective that has a twenty-four-foot ladder and an inversion table so I can hang upside down to create. Sounds wild, I know, but my brain works in the strangest ways. It always has. I’m just finally learning how to work with it rather than against it.
My team of four—Angelica, Todd, and my artist friend Nico, who I’ve hired on a consultation basis because he’s fucking brilliant—all stare at the table of chaos where we’ve laid out a selection of colors, fabrics, and textures for a new luxury cigar lounge we’re bidding. We walk around the table, move shit around, stand back, and move shit around again until we all give a collective sigh of relief when the right combination is found.
“Something’s missing,” Nico moves a paint sample closer to the brushed brass fixture.
“Agreed.” Angelica squints through her hot-pink cat-eye glasses. “Needs more texture.
“Velvet?” Todd pushes a sample of the fabric into the mix.
“No, that’s not it.” Angelica walks slowly around the table to take in the combination at all angles of light.
“Denim.” I reach for the sample and toss it into the mix. “For the chairs.”
“Shit,” Todd whispers. “That’s it.”
“Yes!” Angelica and Nico high-five.
“It works, right?” I never imagined I’d find a job tha
t didn’t involve hours of reading and writing, one where I could use my creativity and not be ashamed of my disability. Playing with colors and patterns all day doesn’t even feel like work.
Angelica punches in the information on her iPad. “I’ll check prices with the distributors.”
“Todd, can you go down to the textile warehouse and grab a sample of every denim they have? The color has to be perfect.”
“Shit, what time is it?” Todd jumps when he checks his watch. “I’m showing 2B at ten.”
“Oh, yeah?”
I put Todd in charge of renting out the extra apartment above the warehouse. I occupy 2A, the bigger of the two places. 2B has been a harder sell because it doesn’t get a lot of sun through the north-facing windows, and the view includes a parking lot and an ugly five-story building built in the eighties.
“It shouldn’t take too long. The lady said from everything she saw that the place was perfect. I can run to the warehouse after the showing.”
“Go get the samples. I’ll show the apartment.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“Cool. Text me if there are any other samples you need,” he says and rushes out the door.
Nico and Angelica work on the proposal, and I head to the front office to wait for the prospective tenant. I’m antsy to get back to work and pray the person shows up on time. I also pray the person isn’t a slob and has normal hours. I’m not excited about having to share close quarters with a stranger, but the added income will help with the upkeep of the place.
Sitting in Todd’s front office chair, I flip through the Manga book he left on his desk and check my voicemails. Alex and Jordan calling in separately to check on me, then calling in together—
The door opens, and I lift my gaze to greet the guest, only to drop my phone when I see Gabriella standing in the doorway. Backlit by the sun, she looks like an angel in a hoodie and leggings.
I jump to my feet. “Gabriella?” In my hurry to get around the desk, I kick the corner and stumble forward, catching myself midair before falling on my face.
“Kingston? Are you okay?” She rushes forward with her hands out in case she might have to catch me.
“I’m fine.” I reassure her by pointing at the problematic piece of furniture. “It was the desk. It sticks out. Anyway, what are you… how did you find me?” All the reasons why she is standing here in front of me filter through my head. She misses me. She wants to give me another chance. She loves me. My chest fills with hope, but I hesitate to get too excited just yet.
“Wait, what are you doing here?” she asks, her gaze skeptical.
“What? I own this place. This is my company. My building.”
Her eyes grow wide when the missing link falls into place.
“You’re the renter?” Could it be possible that the universe would find me worthy enough to put the person I love more than anything back in my path again?
Her eyes dart around the office, and when they land on the company sign, her expression falls, and her jaw goes slack.
“Oh, yeah, that…” I run my hand over the back of my neck, feeling the heat rise from my chest.
“Did you,” she whispers, “name your company after me?”
I turn to look at the logo and try to see it through her eyes. The contemporary swirls and scripted font. Is she freaked out? “I did. You’re my inspiration, Bee.” I turn back to her. “You always have been.”
She clears her throat and stares down at her feet, then turns to look at the door behind her as if making a mental escape. “I think… I should go—”
“No, please don’t. We’re friends, right?” The f-word sours in my mouth, but I force myself to smile. “I have an apartment for rent, and you’re looking for an apartment to rent.”
“I am, but…” She chews on the inside of her mouth.
“It’s so hard to find anything in this area, and if you like it, it’s yours.” I scramble to sell her on the idea. To get her to stay, even if only long enough to tour the place. “The square footage is impressive.” I snag the keys from Todd’s desk. “You won’t find anything like it for the price. You have to see it for yourself.”
She takes a minute to think that over and finally nods. “I came all this way. I might as well.”
I open the front door for her and hold my breath as she walks past me, fearing that one whiff of her shampoo might cause me to beg for her to give me another chance. She deserves better, asshole.
“The entrance to the apartments is this door over here. There’s the intercom so you can buzz up any visitors.” I unlock the door that leads to a staircase. “The building is old, so there’s no elevator.”
At the top of the stairs is a small sitting room with a window, a loveseat, and a coffee table. Branching off that room are three doors.
“This is 2B.” I slip the key into the lock and push open the door for her to walk inside.
The apartment is modest—one bedroom, one bathroom, a living room, and an eat-in kitchen. My apartment is bigger and has better light, and I want to offer it to her, but I hesitate to let her know I live here for fear that she won’t even consider the place.
I keep to the entryway while she walks around the apartment, ducking into the rooms and pushing the blinds aside to look out the window.
“Paint, carpet, and all appliances are brand new. Behind those doors is a small laundry room.”
She turns to me, seeming surprised by my statement. “Look at you, talking like a real blue-collar man.”
I chuckle and feel warm all over from her teasing.
“It’s perfect, but…” She takes another look around and sighs. “Won’t it be weird, you being my landlord?”
“No! No at all. Not… no, never.” I bite my bottom lip to keep from my embarrassing babble.
“Will it be hard? With you working downstairs, we’ll be running into each other from time to time.”
I resist the urge to make a dirty joke. See? Who says a man can’t mature? “The last five months without you have been hard. I suspect the rest of my life will be no different.”
She frowns.
Shit, I’m losing her again. “You can’t beat the price,” I say, hoping to sell her. “You won’t find anything for one thousand a month in the state of New York.”
“One thousand?” She tilts her head and smirks. “The ad said four thousand two hundred?”
“Huh… that’s weird.” I shrug. “Typo.”
“Kingston.” Her smile widens. “You can’t give me a deal just because of our history.”
“Deal? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I smile back at her, and the mutual happiness between us pulls at my chest and draws me closer. I dig my heels in and slam my back against the wall to stay put. “So? When do you want to move in?”
“Aren’t you optimistic?” She props her hands on her hips.
“What happened at home?”
Her brows pinch together. “Nothing, it’s just time for me to move on. I got an actual paying job now, and I want to be more independent. It’s time.”
“Well, I hope you live here. It’ll be nice to bump into you from time to time.”
“I’ll think about it,” she says and takes one last look around the space. “I’ll let you know what I decide.”
Gabriella
“What do you mean it’s no longer available?” I motion to the loaded moving truck I rented that’s parked illegally outside of the building. “What am I supposed to do with my things?”
I’m going to have a panic attack. Right here on the sidewalk outside of what was supposed to be my new apartment. My new beginning!
“Don’t worry. We have another apartment open for you.” The guy says and holds out a set of keys. “You’ll be happier with this one.”
“But I haven’t even seen it. Is the rent the same? What if it’s not—”
“Come check it out.”
I follow the bald guy with all the tattoos
up the stairs to a door that says 2A on the front. I look to the 2B door and wonder who stole my apartment from me. I should ask for Kingston and demand he explain, but I’m frazzled enough as it is. The last thing I need is his overwhelming presence, which always manages to knock me off-center.
I push inside the apartment and freeze mid-step at the view. The living area is lit up with sunlight, with the arched windows overlooking the street below and a nearby park. The walls are white, the floor is wood, and the kitchen is updated like the last but twice the size. And this is a two-bedroom?
“I can’t afford this.” I hand the man, Todd, the keys back. “It’s twice the size.”
“Price is the same.”
“How is that possi…” Of course. Kingston. Did he evict whoever lived here in order to give the apartment to me? Or bribe them to trade? Because if the person who once lived here now lives in the much smaller apartment next door? Well, that’s going to make for some awkward neighbor interactions. Hey, I’m the woman you were kicked out of your home for. Want to come over for a coffee sometime?
“So?” Todd says and checks his watch as if he has somewhere he needs to be. “What do you say? Will you take it?”
On principle alone, I should say no. But I’m currently homeless with everything I own in the back of a U-Haul. “Is Kingston around?”
“No, he has two walk-through’s this afternoon. He won’t be back until late.”
I sigh and decide I have no choice but to move into this fantastic flat. “Fine.” I hold out my hand to take the keys back. “I’ll take it.”
He slaps the keys back in my palm. “Smart choice.”
He turns and heads out. As he jogs back down the stairs, I hear him whistle like the kind always heard at baseball games. He barks out a command, and I jog down the stairs just as I see four guys who are built like semi-trucks going for my U-Haul.
“What is this?”
“Complimentary move-in help.”
I wasn’t in a position to turn down help.
The four men had the U-Haul unloaded in less than an hour. It took the rest of the day for me to unpack and return the rental truck. A storm was rolling in that promised the first snow of the season, and I wanted to get home before it hit. I had the Uber swing by the grocery store to grab some essentials to get me through the weekend.
