Page 92 of Frayed Bonds

Love? The last thing our relationship contained was love.

Still frozen, I swallow as he moves closer. “Are you busy with some new work? You always loved playing with paint. I hope this is a bit more abstract than what you usually do. Yours was always a bit…boring.”

“Valerie,” Ambrose calls out and my head flies in the other direction as he comes down the aisle. When I face the front, Mattheo is gone like the wind, as if he was never there and part of me even questions if he was, because how did he leave so quickly?

“Hey, are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost,” he asks, placing his hands on my shoulders and looking over my head.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m trying to figure out which colours to grab. What did they say about the canvas?”

“They’ll drop it off around noon tomorrow. Grab more than you think you need, I’m sure it’ll come in handy for future commissions as well.” He looks at me suspiciously, clearly not believing me.

I love how much blind faith he has in my ability to secure future commissions. He’s never seen it, but he believes in me regardless.

We throw a few more colours in the cart and I’m still shaking when we get back to his car. When we pulled up, the parking lot was practically a ghost town, with not a single car. My heart stills, if he could be watching me here where else has he been watching me?

Ambrose pulls up outside my house and I swallow. “Thank you for all the paint supplies, I wasn't sure when I was going to have the time or the cash to get them–”

He leans over the centre console connecting our lips, I’m not ignorant of the fact that he’s doing it to shut me up but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless. He pulls back with a smile. “Always a pleasure, sweetheart, now let me help you carry these in.”

I would've loved to decline his offer but with nearly five cans of paint, there was no way I was going to be able to carry all of them by myself. Ambrose doesn’t even let me carry a single bag. “Surprised you're so willing to help, don't you usually have people to do this for you?” I say as I search through my purse for my keys.

When I turn the keys, they barely move. “Cazzo,” I whisper and slowly open the door that was already unlocked, which can only mean my papá and Karyn are back from physical therapy early.

I look up at Ambrose and he’s completely oblivious as to what’s going on.

“We’re in the kitchen, Fiore Mio.” My papá calls from the kitchen, he sounds tired and I frown and head straight there against my better judgement. I turn to face Ambrose and hold a hand up telling him to wait and not follow me.

“You guys are home early?” I smile nervously and head over to the table to greet them.

“Your papá was extra tired today so the physical therapist said maybe some rest can do him well,” Karyn says.

“You're pushing yourself too hard again,” I frown at him and he shrugs before smiling. He looks exhausted and slightly pale.

If there’s anyone more excited than me for my papá to get back to his full mobility, it’s him, he’ll push himself to the ends of the earth if it means it’ll happen faster.

Ambrose clears his throat behind me. Karyn and my father's head snap in the direction of the doorway behind me.

Please still be in the hall, please don’t be in the doorway.

When I look up and find Karyn’s wide eyes staring at me, I know that’s complete wishful thinking.

“Good evening Mr. Farina,” Ambrose greets as he walks closer. “Val asked me to wait in the hall but I thought it would be disrespectful to be dropping her off and walking around in your house without at least coming to see how you're doing.”

They shake hands all while Karyn and I have a silent eye conversation.

What is he doing here?

I’ll tell you later.

“Hey, Karyn.” He smiles at her and I swear I can see her melt into a puddle on my kitchen floor.

“Appreciate it, Ambrose.” My father smiles up at the man who’s avoiding the daggers I'm shooting at him with my eyes. “I know Valerie has always been a bit shy about her boyfriends in the past-”

“Okay, thanks Papá, Ambrose has to help me carry some stuff upstairs and then head out,” I say, grabbing Ambrose's forearm and dragging him out of the kitchen. My one hand looks tiny around his muscular forearm, barely being able to wrap completely around it.

“Good to see you both,” Ambrose chuckles and follows me out.

My father isn't stupid to not know where I’ve been running off to, but I was counting on him not being home to prevent this interaction right here.

---