Page 14 of Lost in the Moonlight

It wasn’t until a streak of sunshine streamed across the canvas that I realized I’d been at it for hours. I could go days without raising my head from my work when something had me in its thrall like this. Felicity had hated it, Sienna had loved it, Lyrica understood it, and my family just rolled their eyes and shoved plates of food within my reach.

A glance at the decorative clock Katerina had given me, sitting on the floor, waiting to be hung, showed three hours had gone by. Shapes had turned into details. Details into shading. Itneeded finessing. It needed much more, but it felt both scary and exhilarating to be creating again.

Even after all these years, even after Sienna’s ghost had stopped haunting me, I could still hear the words she’d often repeated to me about my painting, or lack of painting, or the crap I’d drawn after she’d died.Your art will never be everything it’s supposed to be if you keep holding on to guilt and regrets. Let go, Lincoln. Stop waiting for punishment that will never come. That you don’t deserve.

Right after Sienna had died, ithadfelt sinful to paint, to return to the one thing that had bound us together. And later, it seemed as if whenever I started to paint again, another tragedy struck my life, sending my creativity cartwheeling back into the abyss of my brain. A Pavlovian bell ringing, warning me that one went hand in hand with the other, as if I was reaching for something and being slapped back for even daring to capture it.

Lyrica hated the association I’d made, insisting one had nothing to do with the other. Just like she’d insisted it wasn’t my fault I hadn’t been there the day she’d been shot in the convenience store. I was the only one unable to forgive myself for abandoning her. If I hadn’t been chasing after my ghost, she wouldn’t have been alone. I could have stepped between her and the bullet—and would have without a single hesitation. Maybe, with the martial arts training I’d had, I could have prevented anyone from being hurt that day.

After the press had investigated and talked to our friends, they’d blamed me too. Just like they’d blamed me for Sienna’s death and for Leya’s kidnapping. Maybe they were right. Maybe there was some darkness in me that would always lead evil to the women in my life.

Only Felicity had escaped before harm had come to her.

Although, I doubted she’d consider herself scar free. But then again, Felicity had her own darkness surrounding her. In hindsight, I thought it was what had drawn me to her to begin with. Had I really imagined two darks could bring the light? Or had I just thought it might protect her from being shadowed by mine?

I stared at the black-and-white strokes on the canvas, assessing the lines critically. My fingers itched to continue working, my mind already visualizing the changes. The feeling was as strong as the one that woke me in the middle of the night and begged me to get out of bed when the insomnia struck.

But even as the itch remained, crawling over me like ants, the woman who’d inspired the work called to me with an overpowering urge to check on her. Guilt for having stopped watching the window blended in with my need to continue drawing. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, of Willow or these disquieting feelings of responsibility, or even the fact that I was creating again because of her.

I set down the charcoal and moved to the front window. The rain had stopped, but the clouds hadn’t completely blown away. They floated dark and gray through skies just starting to come alive with soft colors, shifting over the slick cobblestones that mirrored the pastel shades of orange and pink above them. The wakening heavens were reflected in the dark windows of the shops along Main Street. All except The Tea Spot’s, which glimmered with the warm lights from within. The neonOpensign glowed a vibrant shade of magenta—the same color as the patches on Willow’s bright bag.

It was useless to think I’d get more done. The need to see if she was okay was too overpowering.

I grabbed my coat off the ground, jogged down the stairs, and let myself out of the gallery. Even as I locked up, I cursedthe irrational need to see her, repeating to myself that what had happened this morning had nothing to do with me. And yet, my feet continued to move across the street.

The Tea Spot’s front door pushed open just as I got there, almost smacking me in the face. A different blonde than the one I’d come to see shoved her way out with her head down. I knew her—not her name, but her face. She was the owner’s daughter, and I’d seen her behind the register many times when I’d been in the café.

She was shouldering a loaded backpack while precariously carrying a to-go cup without a lid. It’s steaming liquid sloshed haphazardly toward me before she jerked it back.

“I’m so sorry. My fault,” she said. “I didn’t expect anyone out here this early.”

“No problem,” I replied, catching the door above her head.

She stared at me with curious green eyes, and my chest tightened, waiting for her to recognize me. A man’s booming voice from inside pulled her gaze away and back into the shop.

“Love you, Shay! Have a good day.”

“Love you too, Dad!” she yelled back before shooting me another apologetic look and heading down the street toward the Bonnin campus.

When I stepped inside, the warmth hit me as strong and addictive as the caffeine they sold. For the first time since the streak of light had interrupted my drawing, I realized my hands were nearly frozen. I hadn’t turned on the heat in the gallery, hadn’t even realized it was cold.

I rubbed my fingers together and stepped through the tables to the partially filled display case. The entire shop smelled of a tantalizing chocolate and cinnamon that had nothing to do with the coffee brewing.

“First customer of the day! Means your order is free.” The owner greeted me with a friendly grin. He looked nothing like his daughter, and it was obvious enough that it made me wonder what their story was before I shoved it away as more curiosities that weren’t my business.

The café door swung open behind me, a brush of cool air accompanying it, and I heard a groan. I turned slightly to see a college kid striding in, weighed down by a backpack. “Damn. I missed the freebie again,” the kid whined. “I got up even earlier today.”

His dejection made my lips curl upward, and I stepped away from the counter, ushering him forward with my hands. “Please, be my guest.”

His eyes brightened. “Really?” And when I nodded, he mumbled, “Thanks, man.”

While the owner went about getting the kid’s order, I watched the swinging door to the kitchen with its little round hole. It was asinine to try and catch a glimpse of Willow. It was the very last thing I should have been wanting or doing or thinking about, but there I was, craving a glance nonetheless.

It was only once the kid had his free purchase and had thanked me again as he scurried out that I realized he’d been staring at me the way I’d been staring at the door. My hand went instinctively to my head. No hat. No sunglasses. No disguise. Damn it. But it was too late to fix it. At least he hadn’t taken a picture. Or maybe he had, and I’d been too caught up in the swinging door to notice.

It was just one more reason for me to leave.

I wasn’t ready for the press to find me here any more than I was ready for the pull I felt toward Willow. It had been less than a year since I’d ended things with Felicity. Not eventhree months since she’d stopped harassing me. The woman I’d dropped off this morning certainly didn’t need my shadows darkening her world.

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