Page 104 of When We Crash

I shushed him, placing his head on my lap and stroking his hair. He was a mind reader.

“After your mom came back to live with Tim permanently, he paid Aunt Tracey a visit, leaving all your things there. I guess she moved into your room and wanted it all gone. And when my aunt asked why he brought it all to her, he said I was the only person he could think of who loved you enough to want it all.” He twisted and his profile frowned. “I didn’t know Tim well, but I felt like that was his way of giving me the green light. I’ll never know but, it sure does feel that way.”

My hands stopped their fluid motion and I leaned back, overwhelmed. Tim never told me that. He didn’t tell me Dexter looked for me, though I had my suspicions. He didn’t tell me Dexter came for my paintings, or that he gave them to him. I forgot about them anyway. But I knew, in Tim’s twisted way, he was protecting me. Even still, fate worked in its own way, as I was sure Tim understood.

While he never said anything good about Dexter, he also never said anything bad about him.Thank you, I mouthed to myself, knowing that, if life was as beautiful and good as I sometimes thought, Tim would hear me.

“I want to you to know permanence, Blue. I want to be with you,” Dexter said, his voice heavy with sleep.

Although my legs were going numb, I let him stay there until he was asleep. “Me too, Dexter,” I said as I continued to smooth his hair back.

At some point, I fell asleep, only to wake hours later with a blanket covering me. I sat up, my eyes bleary. The curtains hadn’t been closed last night and the light was shining through.

Dexter wasn’t here. Obviously. It was time for him to get back to real life and work and…Phoebe.

I dropped the blanket from where I was clutching it and walked over to the window. It was my favorite spot. With a cup of hot coffee, it was heaven. I settled without the coffee, content to wake up on my own. Looking down at the world, I was lost in thought until my phone rang.

I looked down at the screen with a smile. “I thought I’d never hear from you again,” I said, leaning my hip against the cold glass. My underwear did nothing to protect my skin, but I didn’t mind too much.

“You thought wrong. I heard you’re back in town,” Miranda said.

I could hear her shuffling papers and I smiled again. “Stalking me? Miranda, I thought such a thing was beneath you.” I looked out the window once more. I should’ve been shy, hiding myself from the bustle of people below. But really, I was too high up to be seen clearly. And it wasn’t like they’d look up anyway.

“Interestingly enough, it isn’t. You forget Larry always lets me know these things.”

I groaned, thinking about the landlord who constantly checked the security cameras and was infatuated with Miranda and her cool grace. If there was ever a cool girl, it was Miranda. And if she was cold, I was hot like fire.

Fire and ice, she always said. We evened each other out.

“Only because he hopes to slide right into your uptight panties,” I muttered, heading to the kitchen to make that blasted cup of coffee.

“Darling, I doubt La Perla manufactures panties that anyone would deem uptight. Any-who, I called for a reason. I need a timeline, Noa.” She was getting down to business.

I groaned again. “Come on, Miranda. I haven’t even had my first cup.” I poured the black-as-ash liquid into my cup and took a sip, settling my elbows on the counter. “How many paintings were there? And I mean quality, not that little kid shit.”

“Even your kid shit is amazing, kid. I want to use it all. It’ll be fascinating, something Seattle has never seen before.”

The excitement in Miranda’s voice reminded me of her incredible eye. Those who cannot do, become an expert in, I supposed. And behind her incredible eyes were dollar signs. She could smell money from miles away. Her late husband had instilled those senses in her—both the eye for talent and the nose for money.

“Fine. How many pieces do you need from me?” I took a gulp of the coffee, gasping at the heat of it. Typically, I woke up fine without it, but if Miranda was going to badger me with business as soon as I woke up, it was necessary.

“Let’s try for eight. It’ll give us wiggle room if something happens or if one of the paintings is ruined,” she said, and I heard her knock on wood.

Superstitious wench.

“Fine. You want a timeline?” I tapped my fingers against the counters. Realistically, I could work quickly. But that was when I was on my own, living like a recluse out of my studio for several months. With Dexter in the picture, it wasn’t realistic to think I’d be able to achieve that. “Six months.”

“Noa, I figured—”

I cut her off quickly, knowing that answer wouldn’t make her happy. “I should get started, actually. I’ll call you with updates,” I said hastily, ending the call and downing the rest of the coffee. I was headed toward my dresser when I heard keys outside my door and then the locks turning.

Dexter walked in, shaking the moisture from his hair, bags in his arms. He set the keys down where they were before and looked up, his eyes meeting mine. His grin was cute, but I was still stuck, slack-jawed.

“We’ll never get to experience this.” Him, coming home to me—justme. Those youthful living-together moments before the tough stuff: kids, mortgages, pets.

His smile dropped a bit and his brow furrowed. Rather than asking me what I meant, he went into the kitchen and set the bag down. Infuriating man that he is, I followed him.

“Why not?” he asked, his back to me as he put the food away. There was no second-guessing, no opening the cabinet to see where items went.

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