Page 55 of Taming His Rockstar

Chapter 29

Iget out of my car and walk around it to retrieve the framed painting from the back seat. I tell myself I’m just here to return the painting and that’s it. It’s easier than admitting that I desperately want to see him. Or that I have already imagined a thousand different ways this meeting can play out and all of them involved me running into his arms at some point and admitting I was wrong. Steeling my shoulders, I remind myself that I have done the right thing in ending things now. Besides, I’m not about to throw away weeks of progress.

I stop in front of the address he gave me and frown. It’s a small space tucked between an arts-and-crafts store and a boutique. For a moment, I admire the leather boots on the mannequin in the lit display in front of the boutique. Then my eyes move back to the address Jake gave me. It’s a new store, and I can see signs of recent renovations around it. There’s a cover over the sign in front of it, and I wonder what I’m doing here. The windows are covered in plastic wrapping so it’s impossible to see what’s inside the store. But I see the faint glow of light through a slit in one of the covers. And I feel him waiting for me just inside the store.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I grip the frame harder with hands that have suddenly gotten sweaty and clammy. I tell myself that there is no way I can feel him standing behind the door. That’s something they say in novels or love songs. Besides, I’m over him already. I’m just here to let him know that and to give him back his painting. I don’t want it. It’s something you give to a lover, and I’m no longer that and don’t want to be. Yeah, I’m getting better at lying to myself. Taking a deep breath, I walk to the door and raise my hand to knock. It opens before my raised fist can descend, and I freeze.

He’s standing in the doorway, that heartbreaking smile of his on his lips. My knees buckle just slightly, and all the illusions I have built come crashing around me. I’m far from over him. And worse, I’m not sure I want to be.

“I thought you were going to turn around and leave,” he says, stepping aside and motioning me to come inside.

I look beyond him. There’s a single light on in the store. At least, I think it’s a store. I’m still not sure what it is or what I’m doing here. All of a sudden, I’m afraid of walking into that darkly lit space with him. Not because I’m scared he’ll hurt me . . . physically. No. I trust him completely. I wouldn’t hesitate to bet my life that he would never, ever harm me. I’m scared that there’s no way I can walk into that room and come out with the wall I have managed to build around my heart in the past few weeks still intact. Hell, just seeing him alone and I can hear the cracks in my defense.

“Please,” he says.

I could have resisted the plea if he didn’t follow it with an earnest look that damn near breaks my heart. Taking a deep breath, I hold onto the frame and take a step forward. And another. And another. Until I’m inside the store and hear the clicking sound as he closes the door behind him. We’re in what looks like a small lobby, and even though I can see into the rest of the room, it’s hard to tell what’s inside there because there’s no light in that part. I turn around and face him.

“You asked me to come,” I say in the most confident and indifferent voice I can muster. “Well, here I am.”

“You brought the painting with you,” he says instead, staring at the frame I still hold awkwardly in my hand.

I stare at the frame that’s almost as tall as me and look up at him. “Yes. I don’t think I should accept it. I don’t want a reminder of what we used to have.”

For a moment, he looks pained by my words, and I instantly regret them. Then he smoothly hides his reaction and smiles again.

“How about you give me until the end of tonight, and if you still want to return it, okay.”

I frown. “If you think you can convince me to come back to you, then just forget it. I already told you why you and I is a bad idea, and I haven’t changed my mind about that.”

“You still think you’re no good for me?”

Even though he’s throwing my words back at me, it still hurts to hear him say it. So, I look down and nod.

“Then I’m here to show you that you’re both wrong and right.”

I look up with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“You’re wrong when you say that you’re no good for me. I think you’re . . .” He stops and shakes his head. “No, I know you’re perfect for me. No woman has ever made me feel the way you do. No woman has ever made me stop long enough to make me care about anything. Until you.”

“Stop,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Don’t do this.”

“You’re wrong when you say you’re no good for me because if it was not for you, I wouldn’t know what it means to be in love. And yes, Katie, I’m in love with you. And I know you’re in love with me.”

I shake my head. Not denying what he’s saying but rejecting the effect his words are having on that wall around my heart. It’s like he’s taking it down, brick by brick, until he can expose the soft beating organ beneath it yearning for just what he’s offering.

“Please, don’t do this,” I beg him. “I can’t go through the torture of getting over you again.”

“And you never have to because I’ll never allow you get over me. It’s only fair since I can’t seem to get over you either.”

I look up sharply and snort. “Yeah right.”

“What do you mean by that?”

I look at him carefully. “You don’t seem to have been too beaten up about the breakup. You didn’t call or sent a message. Not even a text to ask if I got home okay. Looks like you got over me pretty quickly.”

He stares at me incredulously for a few seconds. Then he bursts into laughter. I stare at him, wondering what’s cracking him up like this. When he’s done laughing, he stands straight and looks at me.

“You think I got over you?”

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