Page 9 of Live for Me

I could feel a small sense of pride blooming in my chest, but I shut it down quickly, nodding. “It’s from a previous customer. They wanted a matching piece to go with the first one they bought from me.”

“Which one was it?”

“The customer from Astoria.”

Recognition settled over his features. “Oh, the seagull piece. Yeah, I remember that one,” he said, smiling. “You painted that after our mini vacation three years ago.”

I blinked. “You remember that vacation?” I asked, raising a brow.

He’d gotten roaring drunk and crashed a wedding that trip.

The smile fell from his face, and he raised his hand, giving me the finger. “As a matter of fact, I do remember that trip,” he shot back.

My lips twitched. “Thank God for that,” I deadpanned.

He rolled his eyes and swiped his keys from the island, tucking them into his pocket as he said, “Harris and I are going to grab a bite to eat. Wanna join us?”

I shook my head. “I have leftovers. You two go. Enjoy your night.”

Silence fell between us, and the only thing that could be heard within my old, beautiful home was the clicks of my keyboard. Dave left me then, mumbling a goodbye, and when I heard the front door close behind him, my shoulders sagged.

As I typed out the final sentence of the article, proud of my work, all the things I’d tried shoving down during our conversation came bubbling up to the surface. I bent my head, closing my eyes, letting myself feel the pain for the first time in a long, long time.

All I saw was his face.

Handsome and chiseled with sun kissed skin, golden hair, and the prettiest blue eyes I’d ever seen.

Beau.

A deep sigh left me as I tilted my head back, the hot water hitting my aching scalp as the steam from the shower wrapped around me. The article was submitted, my eyes were red and puffy from my tears, but I was looking forward to finally getting some sleep tonight. Once I got back on my normal sleep schedule, the anxiety would weaken and the pain would fade.

I just had to get back into my routine. This week threw me off course.

Then, everything would be okay.

As I was shampooing my hair for the second time, I heard the front door open and shut.

I waited for Dave to call out for me, but he didn’t. He usually did.

Once I was done with the shower, I shut the water off and reached for my towel, expecting to hear him barge into my room like he had the last few nights. He didn’t.

Had he and Harris gotten into a fight or something? Did dinner not go well?

After I dried off, I pushed the glass door open, stepped out, and walked over to my sink. One of the many perks I enjoyed about this house was how big the master bath was. It was almost as big as the bedroom, and the walk-in shower was tiled with beautiful emerald green hexagons from the floor to the ceiling. I could live in that shower if I wanted to, and some days, I heavily contemplated it.

I let the towel fall from my body and reached over, grabbing my robe off the hook as I called out for him. “Dave? You home?”

Silence.

I chewed my bottom lip, waiting as the water from my hair soaked into the back of my robe.

This was weird—even for Dave.

So, I picked up my phone and sent him a quick text.

Me: Hey, are you okay? I heard you come in, but you didn’t say anything.

I waited for text bubbles to pop up on his side of the conversation thread, but they didn’t.

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