Page 33 of The Kiss Countdown

“You are very fortunate to be living your dream,” I say, and I know my voice doesn’t disguise the wistfulness I feel.

“But you are living your dream now, right? Working on your own business.”

“Not yet. I’m chasing the high that came with the first event I planned by myself. My client was throwing a surprise party for her husband’s fiftieth birthday. There was gold and black everywhere, and it looked like he washaving the best day of his life. It was so gratifying to see all the planning and hard work pay off. I can’t wait until I see that again.”

“Is that your ultimate goal?”

If anyone else had asked, I might have left it at that. But being here with Vincent, knowing he’s not judging and is truly curious, I shake my head. “Not quite. It was awful being let go from my job after so long. Even worse that I’d given my all and had planned on staying there forever. I went from having purpose in each new day to now having no idea what to expect from one day to the next. I guess my ultimate goal is stability. That will include not only my business being successful but a real home as well.” I smile at him. “Thanks to you being gracious enough to let me take over for a few months, I think I’ll get there eventually. I must admit though, I still feel bad for kicking you out of your room.”

“You do?” He lifts an eyebrow skeptically.

Try as I might, I can’t keep a straight face. “Sorry, but I really don’t. Let me tell you something. I’ve lived in countless apartments, but I’ve never gotten such a strong urge to cry as I did when I stepped into your guest room. I think you need some yellow police tape barricading the door.”

“Ouch.” Vincent grimaces. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“You know what? I’m going to give the room a makeover for you. I mean, if you want me to.”

“That would be great. I haven’t been able to put as much time into the house as I’d like, so this would be a great help.”

I nod, satisfied. It will be my own little pet project.

We continue to eat in silence, and Vincent finishes before me. He crumples his trash into a ball and places it in the brown takeout bag, then picks up my astronaut bear for inspection. “So you moved around a lot? Why is that?”

“Because of my mom’s condition, medical bills have always been something my parents had to deal with, which always left us tight on money. Most of the apartments we moved to were on a month-to-month lease, and rent usually went up after a while, so we’d find another apartment in our budget.” I close my eyes and relax against the bench. Salty wind from the Gulf hits my face, while memories of getting home from school only to be told to start packing my room run through my mind.

“It must have been hard to get settled in if you were constantly moving.”

“I don’t want it to sound like I was raised without any sort of structure. No matter where we were, my mom made sure I went to bed at the same time and had balanced meals. My furniture was always arranged the same way, so the rooms all looked and felt like mine. They tried to find new places within the same school district, though that wasn’t always possible. But you know...” I shrug, hoping it doesn’t sound like I’m ungrateful for what my parents were able to provide. “Kids adapt. As long as my mom was healthy, I was happy. I just really wanted her to not be in pain, so I tried to make their lives as easy as possible.”

“What, no sneaking out or school fights?”

“Not even once. I guess you could say I was one of those kids who never went through a rebellious stage, contrary to what my name means.” I open one eye and use it to shoot Vincent a dirty look before settling back down. “No, I take that back. I did have one act of rebellion throughout my childhood.”

Sitting up straight, I open both eyes now to look at Vincent, and lose my breath. He’s staring at me with such an intensity, those topaz eyes sparkling so much I want to ask if he was just staring into the sun. More than that, I wantto ask what he’s thinking when he looks at me. But then he blinks, and his expression is mere curiosity.

“What was your act of rebellion?” he says.

It takes a good ten seconds for me to remember what we were talking about.

“Each time before we’d move, I would sign my name somewhere in the apartment. It was usually inside a closet, but sometimes under a kitchen cabinet. Once I signed my name on one of the blinds slats. Just something to say ‘Amerie was here.’ ”

“Ah, a little vandalism. I like it.”

“Stop it!” I laugh. “I wasn’t a vandal, I was just...”

“A vandal?” he finishes when I can’t even come up with an empty excuse.

I shake my head. “Fine. Maybe just a little bit of one.”

His dimples are out now, and it feels good to be the cause.

“And where will you sign in my house?” he asks.

I wiggle my eyebrows at him. “I only sign when I leave. And once I do, I don’t think you’ll find it.”

Chapter Twelve

I stand up and pop my knuckles. After spending hours working on my inventory of centerpieces, bending wire and wrapping floral tape around stems, my hands are beginning to cramp. I’m almost done with my last piece, so it only figures I’d run out of tape.

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