Page 127 of Meet Me In The Dark
Madison:Check his coffee mugs. You can tell a lot about a man by the color of his coffee mugs.
Me:All plain white.
Emmy:Serial killer.
Madison:Go upstairs.
Me:No.
Emmy:Closet pics.
Me:Absolutely not.
Madison:Handcuffs? Kinky stuff?
Me:Um…???
Emmy:Oh my god.
Madison:She’s blushing. I know it.
Me:I’m muting this chat.
Madison:You can’t mute the truth.
Emmy:Or us.
I drop the phone face down on the counter before they can start sending me a list of “things to snoop for in a rich man’s house.”
Coffee first, sanity second.
The machine hisses to life, filling the kitchen with the comforting smell of caffeine. I pour a mug, cradle it between my palms, and wander toward the glass doors.
The cool morning air rushes in when I slide them open, carrying the steady rhythm of waves.
And then I step out and almost drop the coffee mug.
At the far end of the deck, angled perfectly toward the horizon, waits an easel with a blank canvas. A stool beside it. Brushes lined in a perfect arc. A palette already dotted with every color I could possibly want.
The breath leaves me all at once.
He remembered.
The ocean glitters in the distance, but it’s nothing compared to the spark that wakes in my chest, the quiet, familiar itch in my fingers I thought I’d buried years ago.
There’s a note stuck to the canvas. Just six words, written in his sharp hand:
Be a good girl and paint.
The world tilts. For a second, I can’t tell if I want to laugh, cry, or throw myself headfirst into this man’s arms.
Instead, I set my coffee on the railing, pick up a brush, and let the world fade away.
Forty
Julian
“So let me get this straight.” I pause, shifting slightly as I try to understand the madness unfolding on my television screen. “These people date each other through a wall, propose, and only then do they get to see who they’re marrying?”
