Page 37 of If You Never Come Back
Heat makes its way up my cheeks and I smile to myself as my gaze falls to the floor. I turn back to him. “You busted me.”
“I confess that I sing along to his songs while driving in the car.” He swipes a thriller from a nearby shelf. “Windows always up though, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
We share a laugh. He gestures to the book in my hand, which displays a particularly delicious and well-oiled six-pack. “So, Michael Bolton and romance novels are your guilty pleasures then?”
“There is absolutely no reason to feel guilty about reading a romance novel.”
He holds his hand up in playful defense. “Message received.” His hands fall back to his side, his gaze lingering on me an extra second longer. “I was only kidding, by the way. My mom and sister love romance. And I think people should read whatever makes them happy.”
“I agree.” I pause, letting my gaze linger on his bright blue eyes. This friendly chit-chat feels dangerously close to flirting. Remy would be proud.
I take a step toward him. “So what’s your favorite romance novel?”
“I have to confess, I haven’t read any.” He leans forward.
“You should. They’re a lot of fun.”
I bump the book in his hand with my book. He bites his lip while chuckling. Crossing the touch barrier breaks the last bit of self-consciousness holding me back. He’s full-on smiling now.
“We could start a book club,” he says. “You introduce me to your favorite romances and I’ll show you my favorite thrillers?”
I stare up at him and shrug. “Maybe.”
Still smiling, he raises an eyebrow at me. “How about a drink first?”
“I’ll need your name before I agree to that.”
He sticks out his hand, that killer smile still on display. “I’m Garret.”
I clasp his hand in mind. Inside I’m buzzing at the soft warmth of skin-on-skin. It’s been forever.
“Shay. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Now about that drink. How about tomorrow? It’s Valentine’s Day after all.”
Just the mention of the day has me hesitant because of all those memories of Wes—both good and awful. But then I blink, determined not to let him taint this day for me forever.
I force a smile at Garret. “Tomorrow sounds perfect.”
Chapter Thirteen
Three days after Wes came back into my life and screwed everything up
I’m on the floor of my apartment on my hands and knees, finishing my latest work. It’s not a cityscape or a landscape watercolor or a sketch. It’s just splotches of whatever paint I have on hand. I glance around the room and check the other dozen splotchy works I have drying on the floor.
Locking myself in my apartment to paint nonstop for days probably isn’t the healthiest way to cope after Wes popped back into my life out of the blue, but it’s better than falling apart. Better than sobbing while lying on the floor, something I refuse to do. I spent months working my way back to my strong, resilient self—the person I was before my breakup with Wes. I know that I’m her again because instead of crying, I’m painting. I’ve wasted enough tears on Wes Paulsen. There will be no more. I’ll make sure of it.
Pounding on my door yanks me out of my paint-filled stupor. “Shay, it’s Remy. Let me in.”
I huff a sigh, stand up, and open the door.
“What is going on?” Remy frowns down at me. “Why did you go off the grid again?” He scans the floor. “What the…” He turns to face me, then grabs me by the shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “What the hell happened to make you go into Jackson Pollock hermit mode?”
“I’m not Jackson Pollock, and I’m not a hermit.” I shrug out of his hold. “I’m doing just fine.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Seriously?”
