Page 107 of Kept

“Doesn’t matter.” I pull her into the dancers, swirling us in circles and listening to the sound of her laughter as she tries to keep up. She picks up the rhythm quickly enough and then we’re flying, around and around in circles until we come to a rapid stop, both of us pressed together as the crowd cheers wildly around us.

Zella looks flushed, her eyes bright under the lanterns as she grins. “I could do that again.”

Cupping her cheeks, I draw her into a long, lingering kiss, ignoring the few extra cheers that come our way from a few rowdy revelers next to us. “We will.”

As we cross the yard back to where Enzo and Ryder are waiting, I notice a burly, particularly bleary-eyed drinker who looks the worse for wear lurch towards us, his eyes on the girl in front of me. A thick hand reaches for her, and a second later, there’s a snapping sound and a scream as the man staggers back. Everyone turns, Zella and I with them, and she gives me a questioning glance.

I shrug, nudging her back to Ryder and Enzo. Enzo gives me a congratulatory nod as Ryder pulls Zella to yet another stall, this one selling tiny pocket-sized watercolors that she exclaims over with glee. “Excellent technique.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, and he snorts.

“Don’t stress it. She has a habit of bringing out the murderer in me too.” A middle-aged couple next to us blanch, quickly moving away, and I have to laugh.

40 - Zella

Brightlights,music,people.Happiness.

It’s everywhere, so visceral I can almost see it. My fingers twitch for my sketchbook, desperate to capture everything I can see, to keep it close to me in case it never happens again.

I’ve never been as deliriously happy as I am right now, here with them.

Ryder tips another handful of pretty watercolors into my hands, and I cradle them carefully. “I don’t want to lose any!”

He nudges me over to the next stall, filled with silky bags in bright colors.

Well. It would be rude not to.

When I’m loaded down with more than I could possibly carry, Ryder confiscates my new bright pink bag, carrying it with complete confidence over his shoulder as we rejoin Enzo and Maverick. They’ve got their heads together, breaking apart as we stop next to them.

Maverick cups my cheek. “We have one more stop to make,” he says softly. “If you don’t mind?”

If I don’tmind?

“All the stops,” I mutter, a tad feverishly. “I want to see them all!”

He laughs. “I think we’ve seen most of the stalls, but my friend has his own gallery just down from here. Want to go and see?”

I’m already pressing forward in my enthusiasm, and he grabs my shoulders, spinning me around and placing his hand in the middle of my back. “This way.”

The lively music fades as we move away from the main festival, pausing at the top of a little alleyway. My breath catches at the thousands of tiny candles flickering in the darkness, lighting a path, and I turn to Maverick. “It’s down here?”

When he nods, I take careful steps into the light, making my way down the path with them close behind me. I follow the little lights, enthralled, until we reach a brightly lit building. The candles reach all the way to the glass double doors, and Maverick pulls them open for me.

As we walk inside, I tilt my head to hear the music. More candles flicker everywhere, making the bright space warmer and more inviting. Only a few people move around the open space, their voices muted, and my chest tightens at the sad, somber notes playing. Dozens of canvases fill the white walls, each one lit with a soft light.

And they all show the same two people.

“Maverick!” An older man calls out, and I turn with interest as Maverick steps forward. The man excuses himself from the woman he’s talking to, squeezing her hand and moving over to us with his arms open. “I’m so happy to see you,” he murmurs, as he wraps his hands around Maverick and squeezes. To my surprise, Maverick squeezes back. His face is twisted with emotion, and he clears his throat as he steps back.

“Emerson,” he says hoarsely. “You know Ryder, and Enzo.”

“I do,” the man says, with a welcoming smile. He turns to me with an enquiring smile. “And who might you be?”

“I’m Zella,” I say softly. Emerson holds out his hand, and I take it. He cups his hands around mine, not shaking them.

“Zella…,” he says softly. Almost sadly. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“You too.” He takes another second before breaking our contact, but his eyes flick back to me as he smiles at Maverick. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

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