Mia Found (Starting Fires Book 3) (2 page)

I couldn’t help it, I smiled. It was the first genuine smile I’d had in days. But it couldn’t last. It was getting late and I needed to leave. I glanced at my wristwatch, realizing I’d been sitting with her for nearly twenty minutes.

“
Paul?” she said. “Can I ask you something?”

“
Uh, yeah. Sure.”

She turned down the volume of the television and reached for the end table, grabbing her phone. I watched as she unlocked it and pulled up her camera roll.

“
What do you think of this?” she asked, showing me a picture of a painting.

At first, it was hard to know what it was, but as I studied it, I saw the outline of a woman’s face, various colors highlighting her profile. It looked as though someone had only splattered color on a canvas, the woman hidden amongst the disorder.

It was beautiful. Intriguing.

“
I like it,” I told her.

“
Really?” she asked, her eyes growing larger. “You do? You promise?”

“
Yeah.” I laughed. “Did you do this?”

Self-consciously, she looked down at her phone. “A while ago.”

“
It’s good. Really. I promise.”

“
Thank you,” she said. “I submitted it for an art show, but they didn’t pick it.”

“
I’d buy it,” I said. “I like this.” I pointed toward one of the edges where she’d combined greens, oranges, and blacks. The brush strokes were harder, more intense there.

Her eyes lit up and she showed me more, eventually letting me scroll through them myself. Each one was unique, unlike anything I’d seen. She had a thing for sorrowful women. Nearly all of them was a portrait of a somber woman, either in the distance or as a focal. Maybe Mia was sad, too.

We were so caught up in it—me telling her what I thought and the ones I liked best—that I didn’t notice Amanda standing in the doorway.

“
Paul?” she said and I startled. “We were worried something might have happened to you.” She chuckled, but her eyes said much.
What are you doing up here alone with her?

I stood from the couch and handed Mia her phone. “Sorry. I lost track of time. Thanks, Mia. It was nice meeting you.”

“
Oh,” she said with disappointment. “You, too.” Her big eyes made my heart pound against my chest and I had the ridiculous notion to lean down and kiss her on the tip of the nose.

She didn’t want me to leave. She wanted me to ask for her number or give her mine. But with Amanda watching me like a hawk, judgment pouring off her, I couldn’t. Instead of doing what I wanted, I left.

Downstairs, I grabbed my things and Amanda walked me to the door. “I know you just came out of a breakup,” she said. “But come on, Paul. She’s too young for you.”

“
We weren’t doing anything. Just talking.”

“
Yeah, okay,” she said, sighing. “Drive safe.”

The walk to my car was a mix of emotions. I felt happy, but also conflicted. My phone had five new messages. All from Marjorie. I deleted them without reading what they’d said.

Amanda was right. Not only was Mia too young, but maybe I was too raw. I let out a sigh.

“
Bye, Mia,” I said, knowing I’d more than likely never see her again.

CHAPTER ONE

CERTAIN PEOPLE YOU MEET in life will shake you. They’ll step into your world and say, “Hey,” or another meaningless word, but it’s enough. It’s enough to bind you to them. Their mere existence leaves your life feeling hollow, because no matter what—who you’re with, what you’re doing—you know they are out there.

Living.

Breathing.

Existing without you.

Paul Macione was one of those people.

The first time we’d met hadn’t done it. Nor the second. Nor the third.

My heart chose him on the fourth.

I’d just started my last year of college. Only two semesters stood between me and freedom. But I still felt so lost. Uncertain.

My paintings were different. Unique. My dreams were big. Sometimes they felt too big, like mountainous impossibilities. What I wanted out of life was simple.

I wanted to paint. I wanted to study other paintings. I wanted to continue to learn and grow. I wanted to surround myself with art and beauty. I wanted to swim in it every day.

“
You call that simple?” my mother would say. “Mia Lucille. Haven’t you ever heard the term ‘starving artist?’ It’s okay to have dreams, honey, but be realistic.”

My mother voiced all the fear inside me, the impracticalness of it all, and I struggled to push the fear aside.
You paint because it’s what you love to do. Not for fame. Not for recognition. So paint.

My pep talks sometimes worked.

Other times, like now, they didn’t.

Another one of my paintings had been rejected for a local art project. The organizer had called my vision “too morose.”

Now
I
felt morose.

My brother, Lucas, and his girlfriend, Marlowe, were hosting a makeshift, summer potluck at the park. I’d come hoping it would ease my troubled heart and rid my mind of the doubt I felt.

And then I saw Paul.

I avoided him. My mood felt too sour.

After our first meeting on a couch, I’d seen him twice. He flirted with me the first time. He practically ignored me the second.

Paul was reserved, his quiet charm endearing. Being around him made me feel like a silly girl with a crush—a crush he’d likely never return. He was older than me by eight years. Paul knew who he was, what he wanted. I struggled with that. Maybe he thought I was too immature for him.

Still, something drew me to him.

The bashful look in his eyes each time we made eye contact. The way his mouth moved when he spoke, slow, purposeful. There were moments that I was so certain he wanted me.

While we ate, I studied him. His eyes were honest and even though he laughed I saw pain beneath his skin. Something was hurting him. Something kept him removed. Paul felt my stare and gave me a wave. I smiled, loving the way his eyes twinkled. For a brief moment, his pain disappeared.

As the lively get-together wore on, I found myself wishing for solitude. My heart was heavy. Spotting a swing set, I walked towards it and claimed the middle swing.

What would I do once I graduated? Where would I go? I was scared and felt helpless.

Movement caught my attention and I glanced up. Paul was walking towards me. My pulse raced and I took a calming breath.

“
Hey,” I said as he approached.

“
Hey. What are you doing over here?” Paul sat beside me in a swing, kicking the dirt.

I sighed. “Just needed some space, I think.”

Paul made a noise behind his mouth, agreeing with me. “Do you want me to leave?”

“
No. No. Stay. I don’t mind
your
company.”

Paul smiled, looking away from me. Flirting with him was always so easy. It surprised me. I was horrible with men, only dating them sporadically and it usually never went past the first date. I’d get annoyed with that thing. They’d get put off by this thing.

With Paul things were different. Something brewed just below the surface, something waited for us there. I wondered if he felt it too.

“
How’s the painting going?” he asked and I took a weary sigh.

“
It’s going, I suppose. Not much different than before.”

“
Is that why you need space?”

I smiled. “Perceptive.” My feet kicked the ground beneath me, sending my swing into the air. Paul joined me. “It’s just…I feel so…” The wind blew in my face and I closed my eyes, trying to find the right word.

“
Lost,” Paul said and I stopped, my feet digging into the ground.

“
Yes,” I said, turning to look at him.

He slowed, stopping beside me. “It’s okay to feel lost every now and then. I do.”

“
Really?”

“
Of course. We
all
do.”

“
Well, how do you feel found?”

Paul chuckled and stood, coming behind me and pushing my swing. “No one knows that but you, Mia. But you’re young, talented, strong. You’ll figure it out.”

I couldn’t contain my delighted laugh as he pushed me into the air. “Where did you come from?” I asked. “Can you just hang around me all the time? You’re the first person to actually make me feel better.”

“
You can’t feel sad in a swing,” Paul said and my back warmed where his hands touched me. While he focused on taking my mind off my mood, I thought back to all the times we’d seen each other.

That night on the couch I was bolder than I’d ever been, openly inviting him to sit with me. I’d felt foolish after he left. A different man had recently rejected me, and I’d clung to Paul, hoping he’d ease the hurt in my heart. He had. For those few moments he’d been with me, I’d thought of nothing else but him. How handsome he was. How much of gentleman he was. He hadn’t made a pass at me. We’d been all alone. He could have. Instead, he’d been sweet, kind, restoring my faith in myself even then. A stranger—someone he didn’t know if he’d ever see again.

A few months later we’d seen each other again. He’d been shopping with Marlowe. They joined my brother and me for coffee, and I’d loved watching his bashful face try to make conversation. I was so certain he liked me, that he’d want to see where this would go.

We’d gone to see a movie that night. In between scenes, he’d lean over and whisper things in my ear, silly things hoping to make me laugh. It had worked.

I closed my eyes remembering the way the dim lights had flashed across his face, how his eyes had studied me. There’d been a moment, one tiny moment, where our smiles had lingered, our hands had brushed. I’d wanted to interlace them. I’d wanted to lean into his shoulder.

I hadn’t done either of those things and neither had he. Instead of asking for my number that night, he left without a word.

The last time I’d seen him had been a little over a month ago. He’d gone to my brother’s farewell show at Burns, but he’d been with a woman. He hadn’t even talked to me. He’d pretended like I wasn’t even there. Maybe he hadn’t known I was.

“
I saw you last month,” I said, curious to know if he had.

“
Really?” He sounded surprised. “Where?”

“
At Lucas’s show. The last one he did. Did you see me?”

“
No, I didn’t. I wish I would have though. You remember that woman I was with?”

How could I forget? It had disappointed me to see her on his arm. Not in a jealous way. Just a disappointed way. “
Yes
,” I said, drawing the word out with a grin.

Paul chuckled. “Well, that was our first date. It ended horribly. Some of your sunshine would have made the night bearable.”

I couldn’t help it and giggled.

Paul stopped pushing me and I stood, turning around to face him. We were smiling at each other. My heart wanted to try with him, it wanted to see where it would go, but I was so insecure and nervous. I didn’t know what to say or how to say it.

I can be bold,
I thought.
What harm will it do to let him know?

I stepped closer and warm tension pooled between us. Our hands gripped the swing’s chain, so close they were touching. Paul’s eyes never left mine. We weren’t speaking. We were only staring, mesmerized. What was he thinking?

“
Mia,” he said, breaking the silence. “You have a talent. A beautiful talent. And if no one else believes in you, I do.”

Surprised tears sprang to my eyes. How had he known this was what I needed? What my heart was begging for?

“
Uh, thank you. Thank you, Paul,” I said.

Before I had a chance to say anything else, Paul Macione walked away and towards his car. I watched him leave, a flower growing around my heart. It was blooming, blossoming. How many more times would I have to see him before we finally gave in?

Next time,
I told myself.
The next time I see him, I’m leaving nothing to chance.

CHAPTER TWO

Six entire months later…

IT WAS MIDDAY AND I was at work. The day was slow and to pass the time, I folded shirts on one of our display racks.
Just three more months,
I thought. I’d be a graduate. I could leave this swanky clothing shop and find a real job. At an art museum, I decided. My eyes closed at the prospect. What heaven would that be?

The door chimed and without turning around I said, “Welcome to Faeries and Moonbeams. Let me know if I can help you.” I know. It was the silliest name ever. The owner was a hippy.