Mia Found (Starting Fires Book 3) (9 page)

“
Here’s our kitchen,” I said, taking two steps into it. I swung my arm out dramatically for effect. He chuckled. “The living room.” I swung my arm in the other direction.

“
It’s lovely,” he said.

I grinned and took his hand, leading him down the tiny hallway. “This is Fiona’s room,” I said, pointing to her closed door. “Here’s our bathroom.” Nervous, but also excited, I brought him to my room and shut the door. “And here’s my room.”

It wasn’t very big. Most of my things were squished in tightly. Paint supplies and clothes were strewn all over the place. Like a nerd, I owned a day bed, covered by a pale comforter. The flowers on it made it look like a grandma’s, but my mother had made it. Sometimes I missed my parents, and the blanket made me feel close to her.

Paul put his hands on his hips and surveyed my sanctuary. “It’s very…you,” he said.

“
How so?”

He moved, stepping over a stray shirt, and reached my bed. “Like this,” he said, touching the comforter. “It’s sweet. Innocent.”

“
You think I’m innocent?” I smiled, regarding him with affection. Seeing me through his eyes was cute. “I’m not really.”

He turned over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows.

“
All right.” I sighed. “Maybe just a little.”

Paul sat on my bed and pointed at the random paintings I had propped or hung around the room. “Scenes. Colors. Themes. None of them are the same.”

“
And?”

“
They’re all different. They’re all unique parts of you. Days. Moods. Feelings. You express yourself beautifully on canvas.”

No one had ever taken the time to decipher even that small insight about my work. Paul’s thoughts on my paintings made me feel proud—even validated.

I went to him. I had to. My legs moved and before I knew it, I was straddling his lap. Paul hesitated, but brought his hands to my hips and looked me deep in the eyes. He was searching again.

Unable to hold back, I kissed him. Paul jumped right in as if he’d only been waiting on me. His lips were soft but not lacking in passion. Each of his gentle movements were sensual. Desperate. His skin was warm, and I shivered as his hands pushed under my top to caress my skin.

My weight pushed into him and we went tumbling back to the mattress. The hard length of him was undeniable in his slacks. He used it, pushing against me as our bodies moved.

I was inexperienced in this area but not completely. My intimate relations were few—only with one other in fact.

Still, my body knew what it wanted. I moaned and sat up, stripping off my shirt. Paul’s eyes flared and he gripped my waist, moving his hands to my breast. Squeezing, he let his head fall back.

“
Jesus,” he whispered. I started to unbutton his shirt, but suddenly his hands were on mine—stopping me. “Wait,” he said. “Just wait a second, Mia.”

“
What’s wrong?” I was breathless and hot, still straddling him.

He took a deep, calming breath. His hands found my shirt and he sat up, moving me off his lap. “Not yet, okay?”

All my passion dissipated, insecurity taking its place. “Did I do something wrong?” I asked, pulling my shirt over my head.

“
No,” he said, shaking his head with amusement. “Absolutely not. You were perfect. You
are
perfect. But I just…just…not yet.”

That was unexpected. “But you want to?” I asked, needing clarity.

“
Mia…” He looked at me sideways, saying,
Are you crazy?
“Yes. Trust me. I want to. But we can wait. This doesn’t have to happen now. Or tomorrow. Or even in a week.”

For the first time in my life, it disappointed me to hear those words from a man, but I tried to smile. Maybe he was right. “Okay,” I said. “We can wait.”

“
Good,” he said. “Now come on. I have a lot to show you today.”

I smiled again, but it was honest this time. “What are we waiting for?”

CHAPTER TEN

HAND IN HAND, WE walked to his car. All of his affection made me feel giddy. Something had changed for him, and today I planned on finding out what that was. Why now, after all this time, did he suddenly want me?

He drove me to a quiet shopping strip overlooking a river. Restaurants and clothing stores lined the bank, all with clear views of the water. Even though it was only twenty minutes from my home, I’d never been. The wind pushed off the water and made my hair dance around my face. I took a deep inhale, appreciating it.

“
Where are we going?” I asked as he started down the strip.

He was walking backwards, turning around to look at me. “It’s a surprise,” he said with a wink.

I skipped towards him, falling into his chest. “I
adore
surprises,” I said. My arms wrapped around his middle and awkwardly we moved towards the water. A railing overlooked the river and we stopped as his back hit it.

Paul pulled away from me to lean against it. He was silent, peacefully eying the scene.

“
Is this the surprise?” I asked. It
was
beautiful, but I’d seen plenty of rivers before. And while I could appreciate this one, it wasn’t much different from any of the others I’d seen.

“
No,” he chuckled. “But it’s stunning, isn’t it?”

The sunlight reflected along the top, tiny ripples and waves sparkling as the water moved. The wind was cool, easing the soft heat of the sun. The opposite bank was clear of commercial growth. In the place of shops and restaurants, trees and sand dunes were scattered up and down it.

“
That’s a wildlife preserve,” Paul said, pointing at it.

Almost as if it’d heard him, a flock a birds burst from one of the trees, casting black specks across the clear blue sky. I watched them fly away into the horizon. Now was as good a time as any to ask him what I wanted. I took a breath and went for it.

“
Paul?”

“
Hmm?” He was distracted, eyeing the water.

“
What, uh, what’s changed?” His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to determine my meaning. “With us, or me, I mean.”

“
Nothing,” he shrugged, unable to look at me. “I…I still feel the same way about you as I did the first time we met.”

And what’s that?

He took a breath and continued. “I guess the only thing different is me. I realized I want to know where things will go between us. I spend too much time analyzing and guessing, trying to see all the possible outcomes. I’m reluctant about every decision I ever make, but I’m tired of being that way.”

He turned towards me and I moved with him. We were facing each other, our bodies touching. He gave me a shy, hesitant smile as he reached up to twirl a finger into my hair. “I like you, Mia,” he said. “A lot. And
that
has never changed.”

“
I like you, too,” I said, blushing. “So are we…?”
together.
I couldn’t quite say it. The question seemed so juvenile. There were eight years between us and I wasn’t eager to remind Paul of that.

“
Yes,” he grinned. “If you want to be.”

I nodded my head vigorously, and he laughed. “You’re cute, Mia,” he said. “Cute and sweet and pretty.”

We walked down the strip, passing every restaurant and shop. Excitement was bubbling over inside me. Where was he taking me? What would we see?

As we were nearing the end, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“
Paul!” I whined. “Where are we going? The suspense is killing me.”

He chuckled. “That’s part of it, Pretty. What’s a surprise without a little suspense?”

I huffed, but continued to follow.

Finally, at the last store, all the way at the end, not even one you’d notice, Paul stopped and turned to me. His arm came out, gesturing towards it. “Go ahead,” he said.

The sign out front said
Atlantis
in whimsical, scrolling script. Inside the windows I could see an array of merchandise. Sculptures. Lamps. Hookahs. Paintings.

Curious, I took a step inside.

Immediately, a sweet, yet smoky, aroma hit me. The store was larger than it appeared on the outside. Different sections were set off. One was completely dedicated to statues. Some made from clay. Some metal. Some even carved from stone. Beneath all of them, a tiny note told you who’d made it, where they were from, and what their inspiration had been.

My favorite was designed by someone named
Kit Charlie.
It was of a woman carved from marble. Naked. One hand covered her eyes, the other rose to the heavens. She looked triumphant, but also shamed. Who was she? What had she done?

Another section was dedicated strictly to jewelry—all unique, beautiful pieces. I meandered around until my feet found the art section.

A large wall was dedicated to local painters. Their styles and techniques were all different. Landscapes. People. Some completely abstract. Some plain. Some incredibly complex.

I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see Paul behind me, but he wasn’t. I peered around the store and found him by the cash register talking to an older woman. She nodded her head and he turned to look at me. With a smile, Paul waved me over. Unsure of what this was about, I slowly walked to him.

“
Mia, this is Catherine Zulu,” he said when I approached. “She’s the owner.”

“
Hello,” I said, meekly.

“
Lovely to meet you,” she said, smiling.

“
Cat is interested in seeing your paintings,” Paul told me. “Do you have any pictures?”

“
Uh, yeah. I mean, yes, yes I do.” Nervously, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I was always hesitant to show people pictures of my work, afraid they’d hate it. I didn’t want to feel rejected, and it occurred so often I’d started to believe no one would ever like my art. Paul put a reassuring arm around my waist as I gave her my phone, the camera roll displayed on the screen.

Her eyes narrowed and her lips puckered as she swiped her finger, inspecting each one of them. A knot formed in my throat and I swallowed, hating this feeling. My hands began fiddling. I was messing with my hair and awkward on my feet.

Paul leaned into me and gave my hip a reassuring squeeze. “They’re beautiful,” he whispered into my ear and kissed me softly on the head. Immediately, the tension left me and I relaxed into his side.

“
How much?” Catherine suddenly asked.

“
For…?”

“
For the paintings,” she said. “I have room on my wall for at least three. If they sell well, I’ll buy more.”

“
You want to buy them? You want to buy
my
paintings?”

Catherine chuckled. “Yes, dearie. If the price is right. I’ll tack on my seller’s fee of course, but I think these will sell. I’ll buy more when they do.”

If they do.

I hadn’t ever thought of pricing my paintings. It had never went this far. “Um…” I said, uncertain.

“
Which ones do you want?” Paul interjected. “That will make a difference.”

“
Of course,” Catherine said. I pulled the pictures up for her again and watched as she picked her three. One of a girl free falling backwards—her hair danced around her face; her dress was made of red and black chaotic brush strokes. Another where the woman’s face was clear and focused—blues and greens dancing on the canvas. She looked sad, as if she’d been crying. The last was the one of my hand intertwined with Paul’s.

“
That one isn’t for sale,” I rushed out, wanting to keep it.

“
Oh,” she said. “Well, how about this one?”

It was one of my plainer pieces. The silhouette of a woman, giant birds flying around her. The birds and woman were all black with splotches of different colored paint scattered around the canvas.

“
Okay,” I said.

She stared at me, waiting for something. Paul gave my side a rub.

“
How about $100 for the birds, $150 for the blue, and $200 for the red,” he said.

My eyebrows shot up. That sounded way too high.

“
Sounds perfect,” she said. “Bring them by this week and I’ll have a check and contract ready.”

“
Thank you,” I said, and trailed after Paul as we left the store.

Outside, I stopped moving and stared at him.

Sensing it, he turned back. “What?” he asked.

No one had ever done something like this for me. It was out of my comfort zone and I was too self-conscious to do it for myself. Now, my paintings would be on display for people to see. Even if no one bought them, it made me feel proud.