Mia Found (Starting Fires Book 3) Read online

  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.

  “Mamma Mia!” the customer exclaimed and my nose scrunched. Only one person ever called me that.

  “Hey, Fontenot,” I said with a sigh.

  He strolled up beside me and browsed the shirts. The women’s shirts. “Are you buying for someone?” I asked.

  “Nah. Just looking.”

  “We don’t have a men’s section,” I said. He kept rifling through them, grinning. “Listen.” I put my hand on my hip and squared my shoulders. “If Lucas knew you kept coming here, he’d lose it on you.”

  He pulled a face, snorting my statement away. “Lucas don’t run shit,” he said. “If I wanna come look at girl clothes, I will.”

  I narrowed my eyes and continued folding, choosing to ignore him. Knowing I’d once dated him made me want to gag. Granted, I’d been eighteen and had just made it to college. He was older and I’d felt special knowing he was interested in me. That changed when his true colors surfaced. The brokenness I felt after he left was barely a memory now. I’d loved him and he…well, it didn’t matter anymore. I’d forgiven him for what he’d done. Though, pretending it hadn’t happened at all made it easier.

  “Do you need something?” I asked. “Looking for anything specific?” The sooner he found what he needed, the sooner he’d be gone.

  “You wanna sneak off to the back with me?” he asked, grinning. “I’m down if you are.”

  He winked and my repulsion was obvious. Fontenot was handsome. Anyone who saw him knew it, but that ship had sailed. His full lips and dark lashes held no sway over me now.

  “Ugh, you’re disgusting.”

  “If Fiona were here, she’d be down for it.”

  Fiona was my roommate and coworker. If she was having a fling with Fontenot, this was the first I’d heard of it. “You’re such a liar,” I said.

  His lip pulled up in a grin, saying You sure?

  Ignoring him again, I went behind the counter to flip through a magazine. He continued looking at random things for another ten minutes before joining me, sitting on our extra chair and propping his feet against the counter. My eyes closed as I tried to keep from lashing out at him. It’s what he wanted.

  The door chimed.

  “Welcome to Faeries and Moonbeams. Let me know if I can help you,” I said robotically, not caring that I sounded rude.

  “Mia?”

  Before I even saw him, my heart pitter-pattered. I slapped the magazine closed and smiled at Paul. “Hey!” I said with too much excitement. “What are you…how have you…” I was tongue tied, all disoriented from his sudden appearance. Months had passed since we’d seen each other. Whole, entire, full months.

  I hadn’t tried to force it. I hadn’t sought him out, knowing that if it was meant to be we’d find each other again.

  Paul had found me.

  He looked exactly the same and my smile was bright and honest. Time had done nothing to my feelings. They were still there, burning my skin.

  “Marlowe told me to come by,” Paul said. “I’m looking for a present, but she didn’t say you worked here.”

  “Surprise.” I shrugged and stepped around the counter. When I approached him, I reached my arms out for a hug, but then let them fall unsure if he’d want one. His arms opened at the same time mine fell. Eager to hug him I opened mine again, but now his arms had fallen. When we finally did hug it was awkward, both of us halfheartedly touching the other.

  I chuckled away my uncomfortableness. “What can I help you find?” Looking up at him, I made sure to smile as bright and honest as possible. I’m happy to see you, my smile said. He was happy too. I could feel it in the earnest way he looked at me.

  “Maybe some earrings,” he said, uncertain. “I’m not really sure.”

  “Are they…” I fiddled with my hair, pushing it out of my face. “Are they for your…for your, uh, girlfriend?”

  “No,” he rushed out. “No. Nothing like that. My mom. It’s her birthday.”

  “Oh,” I said, smiling brightly again. “Come on. I’ll show you what we have.”

  We went through two racks. Each time I reached for a new pair, I made sure it was high or across from me so I’d have to touch him as I steadied myself. He enjoyed it, his lip turning up each time my hand rested on his arm.

  The pair he was leaning towards were dangly and black. Simple though. “Here, try these,” I said, handing him a pair that were similar but with sparkly stones.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “You don’t think they’re too much? Too flashy?”

  I pulled my hair away from my ear and over my shoulder. “Try them on me
. See if you like them.”

  He hesitated, holding the earring out awkwardly.

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  His fingers went to my ear as he tenderly placed them and I watched his face. This innocent gesture was far more intimate than either of us let on. His fingers were fumbling, taking longer than it should. Our eyes kept connecting, flirty smiles passing between us. Just a tiny step and I’d been in his arms.

  “It’s…uh…it’s pretty,” he said, sliding his knuckles down my neck.

  “Do you think she’ll like them?” I whispered, unwilling to break the trance we seemed to be in. He’d never touched me like this before. I’d daydreamed about him for months and his nearness was sending my body into overdrive.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  I turned into his hand, looking him deep in the eyes.

  The sound he made was mirthful—a sigh, a small laugh. He was looking straight at me. What was he thinking? It was hard to know. His smile was shy, timid. When it came to Paul, I decided I couldn’t leave anything to chance. I had to go for it.

  While he was still touching me, I took a step towards him, but he immediately retreated.

  “Those are good,” he said, louder now, the intimacy gone. “I’ll take them.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said, trying hard not to let my disappointment show.

  I went to the counter and he followed. While Paul paid, he kept cutting his eyes to Fontenot. I’d completely forgotten he was even there. That was how easily Paul could put me under his spell.

  Smiling a little less brightly, my enthusiasm deflated, I handed him the small bag. “I hope she likes them,” I said.

  “If they look half as good as they did on you, she’ll love them.”

  I chuckled. Paul’s flirting was the cutest thing I’d ever seen. All of his compliments were accompanied by a bashful smile.

  “I hope so.” I grinned—watching him, waiting.

  We only stared at each other for a few seconds, but it felt like minutes. Something was on the tip of his tongue. A question. A thought. Something itched to leave his mouth. I stood in anticipation, hoping it was what I wanted it to be.

  Paul hastily grabbed the bag. “It was good to see you,” he said and walked towards the door.

  “You too,” I said under my breath, not even sure if he heard me. He left me standing behind the counter, watching him leave.

  “Well, wasn’t that the cutest thing,” Fontenot said.

  “Oh, shut up.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  MY APARTMENT WAS SMALL. A little living room. A tiny kitchen. Two petite bedrooms. One narrow bathroom. Fiona and I had been living there since our sophomore year in college.

  She was the exact polar opposite of me. She dated men habitually. She partied hard. Nearly every night of the week she was gone past midnight. How she passed any finals was a mystery to me. She swore. She drank. She constantly got new tattoos. Her hair was always a different color.

  My life was more reserved. I’d had two serious boyfriends—one through high school and then Fontenot. Being single was easy for me. Men complicated things. I wasn’t a prude, but I wasn’t eager to give pieces of myself away either—especially after Fontenot. If I was honest with myself, I was afraid. Afraid to give myself to someone who’d never take me seriously—someone who saw a silly girl with big dreams and stars in her eyes.

  I’d gone through a drinking phase, bar hopping and clubbing, but its appeal had dwindled. Now, if I went out, I was usually the designated driver. The worst swear word I ever said was hell. I was too afraid of needles to let one adorn my body with any sort of beauty. My hairstyle had been the same for years. Chestnut brown, with light caramel highlights. I kept it long enough to flow over my shoulders. It was full and thick and curled at the bottom in waves.

  Fiona called me boring.

  At some point, she and I had been friends, but it was different now. Our social circles weren’t the same. Our interests had grown further apart. She was an artist too, and more successful than I was. Her work seemed too angry for me, full of aggression and hatred. I never knew what people saw in it. Every time she sold a piece, my insides would twinge. I tried to be happy for her, but my disappointment was palpable. For every painting she sold, it was one I didn’t.

  “Jealous much?” she’d say, snarling. It was the truth, but I still resented her for calling me out on it. I didn’t hate her, but ours was a weird relationship. I loved her, and wanted her to succeed, but she also knew how to get under my skin.

  “Stop moping,” Fiona said, throwing a pillow at my face. I was lying on the couch minding my own business. Soft music was playing and no matter what the woman sang about, her voice sounded sad.

  “I’m not moping,” I said, tossing the pillow away.

  I was moping. Seeing Paul earlier had made me feel empty. There was undeniable chemistry between us, and I longed to see where that chemistry could go. For whatever reason, he hesitated. Something about me put him off and it stung.

  “Yeah, right. Turn that depressing music off or I’m leaving.”

  “Leave then.” I liked the depressing music. It was a beautiful soundtrack to my melancholy.

  She huffed and grabbed her purse. “You’re such a spoiled bitch,” she said as she walked out.

  I took a breath as the door slammed. “So are you,” I whispered.

  Alone, I turned up the music, letting the haunting piano fill my tiny apartment. I needed to paint. Painting always took my mind off whatever ailed me.

  In my small room, I pulled out my supplies and let my mind escape. Today’s colors were black, purple, turquoise, and a shimmery blue. The sad woman sang, and I painted.

  My back was sore from hunching over, and I stretched high into the air to loosen it. I never looked at my paintings after I finished. It was my ritual. I needed space from it. A moment to clear my head. Painting was my passion. A release. Whenever I had a brush in my hand, my head cleared and I let go. Half the time, I didn’t even realize what I was creating. Hours later when I came back, it was always a surprise. Sometimes I’d be amazed. Sometimes I’d be devastated.

  At least ten paintings were stuffed in my closet, never to see the light of day. The ones I loved…I seemed to be the only one who did. My parents tried out of obligation, but I knew they were being nice, wanting to encourage me.

  Without looking at my finished painting, I went to the kitchen to do dishes. One bowl in the sink belonged to me. The rest, Fiona.

  A plate was spaghetti caked, and with a frustrated sigh, I scrubbed. For fifteen minutes I did her dishes and felt annoyed when finished.

  As if she sensed my frustration, my phone rang, her name on the display.

  “Hey,” I said with a huff.

  “Hey,” she said, the sound of her car engine rolling in the background. “Look…I’m sorry.” She sighed, letting the declaration fall between us. “I’ve been an ass. Let me make it up to you.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “I’ve been moody too.” This was what we always did. We’d say hateful things to each other—grunt and grieve as our annoyance bubbled over—but in the end we had a history. Even if our lives were completely different, peace came with her constant presence.

  “Well, come out with me tonight. Let’s have fun. A girl’s night.”

  I knew what this meant. She wanted to get drunk, and didn’t have a driver. Normally, I would have declined, but I wanted to get out of the house. I was tired of moping. “Fine,” I said. “Where do you want to meet?”

  She gave me the name of a bar and I left.

  Club music pulsed through my limbs. I hated club music. Alone at the table I sipped on my ice water. Fiona and I semi-made up and then she flittered around the room. She was an obnoxious drunk. Cackling too loudly. Talking over me. Always touching the people around her. Calling me sweetie.

  At the moment she was standing off the crowded dance floor, her hands on Fontenot’s stomach. Her mouth kept finding its way to his neck or ear.
Apparently, he hadn’t lied about them.

  They’d been at it for twenty minutes, and I knew the look she was giving him—the sultry eyes, the seductive smile. But I also knew Fontenot and even though he wasn’t turning her away, his heart wasn’t in this game. He’d sleep with her, but only if no other prospects presented themselves.

  A man approached my table.

  “You all alone tonight?” he yelled over the thumping bass.

  “No,” I said.

  “Let me get you a drink so you can put that water down,” he said. The strobe lights bounced off his face and I hoped they hid the miniscule grimace I gave him.

  “No thanks,” I said. “I’m sticking with water.”

  “Oh, come on,” he said. “One beer ain’t gonna hurt nothing.”

  “Really. I’m fine.” But he didn’t let up. His drunken swagger put him in my personal space and he made presumptuous statements, trying to find my angle.

  “You got a boyfriend?” he asked. I didn’t respond. My arms crossed over my chest as I leaned away from him. “Oh, so you’re shy. That’s cute.”

  “Move along, buddy,” Fontenot said, Fiona hanging on his arm.

  The intoxicated man looked at Fontenot and realized my ex was much bigger than he was. Fontenot looked intimidating—his eyes narrowed, his lips set. “Yeah, whatever,” the guy said and walked off, deciding I wasn’t worth the trouble.

  “You ready to go?” Fiona asked, rubbing Fontenot’s stomach. So she was taking him home with her. If I still cared about him, this would have been a cruel thing to do. He was my ex, a man who’d thoroughly broken my heart. She knew this.

  “Sure,” I said.

  The drive consisted of them making out in my back seat. To drown out their pornographic moans, I turned up the radio. At our apartment, I went in alone, leaving them to finish whatever they were doing in the car.