Mia Found (Starting Fires Book 3) Read online

  “Oh.” Maybe I’d misread his signals. “Well…I don’t…I was only saying…if you wanted…I mean…”

  He chuckled. “I’m joking. I’d love to go to the beach with you.” Paul was smiling. Even through the phone, I could feel its warmth.

  “Really?” I asked, ashamed by how shocked I sounded.

  “Of course. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to get away this summer.”

  “Well, keep me in mind if you do.”

  “I will,” he said.

  We were both smiling now.

  “Are you tired?” he asked.

  “A little.”

  “Me too. I need to get some sleep, but I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  “Goodnight, Mia.”

  “Goodnight, Paul.”

  I held my phone in my hand even after I’d hung up, grinning at it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AS PROMISED, I BROUGHT Ferdinand to a park the next day. He was by far the largest dog there but had no idea. Right away, he attempted to play with a Chihuahua, scaring her half to death. Its owner gave me a menacing look, snatching the little thing from the ground.

  Oh, please. It was clear Ferdinand was harmless. “You’d think you ate him, the way she’s carrying on,” I told Ferdinand as we walked towards the larger green.

  I unleashed him and he sprinted away, sniffing every bush and tree in sight. Chuckling, I sat on the grass. Fiona was meeting me there. At some point, I borrowed her eye liner and stuck it in my purse. She just had to have it tonight and insisted on retrieving it.

  Fiona.

  What would happen with our friendship once we graduated? Both of us would have Art Degrees, though I’d also have a minor in Art History. Would we still live together? It was doubtful. She’d been a constant part of my life for three years, but in a few short months our futures would be decided.

  Something told me we wouldn’t keep in touch. It hurt a little.

  “Is that him?” she asked, suddenly at my side.

  “Oh. Hey. Yeah. The big one.”

  She sat beside me, kicking her legs out in front of her. The colorful tattoos on her thighs brightened in the sunlight. “So when does this mystery guy come home?” she asked.

  “He’s not a mystery guy,” I said, thinking she might find that intriguing and not wanting her to. “We met a while back. We’re friends. Sort of.”

  “Have you gone through his things yet?”

  “What? No!”

  “You should,” she said with a weighted look. “You’ll find out if he’s a weirdo or lunatic faster that way.”

  “He’s not a lunatic,” I said defensively.

  Fiona’s smile was sly, calculating. “I wanna meet him,” she said.

  “Don’t think that’ll happen.” Paul and I had barely spent any time with each other. Why would I invite her to tag along?

  “Ohhh…this guy keeps getting more interesting. You don’t want me to meet him. You won’t tell me hardly anything about him. You like him don’t you?”

  “Can we not do this again?” I bit out. “This isn’t some dorky boy I have a thing for. It’s not some game all right?”

  “Geez. It’s flattering you think it’d be so easy for me to steal him away from you, but cut the jealousy.”

  I didn’t think it would be easy for her. And I wasn’t jealous. Hearing that though, reliving all the times I’d seen her making out with that guy I liked or leaving with this guy I’d been interested in put me on edge. Angrily, I snatched her eyeliner out of my purse and jerked it towards her. “Here.” Can you go now?

  “Whatever,” she said, taking it. “I’ll meet him sooner or later. But so you know, I don’t want him. I’m only messing with you. Fontenot and I have a good thing going.

  Yeah right. Showed how much she knew. What she thought was “a good thing” was Fontenot sleeping with any woman he pleased and hitting on the rest of them.

  “I’m happy for you,” I said. “Just be careful.” The last thing she needed was a man like Fontenot to break her heart. Her paintings would become angrier. Her moodiness would be worse.

  “Please,” she said, standing. “I’m pretty sure I know Fontenot better than you.”

  She didn’t. She only pretended to. Fontenot and I had dated for a year and I knew I’d seen sides of him she didn’t even know existed.

  “Bye,” I said, waving as she walked away.

  Ferdinand jumped in a big puddle and splashed water all over the place. I called his name, hoping he wouldn’t do what I thought he would, but was too late. With a happy shake, he fell into the puddle, rolling back and forth.

  “Great.” Now, I’d have to give this mammoth a bath, too.

  Without asking Paul’s permission, because I wasn’t sure he’d give it, I asked my mother to come by his house and bring her sewing machine.

  Most of the cushions were ripped on the underside. I’d sent her pictures and she promised she could fix them. When Ferdinand was out of his bath, his coat a pretty gray again, she and I worked on restoring the couch.

  She was interested in my relationship with Paul. In my 22 years, she’d only met my high school boyfriend, and had just a passing introduction to Fontenot. Even though Paul definitely wasn’t my boyfriend, she knew I had feelings for him.

  “Have you told him?” she asked.

  “Told him what?”

  “Sweetie…that you want to date him.”

  “No. But he knows, Momma. He has to.”

  “Don’t be so sure. Men aren’t always the sharpest tools in the shed.”

  “Well, what do you expect me to do? Just ask him out? I need to keep at least some of my dignity.”

  “Oh, don’t be so proud,” she said, scolding me. “You aren’t getting any younger, you know.”

  I giggled. “Mom, I’m 22. Chill out.”

  “And I’d already had one baby by then! Where is my grandbaby, huh? Lucas and Marlowe sure aren’t giving me one. All of my friends have grandbabies…”

  She honestly looked sad and I threw my head back with a loud laugh. “Calm down. You’ll get a grandbaby sooner or later. Besides, you literally know nothing about him.”

  She peered around his living room. “He’s neat,” she said. “He has a nice home and a good job.” She pointed to a picture of him and an older gentleman resting on an end table. “He’s handsome. You like him and you have excellent taste. That’s all I need to know.”

  The cushions were finished and even though it wasn’t perfect, they’d last a while longer. Smiling, I was putting them back on the couch when my phone rang. I practically leapt through the living room to catch it on the counter. “Shh,” I said to my mother, putting it to my ear. “Hey,” I said and made my way towards the stairs, wanting some privacy.

  Ferdinand was on Paul’s bed, and I joined him as I let Paul’s voice fill my ear. “How’s he doing?” he asked.

  “Oh, he’s great,” I said. “We went to the park earlier. He jumped in some puddles, had a bath, and now he’s relaxing on your bed.

  “You’re spoiling him.”

  “Well, he’s a good boy,” I said in my puppy voice. “He deserves to be spoiled.”

  Paul chuckled. “Glad you two are getting along so well.”

  Silence then—both of us thinking of what to say. Maybe my mother was right. Maybe I should tell him how I felt and stop waiting around for him. He obviously wasn’t going to make the first move.

  “You know…” he said, breaking my thoughts. “I was thinking about you…earlier today. And I–I realized that I don’t know much about you. And, well, I want to. Like, I don’t know, what do you for fun? Or hobbies or…uh…whatever.”

  I sprawled out on his bed, grinning into the phone. “I mostly paint,” I said.

  “I know that,” he said with a chuckle. “Are you still trying to sell pieces?”

  “Trying is the appropriate word. Not much luck yet.”

  “You just haven’t found the right aud
ience. Your work is really good,” he said.

  “You can see more of it…if you like. Maybe when you get back we can, I don’t know, get together or something?”

  “We, uh, we…” He chuckled and the sound settled underneath my skin. Was he nervous or uncomfortable? A woman’s voice bled through the background. She was telling him something. “Hang on, Mia,” he said. Sounding distant and muffled, I deciphered the words, “I’ll be right there.” A soft laugh. A teasing murmur.

  “I gotta go,” he said. “Talk to you later.”

  Before I could even say goodbye, he hung up and I frowned. My mother was standing in the doorway. She sighed and walked away.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IT WASN'T UNTIL SATURDAY, the day Paul returned home, that I took a peek into his private life. It felt shameful to rummage through someone’s private possessions, but hearing that woman speak to him and the familiar way he’d responded made me question my feelings. Maybe he was already seeing someone. Maybe she was in Florida and that was why he wanted to move.

  Letting my insecurities get the better of me, I gave in. At first, it was only a quick look in the top drawer of his desk.

  Nothing.

  I was closing it, realizing this was ludicrous, when the corner of a picture caught my eye. Curiosity winning out, I pulled it from its hiding place and saw Paul standing with a pretty woman. She was tall. Thin. Her hair was wrapped in a flawless up-do. They were both wearing athletic gear, looking like they’d just gone for a run. I’d never seen Paul in anything but dress shirts and slacks. In the picture, he was wearing a t-shirt that pulled tight across his chest.

  “Geez,” I muttered. He had strong shoulders and a narrow waist. His biceps were muscled—not too large, but impeccably sculpted. The woman’s hand rested on his stomach, his at her hip. Could this be the woman in Florida? I put the picture back where I’d found it, and opened another drawer—promising myself it was the last one.

  Its contents were mostly notes or bills, but underneath was a brown envelope. In elegant silver script his name, Paul Macione, was written. It smelled sweet, and I brought it to my nose. Someone had definitely applied perfume to it. Carefully, feeling like an insane, crazy person, I opened it.

  Inside was an invitation to a wedding. The wedding of Marjorie Pennywell and Rick Macione. A picture of the couple was plastered on one side. They were looking lovingly into each other’s eyes, and I immediately recognized her. To be sure, I pulled the other drawer open and grabbed the picture of Paul and the woman, holding them side by side.

  She was definitely the same. Was Paul infatuated with his brother’s fiancé? My thoughts and speculations got me nowhere so I put the pictures back.

  The clock on his wall told me he’d be back in five hours. I’d worked an early shift doing inventory at Faeries and Moonbeams and was tired. I walked to the guest bedroom and found Ferdinand sprawled out on the mattress.

  “Gotta get up, boy,” I said. “I’m taking a nap.”

  He didn’t budge. I walked over and pushed him with all my might. He didn’t move an inch. He was dead weight, lying diagonal across the bed. I pushed him again. Nothing.

  The exertion made me breathless. “Fine,” I said and stomped back to Paul’s room.

  Eager to nap, if only for a little while, I pulled his covers back and removed my jeans. Not wanting to get caught sleeping in his bed, I set my alarm for two hours. When the lights were out, I curled underneath his blanket and sighed.

  The sheets smelled like him. A little. Maybe I only pretended they did.

  When I’d nearly fallen asleep, I heard Ferdinand’s paws pitter patter on the carpet and then he climbed onto the bed, snuggling in as close as possible.

  I smiled and wrapped my arm around him.

  “Mia,” someone said. “Mia…” They gave my shoulder a gentle shake.

  I whined, pulling the covers higher over my head. His chuckle sent a tingle down my spine and I shot up. Disoriented, I looked around the room. Paul was standing by the bed, his suitcase at his feet. Ferdinand was next to him, tongue lagging out of his mouth. The clock on the wall said 6 p.m.

  “You’re early,” I said.

  “Yeah.” He smiled. “I was ready to be home and took an earlier flight.”

  My hands went to my hair, trying to comb out the tangles. “I’m sorry. I only slept here because Ferdinand was hogging the other bed.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He reached a hand out to me, and I realized he was trying to help me down. With a bashful smile, I accepted. It wasn’t until I was standing that I realized I still wasn’t wearing pants. My tank top was short and the polka-dot panties couldn’t be missed.

  Paul’s eyebrows shot up, but he was a complete gentleman and didn’t peek. I kinda wish he would have peaked.

  “Sorry,” I said, grabbing my jeans. Quickly, I pulled them up my legs and smiled brightly at him, trying my best to let the minor embarrassment go. “So, your trip was nice?”

  He chuckled, looked to his feet then cut his eyes up to me. I fell in love with that smile. Crooked. Lopsided. Turning up only on one side. It was shy and playful all at once. “Not so bad,” he said. “Let me take you to dinner. I want to repay you for helping me out.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I wanted to help.” What are you doing? He wants to take you to dinner! “But, if you want…we can, I can—”

  “Italian,” he cut me off. “You look like you’d like Italian.”

  “I do.” My smile was eager and it took all I had not to squeal.

  “Then let’s go.”

  “Okay,” I said, trailing after him.

  We rode to the restaurant in his Honda Accord. The car was well kept exactly like his home. “You’re a neat freak, aren’t you?”

  “Why? Are you a slob?”

  “No,” I said. “Just not as neat as you.” I took a receipt out of my purse and rolled it into a ball. While we stopped at a red light, I made sure he watched as I tossed it into the back seat, giving him a challenging look. He regarded me with an arched eyebrow. “How long can you leave it back there?” I asked.

  Paul shook his head, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “I can do it,” he said. “You’ll see.”

  “We will,” I countered. “I bet you won’t last more than a day.”

  “Think you’ve got me all figured out?”

  Not hardly. This was the most time we’d spent together. Even though I’d met him over a year ago and thought of him constantly, in truth, we hardly knew a thing about each other. And now…I was in his car, riding with him to a restaurant.

  What did the quiet bring him? Did he daydream? Did he still have hopes? Wishes? Did he sing in the shower? Or in his car when he was all alone?

  I narrowed my eyes, studying him. His jawline was well pronounced. His facial hair was perfectly shaved. He was wearing a long sleeve dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows, the top buttons undone. It was tucked into tailored slacks. His hair was a deep brown, styled meticulously. It was thick and soft, but I knew he never wore it any other way.

  He needed a little disorder in his life.

  Feeling uncomfortable under my stare, he gave a nervous laugh, and I reached over and fluffed his hair, making sure to get my fingers really in there. Driving, he struggled to push me off.

  “This is for your own good!” I said over his laughter.

  “Stop!” he said, swatting me away. He wasn’t angry, but amused, shaking his head as he pulled into the restaurant. The building was old with chipped paint and dated architecture. It was new to me, a place I never even knew existed.

  “What’s this?” I asked him.

  “Macione’s,” he said, winking. Mah-see-oh-knee. I loved the way it sounded coming from his lips. He added the tiniest hint of Italian dialect and it made me want to swoon.

  We unbuckled and stepped out of the car. “Does your family own it?” Maybe I was about to meet them.

  “More or less,” he said. “My Uncle and cousin.”r />
  I grinned as I stopped in front of him. His disheveled hair was pointing out in different directions and it made him look like a super saiyan. “Here.” I chuckled and brought my hands to it.

  Slowly, I ran my fingers through the thick locks, taking longer than I needed to. My breaths were audible and my throat felt tight. With each gentle touch to his hair, my body swayed towards him—our legs brushing, our arms connecting. Despite Paul’s calm expression, he was breathing heavy too and his body was tense. You can touch me if you want to, Paul.

  “Good as new,” I said when the last lock was in place.

  “Pretty Mia,” he mused, looking me in the eyes. I blushed and curled into his side. His hand settled on my hip and we walked toward the restaurant.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  PAUL KNEW THE HOSTESS. He knew the waiter. He knew the cook. Paul knew everyone.

  The restaurant was small, but instead of cramped, it felt cozy. The lighting was soft. All of the tables were adorned with red tablecloths and tiny, flickering candles. A gentle violin played in the background. The sound of clicking dishes and quiet conversations gave it an intimate ambiance. It was romantic, putting me in a dreamy reverie.

  We sat at a small table tucked away in a nook, secluding us. Paul ordered half a dozen things from the appetizer menu promising I would love them all.

  “I trust you,” I said.

  After the waiter left us, he and I regarded each other. The candlelight was casting tender shadows across his face. Casually, he was leaned back in his chair, toying with his silverware. His smile was soft, inviting. It made me feel warm.

  This was so different from the Paul I’d grown accustomed to. His usual reluctance was replaced by courage. He was self-assured. Willing. What had changed?

  “Do you still think you’ll move to Florida?” I asked because it was important. What would be the point in beginning anything with him if he’d be leaving soon?

  He was thoughtful, mulling over my question. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I have plenty of reasons to go. It might be time to leave. To start over somewhere. But…”