I do.The brushstrokes just don’t follow the rules I’m used to.Which means they shouldn’t work.But they do.“You see it, don’t you?”Her face lighting up with a smile.
The memory settles in without warning.Not overwhelming.A reminder of what once was.Back then, I didn’t understand it.Didn’t understand her.Not fully.I thought structure was the only way something held together.She saw something else entirely.I shift, stepping closer to the painting.Not for a better view, but for something I can’t yet define.
There’s a presence behind me.I feel it with a certainty I can’t explain.It’s familiar in a way that doesn’t belong to this space.I don’t turn right away.I don’t need to.I already know it’s her.
She steps up beside me, close enough that I feel it, but not close enough to touch.It’s intentional and measured in a way I haven’t experienced with her.For a moment, neither of us speaks.The painting holds the space between us, just as it did years ago.
Then, a soft voice I’d know anywhere, “You always did like this one.”
Chapter Six
Hayden
Way Too Long
Lee DeWyze
The words settle in the space between us with a familiarity that shouldn’t feel as immediate as it does.I don’t turn right away.I let the sound of her voice exist for a second longer than necessary, absorbing it, letting it shift something that had been held in place up until now.
Then I turn.Time has done exactly what it was meant to do.It’s sharpened her.Refined what was already there instead of changing it.She’s more beautiful, if that was even possible.
Her hair’s arranged in a tight bun that sits low on the back of her head.The red color is deeper than I remember, catching the light in a way that draws attention without asking for it.Her posture is the same; straight and composed, but there’s something else layered into it.Something quieter, more certain.
She’s not unsure of herself.She’s not trying to be anything other than herself.Her eyes meet mine without hesitation.The color still the dark green I remember.There’s no flicker of surprise or uncertainty reflected in them.Only recognition.
“Nessa.”I breathe out in acknowledgment.Her name sits differently now.It’s heavier, more deliberate.
“Wow.”A smile breaks across her face.“No one’s called me that for years.”
“It has been a long time.”There’s no question in it.No pause to confirm what she already knows.Silence follows, but it doesn’t feel empty.It feels measured.Like neither of us is willing to be the first to misstep.
“You look-” The words don’t come as easily as they should.Not because I don’t have them, but because none of them feel precise enough.Her brow lifts slightly, not impatient, but expectant.“Better than I remember.”
It’s not what I really want to say, but it’s what fits the situation.A faint shift at the corner of her mouth.Not quite a smile.“Careful,” she admonishes quietly.“You’re setting expectations.”
“I don’t make statements I can’t stand behind.”
“I remember.”Her gaze holding mine just long enough to make the words land the way they’re meant to.But, there it is.Not confrontation.Just acknowledgment.
My attention shifts briefly back to the painting before returning to her.“You still come here?”
“I work here, but I think you already know that.So,” she shrugs like the rest is obvious.She’s been waiting.She knows me better than I realized.
“Van Gogh was always your favorite.”I offer as way of an explanation, not that one is really needed.
A small breath leaves her, softer than the rest of her.“You did pay attention.”
“I always paid attention.”That almost earns a smile.Almost.The silence stretches again, but this time it carries something else with it.The history of unsaid things that don’t need to be forced into the open to exist between us.
“You’ve changed.”It’s not a criticism from me.Just a fact I want to acknowledge, because after all, I am paying attention.
“So have you.”There’s no hesitation in her answer.No attempt to soften it.
“I’d hope so.”
“Mm.”The sound is thoughtful, her gaze drifting over me for a moment, not lingering, not invasive, just taking stock.“You’ve always needed to be in control.”The words land with intention.They aren’t sharp, but they aren’t casual either.
“I haven’t lost that.”
