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“Yes,” I sigh, happy to be moving on to a subject that makes me feel good. “I’ve always loved it. Even as a little kid I’d spend all my time drawing and painting. I mean, I’m not very good, but it’s something I can do to help me escape when I need to.”
“What do you do with the things you paint?” he asks.
“Give them to family,” I blush. “I have a stack of my work in the spare room of my house, gathering dust.”
“Is there anything here you did?” he asks, glancing around at the various art pieces on the walls.
My face reddens as I point to a portrait of Cassie hanging on the far wall. “I did that one.” I point to another, this one a landscape painting that hangs above the fireplace. “And that.”
He gets up, and walks over to study them. “These are fucking amazing,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “And you don’t see talent in these?”
“They’re not bad,” I say, embarrassed. “But I’m by no means good in comparison to what you’d see in a gallery.”
“I’d pay for these.” I laugh, but stop when I realize he isn’t joking. “I’m serious. I want to see what else you have.”
“Okay,” I shrug, not sure what else I can say. “You can come over sometime and see them.” My stomach tightens. Why did I say that? I should’ve said I’ll give some to Grant to pass on to him, because now I’ve pretty much agreed to see him again.
“Great,” he grins, sitting back down next to me.
It’s after Eleven when I finally leave. Tilly’s long gone to sleep, and though I feel as though I could talk all night with Max, I know I need to take a step back. I say goodbye to Ellie and Grant, who suddenly have the urge to tidy the kitchen and suggest Max walk me out. I laugh helplessly at my stubborn, stupid, pushy sister who I love more than anything.
“Sorry if this is awkward,” Max winces as we reach my car. His hands in his pockets, he stares into my eyes as if trying to figure out what I’m thinking.
“You mean those two?” I jerk my hand back toward the house. “It’s all good. That’s my sister for you. But seriously, I had fun. I’m glad I stayed.”
“I’m glad you did too,” he murmurs, his voice husky. He’s going to kiss me. Panic sets in, and I sift my gaze down to opening the car. The moment passes, and as the cool wind hits the back of my neck, I shiver.
“I’ll see you again sometime?” I squeak as I all but tumble into the car. He grins, amused, and nods.
“I hope so.”
Chapter Nine
Max
Lance greets me at the door in his usual manner when I arrive home from work. I give him a pat and then wander over to the bathroom to let out Mr. Scruffy. He glares at me and then runs out into the living room, passing a very concerned Lance.
When I finally got onto Todd’s mother about picking up their cat, she informed me they didn’t own one. Todd admitted to finding him behind the library, meowing for food. We thought he’d been trying to smuggle it into school when his plan was actually to try and smuggle him home.
To make a long story short, after taking her to the vet to check for a microchip and putting up a few fliers that went unanswered, I had two options: take her to a shelter or open my home to another animal. Right now, the last option seems the easiest.
Lance walks suspiciously around Mr. Scruffy, sniffing at him. I stand back and watch, amused by their interaction. Judging by the looks he keeps throwing me, I’m not sure he’s thrilled about our new house guest.
“It’ll be good for you not to be alone all day once you guys get used to each other,” I assure him. The cat walks over to him, sniffs his face, and then swipes him across the nose. Lance jumps back in shock, his brown eyes wide as he bounces around the cat.
I pull the scrunched up bit of paper from my pocket that’s been sitting there since morning and stare at the number. My heart pounds as I think about what I’m doing. Never mind the fact that how I got her number was wrong on so many levels, maybe she really doesn’t want anything to do with me? Fuck it. I pick up the phone and dial her number.
“Hey. It’s Max.”
“Oh, hey,” Kiara replies.
I can’t tell whether she sounds happy to hear from me or just shocked.
“How did you get my number? Did Grant give it to you?” she asks, her voice hardening.
“Relax, it wasn’t Grant or Ellie.” I chuckle. “Though the truth might be a little creepier. I might have gone through Tilly’s record, looking for your number . . .”
“Oh really?” She laughs. “Isn’t there some kind of law against that?”
