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I pull my hair back into a bun for the third time this morning, and adjust my shirt for the thousandth time.
I’m picking Belle up from her hotel in half an hour, and I’m more nervous now than I was for my first date freshman year of high school.
After everything got so fucked up, the decision to follow Belle back to L.A. was easy. Locating her was not. We didn’t know what we’d find when we got here, but we had hoped the connection we shared was just as strong for her as it was for us.
We called our buddies, and they found us a shop in a great location, and helped us renovate while we searched for a place to live.
Now here we are, mere months into our lives in L.A., and Belle stumbles through the front door of the shop, just a few weeks after it opens.
I expected we’d have to hunt for her, not that she’d literally walk back into our lives. I also expected to have to work so much harder to get her to even give us the time of day. The fact that she doesn’t seem to hold any resentment against us is a gift from the universe. Most of her anger must be directed at her brother.
My brother and I are close. He was the only thing that got me through the death of our mom. I can’t imagine how I would have survived without him. I didn’t have Mica and Linc in my life yet, not for a couple more years.
He would never betray me the way Johnny did Belle.
My phone buzzing, letting me know I need to leave my house, pulls me from my dreary thoughts.
Twenty minutes later, I’m walking into the hotel lobby where we took Belle last night, and I stop in my tracks.
Belle is already here, standing by a large window. She’s covered in sunshine, and looks like a fucking dream come true. The white sundress she wears hugs her body in a way that shows off her curves, as well as her tattoos. Her long brown hair is down and curled. I can’t help it. I stare at her hard for a long moment.
She giggles when a little kid runs past her on wobbly legs and nearly takes her out in his attempt to reach the waffle station. His mom is clearly mortified, but Belle quickly reassures the disheveled woman as she chases her tiny spawn around the room.
As soon as Belle agreed to meet me today, I knew exactly where I wanted to take her. My brother’s art gallery.
Belle turns to face me, and I smile at the goddess as she bounds over, grinning like crazy.
“Well, look at you,” she says, making a show of checking me out. I do a little spin, and pretend to lift a skirt as I curtsy.
She throws her head back down as she laughs, and I hold myself back from pulling her to me and kissing her. I want to. Fuck do I want to. But I want her to know how important today is. That I want her for more than just my attraction to her.
By the end of the day, I will kiss her, but first…
“Come on. The gallery I want to take you to isn’t that far from here, so we’re walking,” I say eagerly as I grab her hand and tug her out the door.
We walk in silence for a few minutes, but I can’t take it anymore.
“How have you been?” I ask, trying to break the awkwardness, and cringe at the stupid question. I can guess how she’s been, just based on the fuckhead she was dating. “Never mind. Don’t answer that…” I hastily add, and she chuckles.
“I’ve been alright. I guess I lost myself a bit, after everything. I never truly believed that you guys took Johnny up on his stupid offer, but the entire thing freaked me out for reasons I can’t explain…especially my reaction. I’m sorry I basically ghosted you guys,” she says, and I shake my head.
“No, you have nothing to be sorry for. Linc was wrong for not telling you what that shithead Johnny said, and he was wrong for not telling us. Nothing you did was wrong. Thank you for giving us this chance,” I tell her sincerely. She nods.
We turn the corner, and I pause in front of the door.
“Are we here already?” she asks, surprised.
“Yeah, I said it wasn’t far. This Gallery is actually pretty popular. A lot of artists come through here, some selling out, and some keeping their work up permanently. Come on.” I open the door for her, and she smiles as she steps inside. Every wall is covered and arranged in carefully curated collections.
She hesitates for a moment, and I turn back to look at her.
“What?”
“You like art?” she asks. I nod and she pulls a pained face. “I know nothing about art.”
“That’s okay. I don’t think anyone does, really.”
She giggles nervously. “I just like what I like, you know? I can appreciate the skill, time, and effort that goes into any piece, but I can’t really explain why I like or dislike something. I just get drawn to certain pieces.”
