Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t go there after all...

I sit on his bed and read the bio underneath his picture: Dean Collins. Class of 2008. Political Science and Pre-Law. Suma Cum Laude. Best part of being a Western Peak graduate? “Being around people who actually ‘get’ me...Oh, and the parties here are ones I’ll remember for life.

Shutting the book, I place it back where it belongs and realign the laptop on his desk. I make sure everything I touched is back in place, but as I walk out, I spot a pair of shiny hoop earrings on his window sill.

I’m not sure why I feel a tinge of hurt at knowing that he had someone in his room, especially after all this time, but I do.

I leave the door wide open like it was before and head back to my room.

I take his pillows and re-cover them in my own pillowcases, and just as I fall on top of them, my phone rings. My mom.

I really don’t want to talk to her, but I need a distraction, so I pick up.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Mia Allison Gray, please tell me that you did not really send an email to the superiors at your job telling them to flack off?”

“Flack off?” I say. “No. I told them to ‘fuck off’.”

“That’s what I meant, Mia.” She groaned. “What has gotten into you? And please tell me it’s not true that you moved to Portland to live with your brother.”

“It is true.” I’m starting to re-think that need of a distraction. Watching paint dry might be more entertaining than listening to her right now.

“Mia, you went to Harvard. You studied under the best of the best and got internships most people would kill to have. How can you throw that all away?”

Yep...Paint drying, it is.

“Mom, can I call you later to talk about this? I need to go do something right now.”

“No, you may not,” she says. “Look, if you go back, I’ll smooth things out with your supervisors. One of them graduated with me, so I’m sure he’d be happy to do me a favor out of Harvard spirit,  Also—”

“Screw ‘Harvard spirit’, mother.” I sit up. “I only went there because I was too goddamn stupid to follow my own dreams. I’m really tired of you wanting me to be something I’m not, and you not talking to me for weeks at a time when I do something you don’t like. So, do me a favor: Accept that I’m living with Eric, your son, so I can be happy and live my life the way I want, or don’t call me anymore.” I hang up and feel drained after only talking to her for a few minutes.

I lay back on my bed and shake my head.

Maybe talking to her worked after all...

***

Later that night, Dean and his arsenal of noise is back. Except this time, he’s with a date. Again, a different girl than any of the previous times.

As I warm up my dinner in the kitchen, I watch the two of them cuddle next to each other on the couch.

I can tell she’s really into him, but I can’t get a vibe from him.

She’s constantly looking at him and batting her eyes, but the only move he’s made, is putting his arm around her shoulder. He hasn’t said too much either. She’s done most of the talking.

“I think it’s cool that you’re a cop,” she says. “I think that’s like, awesome, how you like, protect our streets.”

Ugh. Seriously?

I hold back a laugh and pour myself a glass of wine.

“Why aren’t you talking that much, Dean?” She runs her fingers through his hair. “You’re not normally this quiet.”

“Normally?” he asks, softly. “We’ve only been out twice.”

“I know, but you were talking nonstop for both of those dates. Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head, and she shrugs and turns up the TV.

I start to carry my plate and wine past them, and she clears her throat.

“I didn’t know you had a female roommate, Dean,” she says softly. “Are you friends with her?”

“No. She’s my roommate’s little sister.”

“Oh, okay cool. I mean, I wasn’t asking because I felt threatened or anything because I’m sure you would never date someone who wore painters’ pants and could stand to lose a few pounds. I was just asking.”

“If she’s your roommate’s friend and y’all are close, maybe you should buy her some clothes. I know a place you can go.”

I freeze, tempted to turn around and yell at her, but I simply count down from five.

“I need you to leave,” Dean says, making me turn around.

“What?” she asks, dumbfounded.

“I said I need you to leave.” He moves his arm from around her and stands up. “Now.”

“What did I do?”

“You talked shit about Mia.” His face is red and he looks completely upset. “I’m not going to have that.”

“You said you’re not even friends with her!” She crosses her arms. She doesn’t get up.

“Sarah, please don’t make me pick you up and carry you out.” His voice is harsher than I’ve ever heard. “Get the fuck out. Now.”

Her cheeks turn bright pink and she throws a glare my way before throwing him the finger. “Fuck you, Dean.”

“No longer interested in that, but thank you.” He walks over to the door and locks it once she’s out.

He returns to the couch and turns the channel.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I say. “I wasn’t that offended.”

“You were, and I did.” He turns the TV off and stands up, as if he can’t bear to be in the same room with me anymore. “Old habits die hard, I guess...”

Chapter 18

MIA

A few days later, I’m sitting at my desk in the gallery, thinking about Dean. I still can’t believe he stood up for me the other day, but I know it didn’t really mean anything.

He had a brand new date the next night, and he didn’t kick her out. As a matter of fact, he stayed with her on the couch until about two in the morning, and I had to turn my headphones up extra loud to tune out their laughter.

I wish I could hate him more like I did before, but it’s hard to do when he’s so close to me. When every time I see him, I’m drawn to a memory I had before.

Then again, I figure that I need to date just like him, since I clearly only bring out anger in him.

I zoom through the rest of my work until lunch, only stopping here or there to answer texts from Autumn.

After lunch, I set up the room for a mid-day showing and find myself facing one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen. His eyes are a deep, dark blue, he has a smile that rivals Dean’s, and his lips are beyond perfection.

Those lips...

“Hello?” He smiles. “Hello?”

“Um, hi.” I blush and set down my stencil. “How may I help you?”

“Well, I was here for an afternoon tour, but now that I’ve seen you, I think I should be here for something else.”

I blush again.

“I’m Trevor Whitmore.” He extends his hand. “I have a three o’clock with a Miss Gray?”

“That’s me.” I shake his hand. “You’re half an hour early.”

“It’s a habit,” he says. “Would you like me to wait?”

“Not at all. We can start now.”

“Or...” He looks at his watch. “Since I’m the only one here and you’re not due to give me the tour for another half hour, you could let me buy you a coffee across the street.”

The words “No, I can’t” are on the tip of my lips, but then I realize that this is exactly what I need right now.

“Let me grab my purse,” I say. “I’ll be right with you.”

I rush to the back and freshen up my make-up. I run my fingers through my hair a few times to give it that “I definitely tried super hard to do this” effect, and then I meet him at the front door.

I flip the gallery’s sign to say, “Out for Lunch. The Art will return soon” and before I know it, he’s leading me across the street to what I’m sure will be the stuff of fairytales.

Please be the stuff of fairytales...

He opens the door for me and we take a seat in the back. A waitress quickly takes our order, and Trevor offers me his dazzling smile again.