Since I Found You Read online

  “Is that your way of making sure it sticks around for you to give to someone at a later date?”

  “Maybe,” I say, reaching for my pizza. It’s good to hear his voice again. To talk like we did before this whole mess began.

  Headlights stream through my front window before shutting off.

  “Don’t get angry, but I just pulled up outside. If you don’t want me to come in, I won’t. I’ll sit here, and we can keep talking like this.”

  Knowing he’s nearby is comforting on its own. Is that why he came? To be near me even if I’m not willing to let him inside?

  I get up and open the front door.

  “I almost forgot how beautiful you are,” he says.

  I didn’t forget a single one of his features. I’ve been busy painting them. “Alex, I’m afraid if I let you inside right now...”

  “I promise I’m only here to talk.” He lowers his window and tilts his head out so I can see him better. “I needed to see that you’re okay.”

  I nod. “I’m fine.” I’m practically jumping out of my skin right now. I want to run to his car and throw myself in his arms. I want to kiss his full lips. I want so many things right now, and almost all of them have to do with Alex.

  “You’re not going to let me in, are you?” he asks, still talking through the phone even though I can easily hear him from this distance without it.

  “I’m trying to be strong here,” I say. “I have to finish this last painting before tomorrow.”

  “I could watch you paint.” His voice is so hopeful I nearly cave.

  I lean against the doorframe. “I can talk for a few more minutes, but then I really need to go.”

  “Okay,” he says. “Are you excited for tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah. I’m planning to swing by the old For the Record office tomorrow afternoon to set up. Elana’s going to help me.”

  “Eliza is having one of her staff writers cover the event. He’ll probably stop by beforehand to interview you if that’s okay.”

  “You guys are really doing too much for me.” I lean my head back on the doorframe. “I called Mr. Monohan after we talked last. I told him I wouldn’t be able to write for him right now.”

  “I know. He told me.”

  “I got a check for the article you wrote. Care to explain that one?”

  “You technically did help me write it. You came along on the interview and took the pictures that ran online. You deserved to get paid.”

  “You could rationalize anything, couldn’t you?”

  “When I care enough about it, yes.”

  I don’t dare ask him to rationalize our relationship. It’s been a whirlwind since it began. “Are you coming to the art show tomorrow?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.” He pauses. “Unless, of course, you don’t want me there. I wouldn’t want to ruin your day in any way.”

  “I want you there, Alex.” I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for him. He has to be there. I’m just afraid that if I go with him, I’ll lean on him for support when I should be trying to mingle with potential buyers. “Let me apologize now in case I don’t have much time to talk to you there. I’d be really happy if you stuck around afterward, though.”

  “Of course. I’ll stick around as long as you’d like.” The true meaning of his words isn’t lost on me. He’s waiting for me to give him the go-ahead so we can pick up where we left off. If my life wasn’t still so up in the air, I would.

  “I should get back to work,” I say. “See you tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Good luck finishing up tonight, and remember what your mom said. You have to visualize the future you want for yourself. Picture that success tomorrow, Whitney, because I know it’s going to happen for you.”

  “Good night, Alex,” I say, standing up straight.

  He reaches his hand through the open window and gives me a small wave before pulling out of the spot. I watch him drive away before realizing he’s ended our call.

  I walk back inside and close the door. Then I dial Elana, ready to give her a piece of my mind.

  “You two didn’t talk as long as I’d hoped,” she says when she picks up.

  “What did you think would happen? He’d drive over and we’d be having make-up sex right now?” I flop down on the couch and finish my slice of pizza.

  “Well, yeah. Exactly that.” She crunches on something. “Sorry, I’m eating dinner. I left all the pizza at your place. The box is on your stove. I had to make myself a salad. Yum.” I could practically hear her eyes rolling. “Croutons are the only good part of a salad.”

  “I can’t believe you lied to me about that sign.”

  “It’s only a partial lie. I was pricing them for you. I was going to make it an early Christmas present.”

  “That’s sweet but totally unnecessary. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to keep that space. It all depends on how the art show goes.” Why can’t anyone seem to understand that? My bills are piling up. I have just enough money saved to get me through the month with bills and food. Quitting the paper was the worst idea I had, but there was no way I could work there and get everything ready on time. Not to mention being around Alex would have caused a huge problem for me.

  “What’s your plan B?” Elana asks. “Or do you not have one?”

  “Follow in my mom’s footsteps, I guess.”

  “Become a waitress? Whitney, you can’t.” Elana used to waitress in college, so I know she’s not against the job itself. She’s just against me doing it for a living.

  “I’m kidding. Don’t worry. I’d probably try to get a few more jobs painting for businesses in town. I’m not too proud to paint solid walls if I have to.”

  “The horror,” Elana says. “I could see you putting your signature S on them somewhere to see if anyone notices.”

  I laugh. “I probably would.”

  “You’ve always had to claim what was yours. The only exception being Alex. Why is that?” she asks.

  “You make me sound like a spoiled brat who doesn’t know how to share,” I say, avoiding the question.

  “You refused to share any supplies at school, even with me.”

  She’s right. I’m very particular about my art supplies. “You know I hate when people don’t roll the paint tubes correctly,” I joke, even though we both know it’s entirely true.

  “Do you like when other women hit on Alex?”

  “What?” I ask, sitting up straight.

  “At the parade, this woman was brushing up against him. She kept hinting she was cold—I’m sure to get Alex’s jacket. He told her to stand in front of one of the buildings so it blocked the wind. It was hysterical. She was pretty, yet he didn’t give her so much as a first glance. Forget about a second glance.”

  I smile and fold my legs up under me on the couch. Now I wish I’d let him in tonight.

  “When are you going to admit that you’re falling for him?” she asks.

  “I’m not falling in love with him. That’s crazy.” I scoff.

  “Really? Then tell me why all you do is paint his face.”

  “I don’t. I’ve painted tons of things.”

  “Yeah, and on each and every one of those things”—she stresses the word—“you have his initials hidden somewhere or one of his facial features. I’ve seen it, Whitney, so don’t try to deny it.”

  I get up and walk to my art room. “You’re crazy.”

  “Look at the one you did of the crowd in front of the coffee shop. The guy wearing the purple shirt has Alex’s face.”

  “He does n—” I stare at the man, who is in fact Alex. “Oh my God!”

  “And the fisherman,” she says.

  I flip through to find that painting. How did I not even know I was painting him? “What am I going to do? If he sees this...”

  “He’ll know you’re in love with him,” she says when I can’t bring myself to finish the thought.

  “No. This is going to send him running in the other direction. It�
�s way too soon for this. Why didn’t you say something? Warn me? The art show is tomorrow. I can’t let him show up and see this.”

  “You don’t have a choice, Whitney. If you don’t do the show, you can kiss your dreams of being an art teacher goodbye.”

  But if I do the show, I’m going to scare Alex off forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Alex

  Majority of the staff of For the Record is attending the art show. Emmit, a new staff writer Mr. Monohan recently hired, is covering the event, so he got a jumpstart on the rest of us. We all met at Last Call beforehand for drinks. I stuck to water, though. I want to be fully alert and ready for anything tonight. After Whitney didn’t invite me in last night, I’m not sure what to think about whatever this is between us. I don’t think I can call her my girlfriend anymore since we went two weeks without speaking to each other. She’s keeping me away, and while I can’t blame her for not fully trusting me, I’m about to explode. Seeing her last night and not being able to touch her was more difficult than I could have imagined. She was right not to invite me inside, though. I would have ruined everything when I caved and couldn’t keep myself from touching her.

  “Hey, are you with us?” David asks, clapping me on the back of my suit. We all dressed up since Emily informed us these shows are meant to be black-tie affairs.

  “Yeah. Nervous. I want everything to go well for Whitney.”

  “Any idea what she’s charging for these paintings?” Emily asks. “I brought my checkbook, but let’s face it; we all work for the same paper and none of us is loaded.”

  “She really didn’t give me too many details,” I say.

  Aria walks up alongside me and loops her arm through mine. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s not keep that girl of yours waiting.”

  Aria’s always been the one to push limits while remaining the voice of reason. She’s like a walking contradiction, and it’s really impressive. Even though we don’t interact much at the office, she still includes me when we’re all together outside of work. She’s a team player, which I guess is why she’s so good at being our boss.

  “You look like you’re going to lose your dinner,” she whispers to me.

  Nate’s on her other side, where he always is. It’s rare to see them apart. He offers me an encouraging smile.

  “I didn’t exactly eat dinner, so I think you’re safe to walk next to me,” I tell Aria.

  She laughs. “Well, the good news is that these things are always catered.”

  Whitney doesn’t have the money to have the event catered. My stomach flips. If tonight is a failure, she’s going to blame me for pushing her to go through with it. She’ll never take me back after that.

  “Aria, I don’t think Whitney hired a caterer.”

  “She didn’t,” Aria says. “I did. Sort of.”

  “What?”

  She nods. “I called Whitney last week and told her there’s a new caterer in the same building where her art school will be. I told her to cut a deal with them. Some artwork to help advertise in exchange for catering this event and giving out their cards to everyone who attends.”

  That’s brilliant. And unlike me, Aria let Whitney handle the details instead of taking care of it herself without consulting Whitney.

  “You’re going to have to give me some pointers on how to help people out without taking over.”

  She squeezes my arm. “Your heart’s in the right place, Alex. You just have to trust people to be able to take care of themselves. Whitney’s been doing that for years. Give her a little credit.”

  I nod as we walk into the old office. Soft music is playing in the background, and Elana is acting as the hostess.

  “Good evening,” she says. “Welcome to the very first viewing of Miss Whitney Stillwater’s artwork. Please have a look around. Every piece you’ll see is available for purchase. There are waiters from Le Petite Appetit circulating around the room with champagne and hors d’oeuvres.” She looks at me when she finishes with her spiel. I start to walk by her, but Elana grabs my arm. “I’d lose the blonde before you meet up with Whitney. I might have told her about the woman cozying up to you at the street fair, and I don’t think she’d handle seeing you here with another woman.”

  “She’s my boss, and she’s practically engaged to the guy with her.” I gesture to Nate. “And I was not cozying up to anyone at the street fair.”

  “I know you weren’t. I told Whitney you weren’t very receptive to that woman, but tonight is her big night. She needs you by her side whether she’s willing to admit it or not.”

  “That’s exactly where I want to be, but I don’t want to push her.”

  Elana looks around, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s making sure Whitney isn’t lurking anywhere. “Take a good look at the paintings she’s done since you two stopped talking. I think you’ll come to find that you were never off her mind.” She turns abruptly and greets a few more people who just arrived.

  I’m happy to see other people besides the For the Record crew, but I’m dying to know what Elana meant by that comment.

  “Oh wow,” Cheryl says off to my right where we used to hang the white board with our schedule on it. She turns to me and then points her champagne at the painting in front of her. “Did you know she painted you?”

  I expect to see the picture of my face, the one with her reflection in my eyes, but this painting is very different. It’s a crowd of people in front of a coffee shop. The very same coffee shop that’s next to Amor Amici downtown. “Did she paint pictures of the stores in hopes of the owners buying them?” I ask Cheryl. “That’s a brilliant plan.”

  “Dude,” Cheryl says, “tell me you see it.” She points to a man wearing a purple Polo shirt, and I do a double take.

  I don’t own a purple Polo, so she didn’t paint this from a picture she took or even something she saw. But it’s so clearly my face.

  “I’d say he’s a little more ripped than you are, but the face is a dead ringer,” Cheryl says.

  She’s right about the body. The guy looks like he lives in a gym. Whitney can’t possibly think I look like that. So does that mean she didn’t intend to paint my face? Did it happen by mistake?

  “You’re going to be famous after this,” David says, clapping his hand down on my shoulder.

  “It’s one painting, and it’s not even my body,” I say.

  His eyes go to the painting in front of us. “Oh, wow. Another one?”

  “Another one? What are you talking about?” I turn around, looking across the room. From a distance, I can’t make out anything strange about the other paintings.

  “Look closer,” David says, moving me down the line to the next painting.

  This one is a fisherman. The image shows the fish he caught front and center, so that’s where my eye naturally goes. But then I look at the fisherman. He’s wearing a bucket hat with lures dangling from it, but beneath the hat are the same dark eyes, angular nose, and full lips I see every morning when I look in the mirror.

  “It’s not over yet,” David says, pushing me past the closed door to the break room and on to the next painting.

  This one I’ve seen before. It’s the one of my face with her reflection in my eyes. Now that it’s finished, her image in my eyes is more noticeable. The bottom right-hand corner has the title, but it’s not the one she told me back at her place. Instead, it reads “Through Your Eyes.”

  “Exactly how close did you two get while she was painting those murals at night?” David asks me. “This is insanely...”

  “Intimate?” Cheryl offers.

  David nods and drinks his champagne. I really wish I had some right now, but the servers seem to be moving in the opposite direction than I am. I turn the corner and reach the back wall, and that’s when I see Whitney. The look on her face is pure terror.

  “Give me a second, you guys,” I tell the others before walking over to her.

  “You came,” she says.

 
“I promised I would.” The tension between us is greater than ever.

  “I see you’ve uncovered the theme of tonight’s event.” She forces a laugh as she fidgets with the ring on her pinky finger. “It wasn’t intentional, and I didn’t even know I was painting you until Elana pointed it out last night after you left. I—”

  I reach forward and take her face in my hands. I stare into her eyes for three seconds, long enough for her to tell me to release her, but she doesn’t, so I capture her lips with mine. I’m not about to kiss her the way I want to in the middle of her art show, so I break away much sooner than I’d like.

  She looks confused when she says, “Why aren’t you running away?”

  “For the past two weeks, I thought you didn’t want to be with me anymore. And I didn’t blame you for that. I screwed up, and I thought I ruined everything. So when I saw myself in all these paintings...” I lean forward and kiss her lightly again. “Whitney, I can’t even begin to tell you how happy I am right now.”

  “The reporter is at a loss for words again?” she teases. “You’re making me think I’m a bad influence on you.”

  “You could never be anything but good for me,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “And if you’ll let me, I’d like to do the same for you from now on.”

  She smiles. “No more talking for me or pushing me when I’m not ready?”

  I shake my head. “You lead. I’ll follow.”

  This time she kisses me. “Okay, but right now, I need to mingle with the crowd on my own, so do you think you can hold off on the following until this exhibit is over?”

  “Whatever you want.” I thought I was going to have to wait much longer for her. A few hours is nothing, especially when I plan to stay here and watch her talk to her fans. “Go,” I tell her, releasing her hand, which I just realized I was holding.

  She smiles before walking away.

  “I guess you were nervous for nothing,” David says, walking up behind me.

  “Why am I not surprised you were watching that?”

  He laughs and motions to our coworkers, who are all holding their drinks in the air to toast me. “We all saw it.”