36. 36
My hour-long lesson with Walt is canceled the minute I arrive. The poor guy is sick. So, not two minutes there, I’m back in my Toyota, driving home, with Owen on speakerphone. My mind is running—Walt, work, online shop, and Delaney. Always Delaney.
I stay in the safe zone and talk about the newest confusion in my life. “I don’t get it,” I say. “My little online shop has had zero to two customers a month for the past year—and this week I’ve sold out of everything I have. I even have people asking for prints of originals. They’re willing to pay me for a copy.”
“Wow. What’s new?” Owen says. I’m stealing his prep period.
“I don’t know.”
He goes silent, and then— “You don’t?”
“No.” I really don’t. I haven’t tried any new tactics. “My Instagram has blown up. I have no idea why. I post maybe once a week. I wouldn’t even have realized it, except that Delaney made me look up a video.”
“Delaney,” he says, his tone urging, as if he’s feeding me a clue.
I move on, my mind skipping to its next worry. “Speaking of—she thought she was going to have an hour or two without me, but Walt’s sick. No lessons today. Do you think I should go find something to do? Give her some time.”
“Time for what?” This answer comes quickly. My brother with a heart of gold thinks I’ve gone crazy.
“I don’t know. To be alone,” I say, trying to explain, to help him see that I’m not crazy. In fact, I have a legit reason for thinking twice.
There’s a pause on my brother’s end. “I don’t know, man. Annie and I are pretty happy being together. I mean, you’ve been working, right? You haven’t stopped just because she moved in?”
”We both work. I just—” I let the word trail off. I”m asking Owen—my newlywed, madly-in-love brother—about giving my wife space. Of course, this sounds like a dumb question to him. ”You”re right. It”ll be a great surprise.”
And while Delaney and I get along—and I’ve strangely enjoyed having her around all of the time—I know she’s used to some alone time. And space. My place doesn’t have a lot of that. She might be missing it. We work in separate rooms, but we’re never truly alone.
And yet, if I’m being honest—I feel kind of excited at the thought of an extra hour with her. One that doesn’t involve me working or sleeping or trying my best not to touch her. Well—I might have to work on that last one. She is a very difficult woman not to touch.
She’s also interesting and fun to talk to. She’s down-to-earth and passionate.
“Miles? You still there?”
“I am. Yeah. Sorry—still getting used to married life, I think.”
Owen laughs. “Go home. She’ll be happy to see you.”
And while Delaney and I aren’t Owen and Annie, I head for home. It’s what I want to do.
“Also—dude, your wife is a rock star. People have now googled you. They know your name.”
“Uh—”
“Your sales, Miles. Your work is getting out there. It’s being seen by new eyes. And apparently, they like what they see.”
I’m still thinking about Owen’s words minutes after we’ve hung up. Why hadn’t I ever considered that? I appreciate the way Owen suggested that these new buyers are simply finding my work for the first time and liking it. But I can’t help but wonder if it’s that—or if it’s Delaney. They like her, and by association, they like me.
My mood has dimmed with the idea. I don’t want my work to be revered due to who I’m married to. I want my work to be appreciated because of the time, effort, and emotion put into it.
I trudge up the stairs to my place, my steps louder and heavier with my sour mood. I reach the landing and set my hand on the doorknob. Groaning, I knock my head to the door. I never foresaw this problem—being successful because of Delaney. Anyone else would be happy, grateful even. But somehow this doesn”t feel like success to me.
The door is locked—which isn’t the norm. But then, maybe Delaney locked it. Or maybe she went out.
I sigh. I don’t have a key on me—I rarely do.
I fiddle with the handle, then knock. But Delaney doesn”t answer and no noise sounds from the other side. She must have gone out. I jimmy the handle, using my pocket knife to wiggle the lock mechanism. It clicks, making it way too easy to break into my place. If my house weren”t inside of a locked-up gallery at night, I”d be nervous.
I cross the threshold, my head and heart in defeat mode. I’ve sold all these paintings—but did they want me, or did they want Lane Jonas’ husband?
One more step and then—I’m hit. Scorching, searing, blistering pain hits me like a hammer.
My worries over my work are gone. I’m being attacked—in my own home. “Wha—” I bellow with the never-ending burn. My eyes, my throat, my nose—pain explodes all over my face.
I squint and jerk my head away from the attack, covering my eyes and trying to make sense of what is happening.
“Miles?” Delaney says, her voice small as a bird. “I—I didn’t know. I thought you were— I thought someone was trying to break in and—”
It hits me all at once. Wasps haven’t infested my house with the intent to attack me. Nope. “You pepper sprayed me?” I say through the throb and the flame.
I’m an idiot.
And prideful.
I’ve been so busy worrying about idiotic things, I didn’t even think to text her or alert her that I’d be home early. After our scare last week—of course she’s on edge.
I move two feet forward, my hands at my eyes, blind, but I need to get to a sink. I need water. I walk right into a standing easel.
“Crap. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” she cries. Her soft hands find mine and pull my fingers from their protecting position at my head. I’m guessing she isn’t going to spray me again, so I let her. “Come on,” she says. “I’ll help you.”
She leads me along, her hands in mine, and while I can’t see, I feel the warmth of her body near mine.
“Okay, going through the doorway,” she says, and on instinct, I duck.
I’ve lived in this for loft three years; I know I don’t need to duck to get inside. But it’s a defensive reaction.
“A few more steps and we’re at the couch.”
“Nice aim,” I tell her, feeling for the couch arm and sitting myself down.
“I’m sorry, Miles,” she says again.
I breathe out a low, painful chuckle. “I know.”
I feel her sit next to me, and while I try not to be a total baby in front of my wife, this hurts—a lot. I hiss with the pain and bring my hand back up to my eyes.
“No, don’t rub them,” she says, pulling my hand down. “I’m googling what to do. The first thing it says is to not rub your eyes.”
“And then?” I’m ready to do it. I cram my eyes tighter, but it only makes them burn more. Gah—this stuff is in my mouth and throat. I’m really wishing I’d sprayed Delaney’s intruder with this junk rather than punch him. My hand is still healing from that hit. He deserved this pain much more than I do.
“We need to wash your face and rinse your eyes if we can. Come on.” With her hands back in mine, she leads me past the couch and into the bathroom.
My loft is tiny—I should be able to get around blind without killing myself—but I’ve bumped into multiple things, and with Delaney’s hands snug in mine, I let her lead.
The bathroom is tight, though. Unless she’s willing to step into the shower, she’s going to be stepping on my toes.
“Let me see if I can do it.” I attempt to open my eyes to see myself, but I can’t.
“Stop that,” she says, pulling my hands away from my face again.
“I just—” My chest bumps hers, and in her stumble, a chuckle leaves her lips. “You think this is funny?” I say. “I thought you were sorry.”
“I am sorry.” And yet, she laughs—again. “I’m so sorry,” she says, and while it sounds like a whimper, I know what it is—it’s Delaney trying very hard not to laugh at me. “It’s just when you tried to look in that pathetic excuse of a mirror just now—”
“Now you’re making fun of me?” I’m not really offended. In fact, what I am is thoroughly distracted.
”Shush. Let me help you already, okay?” She sets a hand on my back. ”Bend down a bit; I”m going to splash water on your face.”
I bend, hear the rushing of running water, and then a splash of cool water rinses over my eyes and nose. There’s an instant relief, only to have the boiling sensation start up again.
“I’m happy you know how to use that thing.”
“I mean, it’s pointing and spraying. It’s not that—”
I groan with another onset of stinging pain.
“Never mind—” she spats. “Sorry.”
I move my hands over Delaney’s. “I can do this,” I tell her, feeling my way to the faucet and cupping my hands beneath the water. I splash water over my face again and again, rinsing off the sting only to have it come right back.
I cup a handful and gulp down the cold liquid, spreading the sting down my throat, though it’s fading.
Delaney’s warm presence stays right next to me, with an occasional caress over my back. If I weren’t in so much pain, I’d laugh. It’s ironic that in the short time I’ve known this woman, I’ve hurt my hand and my eyes—two things that are pretty vital to my job—all while selling more pieces than ever before.
After drowning myself over and over again, the stinging in my eyes begins to fade. I might even be able to open my eyes. I pause and breathe, then stand up straight.
“Okay, where’s my couch?”
Delaney laces her fingers through mine and once again walks me to the couch. Her hands slide up to my shoulders. “All right, sit. Need a drink?”
“I don’t have a single beer. I don’t drink.” I laugh without humor. The irony. “Man, I could use a beer.”
“Should I run out—”
“No. Don’t go.” I feel around for her hand, finding her leg, then her stomach, before she slips her fingers through mine. “Water will be great,” I say.
“Water. Got it.” She pulls herself away from me and I hear her bustle into the kitchen.
Soon, she’s pressing a cool, hard glass into my palm.
I sip, then press the thing to my face.
She rubs my shoulder. “Ooo, I’ll get you a cold compress too.”
I don’t argue with her. I chug the water she gave me, then lay my head back against the couch cushion, pressing the cold glass to my forehead while I wait for her.
Her fingers brush mine as she takes the glass from my hands and lays a cold washcloth over my eyes and head.
“Miles, I’m so sorry.”
“Please stop apologizing,” I say. “I should have told you I was coming home. If someone ever tries to jimmy the lock on that door and enter unannounced, please spray the crap out of them with pepper spray. You did nothing wrong.”
“I should have looked.”
“You shouldn’t have,” I say.
“I should have answered when you knocked.”
“Nope.” I blindly look for her with my hand. I find her fingers and press her palm to my lips. “You did exactly what you should have. Now we just need to get you into karate so next time you can spray, then kick.”
A muffled laugh sounds from her lips. “Oh, Miles.”
“No more apologies,” I say, blinking my eyes and squinting them open to try and see her. She must be sitting on her knees on this couch because I can make out her smile, peering evenly over at me. Her eyes crease through my blurred vision. She is sorry. But I can also tell she finds something humorous.
My eyes bite in pain, but at least I can see—sort of. It’s getting better by the minute.
Delaney scoops a strand of hair behind her ear, wiggling until she’s two inches closer to me, and peering up.
“I’m a lot of trouble,” she says.
“You’re not,” I lie. She’s very much trouble. Apparently, I like trouble.
“I’m glad you’re back.” Her hands find mine.
“Me too.”
Loosening her grip on my fingers, her right hand trails up my arm until it reaches the back of my neck. Long fingers swoop through the curls at the back of my neck, sending small shivers down my spine.
“Miles, why are you so good?”
“I’m—” I’m not sure how to answer that. I’m not that great. I’m normal. But then, I don’t know that Delaney’s had a lot of normal in her life.
Maybe she doesn’t want an answer; she doesn’t press. Her fingers tickle my skin on either side of my neck. And though my vision isn’t perfect in this moment, I see, feel, and hear as she moves until her breaths, sweet and hot, warm my cheeks. She inches ever closer… until her lips are a centimeter away from my own. “Miles,” she whispers before closing the gap, her lips colliding with mine.
Blindly, I find her hips with my fingers and hold her next to me. Kissing her back, I follow her lead. Her lips are the guide, and I am here to ensue. I match her desire and attempt to ignore the burn and throb that refuses to completely disappear. She moves, and I move with her—heat and desire coursing between us. Only—a lot of heat. A whole lot of heat in my eyes. And unfortunately, I’m human and hurting, all while trying to enjoy the best kiss of my life.
I grunt—on accident—and not the sexy kind. Nope, this is the kind of grunt that says, “Hey, remember? You sprayed me with pepper spray less than an hour ago. And sure, my face is melting, but I’m more than willing to fight through the pain to keep kissing you.”
Delaney freezes with my pathetic moan.
Her hands slide down to my chest. She pushes herself back. “Well, that was dumb,” she mutters, her head falling forward and knocking into my chest. I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or herself. She lifts her head and, with one finger, taps my chest. “Ah, I’m gonna go out and get you that beer. You wanted one, right? I’ll grab it and maybe a meatball sub or some jerky… some kind of meat. You like meat, right?” Her body scurries up while she rambles a mile a minute.
Half blind, I reach out, but she’s too fast and I’m too blurred. If the girl ever has to use her pepper spray on an attacker, I think it will do the job.
I know I have no chance of catching her.