Chapter 6 Landon/Kira #2
He was giving me whiplash. First, his dedication to volunteering at the CCC. When he showed up last week, I assumed it was a fluke in the name of seeing me again. But to my surprise, he was really good with the kids. Attentive. Helpful.
Second, I had yet to figure out what the hell he wanted from me. He had been the most important person in my life for years, until he shattered everything between us.
Landon was back permanently, and while I was genuinely happy his family was rebuilding the diner, it was something I had to learn to live with.
“Well, I noticed your lessons focus a lot on painting. Which is great, considering it’s your specialty, but they’re in elementary school. They should be making wacky stuff like macaroni art and hand turkeys.”
“We do hand turkeys for Thanksgiving,” I said absentmindedly. “But macaroni art is a good idea.”
Landon tossed me a boyish grin and continued walking. My God, had he researched art project ideas for kids?
To my horror, the realization quelled into something that felt alarmingly like affection. For just a minute, he was the old Landon. My Landon. Silly, sweet, considerate.
“Should we go with the cheap brushes that will shed like a cat or splurge for quality?” he asked, slowing down so I could catch up.
I sighed. “We’re shopping on a budget, so the kids might be painting whiskers onto everything they make.”
He raised a brow. “That could be the next art movement. Furry realism.”
That drew a laugh that felt like a punch. A quick sound that broke through my guarded exterior for a moment. Landon, on the other hand, looked pleased at my reaction. “Please don’t associate me with anything furry.”
“Glitter renaissance then?”
“I’ll consider it.”
We meandered into the next aisle, discussing lesson plan ideas and projects the kids would enjoy. Paper plate animals, popsicle stick puppets, play-dough sculptures. Landon was a lot better at brainstorming compared to Jordan. He was like a walking Pinterest board of ideas.
I tossed a few essentials into the cart: sponges, glue sticks, dish soap, and the paper towels Mary had scribbled on the list. In the paintbrush aisle, Landon added a couple of thick bristle brushes and a rolling brush to the pile.
“For the diner,” he explained when he caught the suspicion in my raised brow. “Mom wants to repaint the place. Brighter colors, new vibe. She actually asked me to ask you for help, but I told her no.”
“I’ll help,” I blurted, faster than I could think better of it.
What the hell, Kira?
Landon froze mid-step, then dragged a hand through his curls, his brow creasing in surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, feeling surer of myself. It wasn’t like I had experience painting the walls of a diner, but how hard could it be? “Your mom has never been anything but nice to me, and I know how much the diner means to your family.”
He looked at me for a moment longer, like he was trying to decide if I really meant it. Then his expression softened.
“Thank you,” he said, voice lower now, a little rougher around the edges.
Something in my chest pulled tight. Something hot. Familiar. Like the past tugging at the hem of the present.
I turned to the shelves and reached for a pack of rollers, trying to ignore the fact that my hands were suddenly a little too warm.
At one point, we passed a package of fine, expensive paintbrushes—sleek handles, pristine bristles, the kind you only ever saw in specialty shops or art school catalogs. The kind I used to dream about as a kid. Landon stopped short in front of them.
“You should get these.” He plucked the pack from the hook.
I stared at him. “Those are professional grade. Why would we get them for the class?”
“They’re not for the classroom.” He looked at me with a strange intensity that made something flutter uncomfortably in my chest.
“Then what are they for?”
“The art residency at the Chicago Echo Studio.”
He held the brushes out to me, waiting. I didn’t move to take them.
“You never answered my text about it,” he added, quieter now. “I thought maybe you changed your number.”
“I didn’t. Though I did have you blocked for a few years.”
His expression flickered with something akin to disappointment. “Right. Well, I still think you should apply.”
“I’m glad you think that.” I tried to keep my voice light. Detached.
“But…”
“But absolutely not.”
I stepped around him, pulse rising, ignoring the way his gaze followed me like a shadow.
“Kira,” he said behind me. I kept walking. “Help me understand why you won’t at least try.”
His hand grazed my shoulder.
The contact was light, barely there, but it sent a jolt through me.
I flinched, stumbling back just as he stepped forward.
We collided with a graceless kind of chaos—Landon smacked his head against a shelf with a dull thunk, and I knocked over a display of quills and ink pots that rained down in a cascade of art store doom.
“Damn it,” I muttered, shoving a basket of quills off my lap.
Landon crouched beside me, rubbing the back of his head. “You okay?”
“No.” I moved the ink pots back into place. “It’s a bad idea, Landon. There’s no point in applying to a program I won’t even get into.”
“They’d be insane not to take you.”
My hand throbbed, and when I looked down, a thin line of blood traced my palm. Perfect.
I shot him a look, pulling a crumpled tissue from my purse. “And what then? Quit my job? Start over on a hope and a prayer? Not everyone has the luxury of disappearing and hitting reset whenever they want.”
He didn’t say anything. Instead, his hand twitched at his side—an instinct to reach for me he didn’t follow through on. It reminded me of a marionette yanked by invisible strings, like he couldn’t control his need to touch me.
I stood, pressing the tissue to my palm.
“Let’s just get the supplies and check out,” I said, not quite looking at him.
In the car, I gave Landon instructions to my apartment. He insisted on taking me home so I could disinfect the tiny cut on my hand, and after he would drop off the supplies at the CCC.
Fortunately, it was a quick ride, so I didn’t have to sit here in uncomfortable silence any longer.
I knew what Landon was doing, trying to push me out of my comfort zone, to pursue something bigger and better than what I had now.
It was a nice gesture, but one that didn’t hold merit coming from someone who lost the privilege to encourage me.
The radio played softly, some acoustic ballad with lyrics that felt a little too on the nose. I kept my eyes fixed on the window, watching the city blur past. I loved afternoons in the city—bright sun, open air spilling past you, feeling like there was an eternity ahead.
We were almost at my apartment. Without warning, Landon veered onto a side street and pulled over beside an empty curb. The engine idled. I turned to him, confused.
“What are you doing?”
Landon didn’t look at me right away. His hands stayed on the wheel, knuckles white. His jaw tightened like he was weighing whether to speak at all.
“I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine,” he said finally. His tone was low but steady. “That we’re just two old friends talking about art brushes and diners.
“If you want me to leave you alone, I’ll do it. If you want to never talk to me again, I’ll make sure I never breathe a word around you. Just…” He sighed. “Just answer one question for me. Honestly.”
Something braced inside me instinctively. I hated how vulnerable he made me feel, how he peeled back everything I’d tried to stack neatly and safely. I hated even more that I couldn’t look away.
He turned to me then, his light brown eyes searching mine. “Are you happy, Kira?”
The question hit me with a devastating blow. I should’ve been able to answer immediately. Of course I was happy. I had a stable job, a nice apartment, great friends, a boyfriend. On paper, everything added up. But somewhere between my heart and my mouth, the words got stuck.
It was such a simple question. Logically, wouldn’t the answer be simple too?
“Because you don’t look happy,” he continued gently. “I keep wondering if you’re pretending like this whole life you’re living fits you.”
My initial thought of where did he find the audacity to ask me this was overwhelmed by the sinking realization that he was sort of right.
“You don’t know me,” I said, but even I could hear how thin the protest sounded.
“Maybe I don’t,” he admitted. “Not anymore. I just—God, Kira. I knew you when you were the girl who used to carry a sketchbook everywhere and had paint under her fingernails and dreamed out loud. You didn’t care if no one else supported you. You believed in things. In yourself.”
I looked down at my hands, fingers twisting in my lap. “People change.”
He shook his head. “No, people grow. Maybe that means they have to grow sideways, but people like you shouldn’t feel like they have to shrink themselves in the process.”
The car fell quiet again. The air between us was thick with history and tension and that painful kind of truth that stripped everything bare.
I looked up at him, heart thudding.
“I don’t know if I’m happy,” I admitted. “I haven’t thought about it in a long time. I think I’ve been too afraid to.”
Landon exhaled, and to my relief, there was no push behind it. Just understanding.
“Maybe it’s time you did.”
Outside the car, the street was still. A few stray leaves skittered across the pavement. Landon turned the car back on and finished the drive down the block. When he pulled up to the curb, I reached for the door handle, then paused.
“Thanks for driving.”
“Anytime.” And then, after a beat, “Seriously. Anytime.”
I gave him a faint nod, heart thudding in my chest as I stepped out of the car and shut the door behind me. But the second my feet hit the sidewalk, I spotted a figure leaning against the railing by my apartment stairs with their arms crossed, expression unreadable in the dim light.
Xavier.
He straightened when he saw me, but his eyes flicked past me to the car. To Landon.
I froze for a split second, already bracing for what was coming. “Hey,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.
“You weren’t answering your texts,” Xavier said, his tone clipped. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I got caught up with some errands for the CCC,” I said, not offering more because I didn’t want to lie. Not to mention, I didn’t want to get into an argument on the sidewalk.
“Who’s that?” Xavier’s gaze shifted back to the car, where Landon still sat. The headlights were off now, but the engine idled low like a warning.
“That’s Landon. My…my ex.” I shifted uncomfortably. “He offered to help. We picked up some supplies.”
Xavier’s jaw tightened. “Right. No wonder you weren’t responding.”
The air between us thickened, tension radiating from him like static. I could feel Landon watching, even though I didn’t dare glance back.
Then I remembered how easily Xavier cancelled plans with me the other day. I had the right to be angry with him, yet here he was, acting like I was the one doing wrong in our relationship.
“I didn’t know I needed to text in a time-stamped itinerary,” I added, my voice sharper than I meant it to be.
“That’s not what this is about, Kira. You vanish for hours and show up with your ex dropping you off, and I’m not supposed to ask questions?”
“Landon’s volunteering at the CCC. That’s all.”
Xavier let out a humorless laugh, then looked me over like he was trying to read something between the lines. “So, what, I’m busy one night and you crawl right back to him?”
“It’s not like that,” I defended. “The CCC requires two volunteers per class, so he’s my insurance to make sure I don’t lose the class. That’s literally the only time I’ll be seeing him.”
Unless he’s at the diner while I’m helping Aimee paint.
Shit, didn’t think about that until now.
“Something tells me he wants to see you a lot more than that.”
I didn’t have the energy to argue. I was still sorting through the conversation I’d had with Landon in the car—the question that kept echoing in my head like it had burrowed itself under my skin.
Are you happy?
I wasn’t sure. But I did know that whatever this was with Xavier—the guardedness, the simmering jealousy, the way he seemed to need control more than genuine connection—this wasn’t what happiness looked like.
“I’m going inside,” I announced.
Xavier didn’t move from the stairs right away. Finally, he stepped aside, watching me closely as I passed.
Behind me, Landon’s car pulled away from the curb, disappearing down the street.
And even after the door shut behind me, I could still feel the weight of two different lives tugging at my ribs. The one that felt safe, and one that felt right.