Kaleidoscope Hearts (25 page)

“Hey,” I said to her back. She gasped and stiffened, taking a moment before turning around to look at me.

For what seemed like an eternity, she just stared at me, eyes wide, clearly questioning what the hell I was doing there.

“Hi,” she said finally, her voice a croak before she cleared it.

“I heard you’re . . .” I couldn’t even say the words. My eyes fell on her finger. The ring was glaring at me. Yelling.

“Yeah,” she said.

Our eyes met again. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t congratulate her on something I wasn’t happy about.

“Are you happy?” I asked, inching closer to her. She took a step back, hitting the counter behind her with a gasp.

“Don’t,” she said, putting her hands up defensively. “I . . . yes. I am.”

“So he’s the one?” I asked, my voice steady, my heart coiling, my eyes begging.

She tore her gaze away from mine. “He makes me happy, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

I moved closer. “Is that what it takes to be the one?”

Her eyes flashed back to mine, and I swear, in that moment, I lost whatever doubt I had left. Right there, in those eyes, in the turbulent sea she created with just one look.

“What it takes is showing up. What it takes is not walking away every time something possibly meaningful happens. What it takes is . . . Jesus, Oliver, I don’t even know what you want me to tell you!” she whisper-shouted at me.

“Tell me he’s the one. Tell me he makes you feel the way you feel when you’re with me,” I urged, getting closer to her face.

She let out a short laugh. “I haven’t seen you in what? Over a year? And you come in here looking at me like that and talking about how I feel when I’m with you. What am I supposed to do with that, Oliver?”

I grabbed her elbows and held her there so that we were breathing on each other’s faces. The smell of cookie dough and wine infiltrated my nose, and I could only close my eyes and picture what it would taste like on my tongue.

“Let go of me,” she said, in a low voice. “You are not going to kiss me. You do not get to kiss me. Not today.”

“This may be the last chance I get to kiss you,” I said softly, my lips falling over her cheek. “This may be the last time I get to hold you.”

“Oliver, please,” she said between a whisper and a plea.

“Does he make your heart race like I do?” I whispered beside the corner of her mouth. “Does he make you feel like you can’t breathe sometimes?”

“I like breathing, thank you very much,” she whispered, but sagged against my touch.

“How often do you think about me, Elle?”

“I’m not answering that,” she said, closing her eyes as my lips brushed against hers.

“You’re not stopping me from kissing you,” I said, in warning.

“I should. If he comes in here, he’s going to be upset.”

“He shouldn’t have left your side to begin with.”

She pressed against me, pushing me back slightly. The sound of heels clinking against the floor startled me, and I dropped my hands from her elbows, taking a step back.

“Are the cookies ready, honey? I have nothing else to give people,” her mom said, appearing beside us.

“Yeah, here. I’m making one more batch of pigs in a blanket and then I’ll be done,” she responded.

Hannah stopped beside me with the tray in one hand and held my chin. “Doesn’t he get more handsome every time he comes home?” she said, pinching my cheek as she walked away.

Estelle glared at her mother’s back as I smiled slightly.

“He seems to know a lot about me,” I said when we were alone again.

Her face clouded. “He knows enough.”

“Enough to know he should worry about me and you being alone together?”

“Enough to know you’re trouble. Deadly. Hazardous to my health.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. This wasn’t going as planned.

“So you’re doing it? You’re going to marry him?” I said, finally realizing this was a losing battle.

“We’re engaged, Oliver. We’re living together. We’re opening a gallery together. That alone is like having a child,” she said, her words making me flinch. A child with him.

“This is so hard for me,” I whispered, stepping in front of her again.

“What we had . . . it passed,” she said, her eyes on the floor beside us.

“Do you really believe that?” I asked, cupping her chin so that she could look at me.

“You need to stop,” she whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. I hated to be the cause of them. I wondered how many I’d been responsible for throughout the years. That was when it really hit me: I messed up royally. This wasn’t an easy fix. This wasn’t a
let me come over tomorrow and fix the training wheel I accidently broke.
Or
let me replace the canvas I threw a football in the middle of
. This is life. This is what happens when you stop living in the moment. People grow up. They change, they move on, and you find yourself wishing you had looked up in time to walk with them.

“You’re right,” I said, stepping back and dropping my hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry. If you’re happy, I’m happy for you, my beautiful Elle.”

I leaned in, gave her a kiss on the cheek, taking one last moment to smell her, and walked away.

Present

MY PHONE RAN out of battery a couple of minutes after I made it through the door last night, and I was actually grateful for the quiet. I’d slept on the couch the realtor insisted I leave in the living room, which was the only room in the house that was somewhat decorated. When I woke up this morning, I went upstairs and sat in the middle of my unfurnished bedroom, thinking about the last time I’d done that. It was when Wyatt had insisted on getting a new bed since I was moving in. He’d bought the house with an ex-girlfriend, way before we met. It didn’t bother me until I realized I would sleep in the bed they’d bought together. That was when he threw out the old mattress and told me to go to West Elm to pick out a new bed, which I did. The room is so dull now though—so vacant without the bed sitting in the middle. The bed, I gave to his mother. I couldn’t bear to sleep in it anymore. I slept in it for an entire year after he died, and I was done with it. Moving on meant giving up even the smallest sense of comfort I’d shared with him.

Yet here I was, back where I started. It’s not that I don’t have an identity without Wyatt or our life together, but I liked the simple act of coming home and knowing what I would find here. For some reason, knowing that this place would no longer be mine soon made me feel a little lost. Where do I go now? Sure, I would buy a new place. Sure, I would decorate it to my liking, but would it feel like home to me? I gather myself up and walk downstairs again, peeking into all of the rooms as I go. And when I open the front door to leave, I drop everything in my hands, because Oliver is sitting outside on the steps with his back facing me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

He sighs but doesn’t turn to face me. His hand runs through his hair. It’s getting long again. I’m surprised he doesn’t have it up in a small bun already.

“I had this whole speech planned out, and now that you finally came out, I can’t even think,” he says.

“How long have you been out here?” I ask, sitting beside him on the step.

He shrugs, still not looking at me. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What was this speech you had planned?”

He dips his head between his legs, resting it in his hands. “That’s the problem, Elle. Everything I had planned to say makes me sound like a complete asshole when I repeat it in my head. All my life I’ve been all about preparing for things and planning things out, and when it comes to you . . . I’m completely lost when it comes to you,” he says, tilting his face to look at me.

“I’m not that confusing. I’m simple,” I say quietly, tucking my hands behind my knees to resist the urge to touch his hair . . . the scruff on his face . . . his full lips.

“Your simplicity is maddening. Everything about you drives me crazy. The way you smile at me, the way you look at me, the way you talk to those kids at the hospital as if they’re adults—as if they matter . . . Not a lot of people do that, you know. Even me sometimes. When I’m working insane hours, I go into their rooms and only address their parents. I saw you teaching them to paint—teaching them to do something with their hands, with their time—and the way you looked at them . . .” he pauses, sighs, and looks at me with those evergreen eyes of his shining like I’m his world. “You know what it made me think? I want to have kids with that girl, because every child deserves to be looked at that way. Everybody deserves to feel that important.”

My heart squeezes at his admission. I open my mouth to speak, but words fail me, so instead, I scoot closer and lean my head on his shoulder. He kisses the top of my head and wraps his arm around me.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” he asks after a beat.

“Absolutely,” I say, smiling, as I pull back to look at him. “Your complications are completely maddening. Everything about you drives me crazy.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “It sounded better in my head.”

I lean into him and brush my nose against his scruffy, cold cheek. “I thought it sounded pretty good.”

“You’re not mad that I came here?” he asks, running his hand down my side.

“How did you even find me?”

“I called Mia. I mean . . . after a while, I had a feeling you weren’t coming back to Vic’s house, and then I called Mia. When she said you weren’t there, I asked her for this address.”

“That girl . . .”

“I owe her a week’s worth of coffee.”

I laugh. “You’re going to be able to afford her addiction on your residency paycheck?”

He smiles. “Maybe she won’t notice if I brew it myself.”

“Doubtful,” I say. We both laugh and look at each other again, my breath catching in my throat at the emotion in his eyes. He brushes his hand over my cheek softly.

“One date, beautiful Elle,” he says in a whisper that makes my stomach coil. I take a deep breath, and I let go of my reservations along with my exhale. I want this. I believe in this.

“One date,” I agree, smiling at his wide grin.

I look over my shoulder, at the house I shared with the man I loved, and I sigh. I don’t feel as bad as I thought I would, agreeing to this date. Maybe for once the stars will align for us.

I CHOOSE NOT to tell my brother about my date with Oliver because, well, I don’t have the guts to. I know he’d try to stop it before it happens. I don’t need him to verbalize that he thinks Oliver is a huge player and isn’t worthy of me. Besides, it’s just one date. Chances are it’ll be a lot less tame than our friends date anyway. In the back of my mind, I’m screaming
don’t get attached just yet!
But the thing is, it’s Bean. I will forever be attached to him, no matter what happens. I drive to Mia’s place and park my car in the visitor’s spot, where it’ll stay until we get back, then I go upstairs and wait.

“I heard you have a date with Oliver, and from the looks of it, you definitely do. You’re sweating like a whore in church!” Rob says as soon as he sees me. I punch him in the shoulder.

“No I’m not! Oh God, am I?” I head toward the bathroom and look at myself, realizing that he was exaggerating. But, damn. I am nervous. “Why am I so nervous about this? And where is Meep?”