Page 20 of Finding Romance (Romances in the Building #2)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Kasen

I couldn’t sleep last night, so I got up and scoured the building for Cornelia’s necklace. Spoiler alert: I didn’t find it.

Now, I’m downing coffee at the café.

“Dude, that’s your fourth coffee in as many hours. I never like to turn down customers but maybe try to drink some water,” Cam says as she pushes a bottle of water toward me.

“I need to get back to work. I’m just exhausted,” I admit.

I’m also nervous. I have my first appointment this afternoon with the therapist that Bray recommended. I hate therapy. It’s never worked and I feel stupid trying again, but something deep down keeps gnawing at me that I need to work on myself.

“Water,” she states again and pushes it closer to me.

I glare at her, and she crosses her arms. I sigh, take the water, and head back to my apartment. I wrap up where I was with my project and get on the telehealth call.

A man appears on the screen after a few seconds.

“Kasen Saddler?” he asks. He’s about my age and is clean-shaven, wearing glasses, and in the background, I see a photo of men in Navy uniforms. Fucking Bray. He knew that’d make it easier for me.

“Yeah,” I answer and we begin our session.

* * *

One hour later, I need some air. I walk up to the roof and find Piper sitting in the greenhouse painting a pot.

I stand by the door for a long time. I watch the way her hair moves with her head.

The way she scrunches her nose and sticks out her tongue as she concentrates.

The way she smiles when she gets it how she wants it.

She’s not putting on an act for anyone. She’s just being authentically herself.

Finally, her head moves and her gaze meets mine.

I grin as I see a swatch of paint on her right cheek.

She’s a wonderful, beautiful mess. She’s perfection.

All the heavy thoughts from the past hour melt away like ice on a hot summer day.

I’m not thinking of the device buried in the sand on the beach where it killed my friend Tyler.

I’m not thinking of the boat sinking and my parents disappearing into the dark, stormy night.

No, I’m just thinking about Piper, and how she’s like a sun so bright she blinds me from seeing all those dark things.

She sets down her paintbrush and wipes her hands on an old rag.

Slowly, she walks over to me. I can see her brows furrow as she approaches me, and then without explanation, she wraps her arms around my midsection and pulls me against her.

Her cheek presses against my chest and I bring my arms up and around her shoulders.

I press my lips to the top of her head and inhale.

I can smell her floral shampoo. It’s a smell that’s becoming so familiar.

I don’t know what type it is, but that smell will forever remind me of Piper.

“Are you OK?” she asks, not moving.

“I am now,” I reply because it’s the truth. “And here I thought you’d be excited to have me out of your hair.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, pulling back a bit so I can look her in the face.

“Aunt Cornelia has her big checkup in another week and a half and then I’m going to stay with my dad for a while,” she explains.

“Your dad?”

“Yeah. He offered up his guesthouse out in Seattle. So, I figured I’d try out life out there. I need to eventually figure out where I’m supposed to be,” she says with a shrug.

With me. That’s where you’re supposed to be .

“Oh?” I manage.

She pushes away from me, and I nearly reach out to pull her back. But I just stand there watching her.

“Why does adulting have to be so…so complicated?” she asks.

“Because it’s a choose-your-own-adventure except you can’t control what’s happening, like Jumanji ,” I say, feeling quite a bit of the last part.

She steps back to me, searching my eyes. “Will you tell me what happened to you? Someday?”

I swallow. I want to tell her everything, but I’m also afraid to say a word.

What if she runs away? What if she sees how broken I am and decides it’s too bad?

I’ve liked this putting-me-on-a-pedestal thing.

I like the way she looks at me as if I know everything and can protect her from all of it.

It makes me feel powerful again, even if just for a moment.

“You don’t want to hear those stories, illustrator,” I whisper as I cup her cheek. She leans her head against my hand.

“Maybe I do,” she says in a low murmur. She turns her head a little and places a soft kiss on my palm. Fuck, she’s so innocent, yet it’s like she knows just how to touch me.

“You should get back to your painting,” I state as I motion toward the pot. She grabs my hand and tugs me toward the greenhouse. She pats a stool and I sit.

“Tell me about your worst day,” she says as she turns and starts to paint.

Something about her not facing me gives me the courage to tell her something, just one thing. I can do that much, for her.

“I can tell you about my first worst day,” I start.

She nods but doesn’t speak. So I continue.

“I lived with my parents in Maine. My dad was a fisherman and my mom sometimes went out on the boat with him when his two crew were unavailable. I had just turned fourteen.” I pause as I remember that day.

I had been so excited to get to go fishing and help.

I wouldn’t have admitted that to my parents, but it was the truth.

“My dad had me and my mom helping, since Mo and Butch weren’t available.

We left later than he had wanted to. There was a storm coming and he wanted to get in before it hit.

But the storm rolled in faster than he expected.

Lightning hit our motor. A giant wave rolled the boat.

And in the storm and confusion, I got separated from them.

I managed to grab on to a dinghy and I clung to it for two hours before the Coast Guard found me.

They never recovered my parents’ bodies,” I say as I close my eyes, willing the memories to subside.

I feel two small, soft hands on mine and I open my eyes.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she says as we stare at each other.

“It was a long time ago,” I state because it was.

“Yes, but that doesn’t make a difference.

My parents were divorced a long time ago, and I still remember their fights.

That stuff doesn’t go away. And when you remember it, it’s like it happened yesterday.

Like an old wound that never healed right and sometimes just pops open,” she says and the sadness in her voice breaks my heart.

She steps between my legs. I pull her against me, and she holds me tightly.

I feel like we’re each other’s life vests in a stormy ocean. How will I ever be able to let her go?

“Kasen,” she says.

“What, baby?” I say quietly.

“I sort of need to tell you something,” she says and I lean back and look at her. She looks nervous. What in the world could possibly make Piper nervous?

“You can tell me anything,” I insist and I mean that. I want to hear everything Piper has to say. She trembles a little and now I’m worried. What could be so bad?