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Mae - Searching for the Truth
It seems like Dean has really recommitted to his art because I’ve hardly seen him over the last few days. We’ve even stopped doing our joint dinners. I keep telling myself that it’s normal. That’s what friends do. They give each other space and occasionally connect when they’re both free. Having nightly dinners with each other? That was the weird behavior. Still, I can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment every time I look over at their farmhouse. That is, until I see a pretty blonde park her car outside and walk into Dean’s house.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Grandpa Bob.
“Okay, dear.” He waves me off.
I grab a pie I bought for Mina, Grandpa, and me to have after dinner, but I can always buy another. It’d be weird if I just showed up empty-handed, especially after he told me he didn’t like people to see his unfinished pieces.
I head over to Dean’s place, and just as I’m about to knock, I hear the woman saying, “You painted that? It’s amazing.”
Okay. I’m not the first person he wanted to show his painting to. That’s fine. Dean’s a handsome man. It makes sense that there are other women in his life—women who know him better than his neighbor.
I turn to walk away but run straight into Dylan.
“Ms. Dale?”
“Hi, Dylan.” I roll my eyes at him. “Remember, I told you to call me Mae.”
He runs a sheepish hand over the back of his neck. “What are you doing?”
“I was about to see if you and your dad were hungry. I know he’s been working hard on that painting. But it sounds like he has company so…”
Dylan looks at the car and says, “It’s just Coral.”
“Coral?” I ask. Hope rises inside me, and I struggle to tamp it down.
“Yeah,” Dylan says. “My dad’s assistant.”
“Ah.” Now I feel kind of foolish. But I still wasn’t the first person he wanted to show his work to. “Can you just—”
“Dad! Mae’s here, and she brought us pie!” he shouts, before I can finish my sentence.
Dylan opens the door and walks inside. Since I’m in between him and the door, I have no option but to follow. I step into the kitchen, and Dean emerges from his studio covered in paint.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi. I, uh, I brought you this.” I hold out the pie. I figured you might be hungry.”
“Oh, thanks,” Dean says, a distracted look on his face. I’m right he doesn’t want me here. “That was thoughtful of you.”
Then, the blonde joins us in the kitchen.
“Coral, this is my neighbor, Mae Dale,” Dean says, gesturing between us. “Mae, this is Coral Taylor, my assistant.”
Coral reaches out her hand, and I’m about to accept it when I see that it’s covered in paint.
“Um…”
Coral looks down at her hand. “Oh my gosh. Sorry about that.”
So, she’s been touching the painting—or Dean.
“Let’s try that again,” she says after washing her hands. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mae. I’ve heard so much about you.”
And I wish I could say the same. I shoot a glare at Dean. He acts oblivious. “Nice to meet you, too. Dean hasn’t mentioned you.” I hope I don’t sound bitter. We’re just neighbors, after all.
Then, I see that he has a perfectly preserved handprint near his jawline, as if Coral grabbed it while they were kissing, and resentment begins to simmer in my stomach.
