Page 173 of My Unfinished Heart

Is it at the studio? I want to see it first.

Me

Yeah, I’m here if you wanna come by before I go

I touch the oil painting to see if it’s dry. Close. It might be by the time I get to Houston if I keep the windows down. Maybe. That’s the thing about oils. They’re unpredictable, but so’s my plan, so it’s fitting.

Tristan’s face stares back at me. This particular image is another one that’s branded itself into my brain. It was the moment he showed me the tattoo in my kitchen when he was still wearing my necklace. That was the day I got him back, and that’s the intention I’m putting out into the universe—get him back. That moment when he was on my lap and telling me to look closer, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Where we were supposed to be.

Connor texts me. Be there in five.

I’m ready. Looking at the portrait of Tristan in quarter profile inspires me. I know I won’t fuck it up this time. He might still be pissed and tell me to go to hell, but I’ll have no regrets. I’m gonna share my heart. I’m gonna put myself out there, and I am going to tear down every single wall that’s kept us apart. He’ll have no excuses. No options but to take me or leave me.

The rubber is about to meet the goddamn road.

The knock on the door comes sooner than I expect. I walk away from the window and pull open the door, saying, “That was fast.”

Tristan stares back at me, gorgeous as any daydream, with his lips parted in shock.

“Shit, it’s you,” I say, still barely able to tolerate how beautiful he is.

His forehead draws together in confusion and disbelief. I take in what he’s wearing—the sleek black sweater and pinstriped pants. He looks like he’s going on a date.

It’s the most disorienting moment of my life. It’s like being spun around with a blindfold at a party downtown, and when you take off the blindfold you see you’re on Mars. How the fuck did I get to Mars? How is Tristan in Austin? At my studio?

“Is this your place?” he asks, still unable to hide how stunned he is.

And that’s when it all comes together in my head.

I knew her smile in an instant…

Wow. Those assholes.

“Come in. I think I understand what’s happening.” I step out of the way, and he hesitates before crossing the threshold.

“I’m really confused,” he says.

“I can explain. Come in.”

He finally does, stepping into the loft and taking a look around. “This is your studio.”

“Yeah.” We weren’t officially together long enough for me to bring him down here. I’m not sure how anyone but me knew that, but someone sure as fuck did.

The most prominent piece in the studio is the portrait of him on the balcony at the Four Seasons. I’ve actually gone so far as to hang it over the bed. It’s the first place his eyes go—the thing he’s walking toward. “Is that me?”

“That’s you.”

“I look sad,” he says.

“I don’t think so.”

A text chimes on my phone. I take it out of my pocket and look at it.

It’s from my brother, and it says DO NOT fuck it up this time. I’m counting on you.

I close my eyes and put the phone down on an end table. Another chime comes from Tristan’s pocket. He reads the message with his back to me and then drops the phone onto the mattress. His message must have been longer because it takes him a minute. Then he turns to me again, a look I can’t decipher in his eyes.

“What’d he say?” I ask.