Page 59 of Hunt You Down

“Is it too much?”

I shook my head. “I love it. But you didn’t have to take those gorgeous pictures off the walls.”

He shrugged. “Paint me some new ones. I felt terrible about you being here alone all the time. I thought it would be nice for you to have this back.”

I set down the tube of gold acrylic paint in my hands and crossed the room to him.

“I love you,” I said, hauling him into a bruising kiss.

Monday morning came faster than I expected. I had André and both counterparts of Double Trouble on speed dial. I was terrified to be left alone, but it had to happen.

André and I were both awake well before his alarm.

Neither of us had much to say, so I rolled out of bed to make him some coffee. I thought about making breakfast, but it would have been useless. André would only eat breakfast if I cooked, but forcing food down would just be a bad idea.

I’d had years of practice at masking, but André wasn’t so lucky. He stumbled out of the bedroom ten minutes before he had to be out the door. He’d showered and fixed his hair, but the dusting of stubble across his chin gave his nerves away—he never skipped shaving.

With Regan possibly looming around every corner, I was less than thrilled about being left to my own devices, but it was time for me to support André. He needed me.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to just stay home for one more day?” he asked, sitting down on the couch to tie his shoes.

I did. God, it was all I wanted, but I couldn’t do that to him. Things needed to return back to normal.

“I would love for you to stay home with me,” I confessed. “But I can’t ask that of you. You’re not me. You need to be around other people. You need to see your clients’ faces while they make the biggest decisions of their lives. You’re more important to these people than you think and leaving the apartment every day is more important to you than you realize. You have to do this. I can’t make you isolate yourself.”

“One more day won’t kill me.”

“No, it won’t, but one turns into two, and that turns into a week that turns into a month and the next thing you know we’re living like cavemen.” I forced myself from the couch, grabbing his bag and his jacket. “Now you need to go, or you’ll be late—again.”

André reluctantly pulled himself to his feet, slipping into his jacket and taking the laptop bag. “You’ll call if you need anything?”

I nodded, blinking away tears as André pressed his lips against mine. We lingered, neither of us wanting to be the one to break it. He didn’t look at me when he pulled away, only shutting the door behind him. Flipping the deadbolt, I checked the back door before doubling back to re-check the front. After that, I… froze.

I stood in the middle of the living room, wondering what to do with my day. For once, we were caught up on all the cleaning. I’d been feeling better, and we’d been able to establish more of a routine, which left me with very few options.

Looking at the door to my new studio, the supplies inside seemed to taunt me. I went to the bedroom, digging out a T-shirt and pair of jeans that could survive getting dirty and changed into them.

The fact that André had turned his spare bedroom into a studio just for me was mind-blowing. It was always a goal of mine, and I had a decent amount of money saved before Regan found it.

The canvas sitting on the easel was a bit big to start with, so I swapped it for a smaller one. Refusing to spend the day in darkness, I walked to the window and yanked the curtains open. A newly-bloomed magnolia tree across the road caught my eye and after dragging the easel to the window I got to work.

I painted all day. André got held up at lunch and couldn’t make it back, so I kept working.

I was jarred back to reality when I heard the front door open and André called out to me.

“In here,” I responded, dipping a fine detail brush into the gold paint. In the past, I used what was cheap. This one, however… It was like André had bottled liquid gold.

“Wow…”

Still fully dressed, André walked into the room.

I glanced down at myself—paint smeared every exposed inch of skin. “You should change before you touch me. I think I’m wearing more paint than the canvas.”

André only smiled, stepping up behind me. “I think I’ll be okay. That is stunning,” he said.

I set down my brush and tried to see what he did. Green, purple, and golden-yellow meshed together in a way that shouldn’t work. In the middle was a crisp white magnolia. Real ones didn’t have veins of gold, but the shimmering paint provided something that the painting was missing.

“It’s not perfect. I haven’t painted in years.”