Page 43 of Memories of the Lost

“Oh, he came with me to my mom’s farm yesterday and ... well.” She shrugged. “He stayed last night.”

He tilted his head ever so slightly, like a border collie trying to make sense of something. “He went with you to your mom’s place?”

“Yeah. He had some free time, and I couldn’t cancel the real estate person, so he offered to drive with me.”

“Huh. That’s different.”

“I know. I really like him. It sucks that he lives so far away.”

“Mm.” He took her hand. “But maybe you’ve got enough going on without adding in a romance.”

She looked down, taking strength from his grip. “You’re right. Just a fling.”

“Good girl.” He slapped her thigh. “C’mon. Let’s eat. Everything will be better after a meal. Then we can make a plan.”

He’d brought her favorite black pepper tofu and white rice, which she gobbled in such a rush that she realized she’d barely eaten anything in twenty-four hours. “Maybe I’m hallucinating because I’m starving.”

“You never eat right when you’re painting hard.” He slurped drunken noodles with chopsticks and eyed the work lined up around the studio. “I know you’re worried about it, but the show is shaping up really well. And I know you had something else in mind with the fairy godmother hen or whatever that was, but this is better. Dark. More emotion.”

Tillie saw what he meant—the other was more sentimental, her tribute to her earth-mother mom—but she was still sad.

And scared. “What do you think is happening?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“I don’t know.” He measured her for a long minute. “Maybe it’s past-life memories.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I mean, why not?”

She shook her head. “Or maybe I’m just—losing it.”

“What if it’s PTSD or something, from when you were little? You don’t remember the head injury that gave you the scar, so maybe it’s connected to that?”

She fingered the white streak. The idea had a ring of possibility. “Maybe.”

The buzzer rang, and both of them startled a little.

“I forgot! It’s Liam!” She realized she was still in her messy painting clothes, and her hair was tied in a knot at her nape. “Shit!” She touchedher apron, then leaped up, heart suddenly buoyant, and pressed the speaker. “Hello?”

“It’s Liam.”

She glanced over her shoulder as she pressed the button to let him in. Jon set his meal down on the coffee table and delicately wiped his mouth, his fingers. “You look amazing, doll. Don’t worry.”

It was too late to make any changes, anyway. Tillie heard his footsteps ascending the stairs and opened the door with a swell of new-lover eagerness, her entire body springing forward the instant she saw him, his beautiful face, those long limbs. He caught her in a hug, a low sound in his throat. He smelled of aftershave and his skin, and as they crushed together, their arms looping hard around the other, she was wildly glad to kiss him.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“Me, too.” She held on a moment longer, then released him. “Come in. My friend Jon is here. It’s been ... a strange day.” She realized, stricken, that she’d never made a reservation, and now here she was, eating. She turned toward him. “I didn’t make a reservation. Jon brought takeout. Which we can share, or—”

Jon stood. “Or we can get some more.” He held out his hand, which Liam accepted. “How you doing, man?”

“It’s all good,” Liam said, then looked between them. “Is everything all right?”

Tillie took a breath, then offered the truth. “Not really.”

He paused. “Should I go?”

“No!” Tillie cried. She took his hand and brought him back to the couch. “Although you might be running away when you hear it all.”