Page 90 of Smash

Absolutely not.

That was the one place on this Earth I shouldn’t go. The one person I should not talk to.

I looked back at the table, which was still set.

Two plates.

Two napkins.

Two wine glasses.

Dinner for a man who didn’t come home because I was here.

I didn’t want Rafe to make me feel better.

I really didn’t.

But I needed someone to look at me and not look away.

I grabbed my phone and keys before I could talk myself out of it, not bothering to put shoes on my bare feet.

Downstairs, Rafe’s door was closed. I stood in front of it for a long moment, my hand hovering in the air.

Knocking felt like crossing a line.

Not knocking felt like drowning.

I closed my eyes and decided to count to five. Whatever happened when I hit that number would be it. I’d knock. Or turn around.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

The door swung open.

The sight of Rafe in a faded black T-shirt and jeans, his long hair pulled back to show off his angular jaw, quite literally knocked the wind out of me.

“Talia.”

Just my name. That was all it took. And it almost undid me.

“I know I shouldn’t be here,” I said.

His jaw flexed. “Then why are you?”

I shook my head. “Because I couldn’t not come.”

Rafe stared for a long time. Eventually, he took a step back and held out his hand for me to enter.

I slipped inside, careful not to make contact with him.

His apartment was darker than I’d expected, lit only by a standing lamp near the window. An easel was set up in front of it.

I’d known Rafe was an artist, of course. I’d watched him create his glasswork and seen his finished charcoal drawings and canvases, but I hadn’t witnessed him painting. Not like this.