That gave me two days to get this place ready. I would make some plans for us and then enjoy myself. I wouldn’t think about Cruz. I wouldn’t care what or who he was doing. I would live my life.
I’ll start packing.
I laughed at that last text and finished eating.
Things were turning out different than I had imagined but they weren’t bad. Not at all. I was excited. Soon I’d own a dance studio. I’d get to teach kids. I’d encourage them to find their love of dance the way I had.
I cleaned up my meal and went downstairs to get back to painting the walls. Dad had offered to do it, but I wanted to know I had done something. This was my place. I liked having my hand in getting it ready to move in.
When I walked in the door, Cruz was standing there looking around. His hands were in his jeans pockets, a look I couldn’t quite read on his face. I thought about turning around and running back upstairs but I wasn’t twelve. I was an adult and this was my studio.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
His gaze swung to me. He hadn’t heard me come in. “Hey.”
I didn’t respond to that. I just continued silently stare at him.
“About what you saw,” he began and I held up a hand to stop him.
“Don’t. Please don’t come in here and act like you have to explain anything to me. I think I made myself clear at your house. We had closure. It’s done. I have painting to do. If you’ll excuse me.” I walked over to the paint and roller I had left earlier hoping he’d just turn and leave.
“If you’ve got your fucking closure why did your eyes look so damn hurt? Tell me that, Lila. Tell me why those eyes of yours took my goddamn breath away? Because it sure as hell wasn’t fucking closure I saw in them.”
I paused and took a deep breath. He was right. But I wasn’t going to admit it. “Still just fresh. I’ll be over it soon enough.”
“When you figure out how to get over it could you fucking tell me how? Because God knows I need help myself.”
I couldn’t let him get to me. I couldn’t let his words make me weak or think I could ever trust him. That we could ever have anything.
“You were doing just fine,” I shot back bending to get the roller and take the top off the paint can.
“Lila, look at me. Jesus, just fucking look at me. Tell me if this looks like a guy who is over it? You saw me flirt. I have been flirting since I was old enough to walk. It means nothing. It’s just how I react to women who are flirting with me.”
I laughed then shook my head. “Whatever. I do not care. Just go.”
He stood there. Not speaking and not moving. I tried to focus on my painting, but it was hard with his eyes watching me. I waited for him to say something more. If he’d just leave this would eventually go away. All of it. I’d gotten a taste. Knew what it felt like and was ready to put it behind me.
“If you didn’t care then we could sit down, chat, have a beer. We can’t do that, Lila. So yes, you care.”