Our Finest Moment ✔️

37

LIANA

The house seems bigger and brighter, all of a sudden. Like it's more open—like the depths of hell have retracted from the black paint, leaving the atmosphere lighter. It's better. I suddenly feel more at home.

Colton dropped me off in front of the house, told me to get our small bags inside and gave me a very small kiss—compared to the other life-altering ones this weekend—before he drove off towards whatever he had to take care of. The house isn't the only thing that's changed these past few days. We have too.

I spin around in the hallway, closing my eyes as I try to hold on to the warm feelings. Colton is more than a cold madman. Below the surface, he's caring, even though he'd never admit it out loud—and I'm not about to tell him I know.

Unless, of course, I feel like being choked and edged until I take it back. Which may happen.

About two hours later, I'm hungry, and slightly worried. The fireplace in front of me warms with what's left of the fire I managed to start, but my fingers are still shaking with cold. So much so that I had to lay my guitar down and focus on warming them.

This large house gets too cold when no one's home. Well, except me. But I don't know it well enough to keep it warm yet.

I check my phone again for what has to be the hundredth time since I got settled on the black, fluffy carpet, but there's nothing new. No messages from anyone. Not even a short, "I'll be home at insert-time." It bothers me that I worry, because I shouldn't. This weekend was fun, and intimate, and amazing, and...new, but he's still the same person he was before. And I'm still me. And the bottom line is, we can only stand to be near each other when we're naked.

So why do I care?

My thoughts are ripped away from that stupid question as the door unlocks and opens, and I uncoil to my feet, my shoulders dropping as if a weight has lifted off. I walk to the hallway, put my arms around myself and aim for the front door, just as a familiar voice calls out my name.

And so I sigh with disappointment I'm ashamed to show.

I turn the corner and smile at Dorian. It's a polite smile, and a genuine one, but it would've been bigger if my husband walked through the door and showed me he was all right. Though the smile grows when I see the squared boxes my friend is carrying. "Thought you might be hungry," he says, grinning. Then he looks around and shudders. "Fucking cold in here."

"I know," I agree, "I have a dying fire in one of the living rooms." Pointing over my shoulder, I reach out with my free hand to help him with the pizza, and then I dare to ask, "Is everything okay?"

He hands me the boxes and nods. "Yeah, just a little too much gore for my taste." He grimaces. "I'll just grab some drinks," he announces and stalks towards the kitchen.

Not even remotely comforted, I turn the other way and go back to the soft carpet in front of the fire, and sit down. Tentatively, I lift the lid of one of the boxes, and my mouth starts to water immediately. A simple pepperoni pizza is inside, and my stomach growls.

As soon as Dorian comes in and sets glasses and a bottle of soda on the floor, I open my mouth again. "Too much gore? Why?"

He chuckles as he pokes the fire with one of the tools hanging beside it, and then he adds more wood to it and sits down, shrugging with one shoulder. "If I didn't know any better, I'd ask if you were worried about Colt." He snorts at his own joke and helps himself to a piece of the pizza. Between bites, he adds, "One of Colt's guys in the police department said that Bell's guys found the bodies from last weekend, and started ballistics. He used Rina's gun, which should be generic and untraceable, but can't be too sure."