Write or Wrong (Common Threads #9)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CRACK THE CODE

ZARA

“You have your mama’s eyes. Did you know that?” Zara asked.

Amber kicked her legs and squealed.

“Yep. Which is a good thing because blue eyes are the most beautiful in my opinion. Of course, that’s probably because I don’t have them.” She secured the diaper and straightened out the onesie.

Amber’s full tummy called to her and she bent down and blew raspberries. Amber squealed, giving her a happy toothless grin.

Zara buttoned up the yellow onesie covered with little giraffes. Baby clothes were so cute. She wrestled a pair of white socks on the kicking feet.

She was at the point in her life where her friends were having families. It was both exciting and terrifying. She’d never stopped working long enough to wonder if she wanted kids someday. Sometimes she thought she did. But then maybe she only wanted to be a kickass aunt. It was too hard to know for sure.

“But that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” she said in a soft, sing-song voice. She tossed a burp rag over her shoulder before gathering the baby in her arms. Amber straightened her spine and looked right at Zara. “Right? We’re here to ask ourselves the hard questions and finally get some answers.”

Amber yelled and a pudgy hand slapped Zara in the mouth. She caught the little fingers with her lips and pretended to munch on them. “Mmm, nom, nom, nom. Baby fingers are my favorite.”

Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned, wrapping her arms more securely around the baby with the failing arms.

Asa leaned casually against the doorjamb, his hands in his pockets. It was one of his go-to postures and it was so familiar to her now she probably wouldn’t recognize him if he stood any different. Today’s shirt was light blue and said, “I am a fucking delight” in fancy black script.

Since their road trip two weeks ago, they’d settled into a comfortable routine. They shared at least one meal a day together. He didn’t always have breakfast with her, but if he wasn’t there for breakfast, he was there for dinner.

She’d begun playing the piano daily. Sometimes he joined her, most times he didn’t. But that was okay. He was trying and she wasn’t going to push.

Her writing had picked up in a way she hadn’t expected. Writing for her had always been something she did alone. So, the days when Asa was out of the house tended to be her most productive. She hadn’t told anyone she was writing. Mostly because it was just for her at the moment. She still hadn’t decided what she wanted to do with any of it.

And every night, when it was late and she couldn’t sleep, she’d sneak back into the stairwell. Because even though he didn’t play with her often—and even then, it wasn’t anything of his own—he still played in his room when he was alone.

And she loved it.

She hadn’t made the mistake of falling asleep on the stairs again. She had no idea if he knew she was listening, they never spoke of it. She didn’t ask and he didn’t volunteer.

But those hours she spent listening to him play were the best parts of her day.

Unless she was invited over for dinner at Nikki and André’s and she could snuggle the baby. Baby snuggles were superior to all else.

“Look,” she said, squishing her cheek next to Amber’s. “It’s Uncle Asa.”

“Ah!” Amber hollered, reaching a flailing arm in Asa’s general direction.

He immediately came closer, reaching for the baby.

“It’s pretty obvious that you’re the favorite.” Zara reluctantly handed over the baby. But the reluctance was short lived when Amber grabbed Asa’s short beard with both hands. His mouth split into a wide grin and Amber yelled right in his face.

“She just likes my beard,” Asa said.

“Duh,” Zara said with an eye roll. “Who wouldn’t mind holding onto that beard with both hands?”

His eyes cut to hers and her face and neck flamed hot.

Shit.

Had she really just said that out loud?

Her mind scrambled to come up with something funny to say to deflect from her previous comment. But she was caught in his heated gaze and she was no longer breathing.

“Dinner’s ready.” Nikki stepped into the room.

“Ma!” Amber yelled, reaching for her mother.

Zara took full advantage of the distraction and hurried around Nikki and Asa to the kitchen. “Great! I’m starving.”

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. That…that wasn’t anything to think about. Who didn’t accidentally flirt with their friends sometimes? She made a face. She didn’t. She never flirted with friends because she knew how easily something could be assumed or misconstrued.

And it wasn’t like she hadn’t meant it.

Wait. No. She didn’t mean it.

Holy crap.

She opened André and Nikki’s freezer and stuck her head inside. Cold air rushed over her heated face.

It wasn’t like she thought about his beard all the time or something. She’d noticed it, sure. It was a nice beard. Short and dark and thick. Sometimes she wondered if it would feel soft or rough on her…hands.

Stop it! Stop it immediately! No sexy thoughts about Asa! What is wrong with you?

“What are you doing?”

She yanked her head out of the freezer to find Nikki giving her a weird look. “Nothing.”

Nikki’s eyebrows lifted. “Nothing?”

“I was looking for something?”

Good job, Z. That’s waaay better.

A knowing smile spread across Nikki’s face. “Well, while you’re in there, could you grab Amber’s teething ring?”

Zara grabbed the teething ring and headed out to the cement balcony where Nikki had a table set for the five of them.

A cool breeze lifted the heat of the day and Zara was glad they were eating outside.

Dinner at André and Nikki’s had become one of her favorite parts of the week for a lot of reasons. But the small apartment had trouble accommodating several people. The cement balcony was large enough for a grill and a set of table and chairs and it sat in the shade during early evening.

One of her favorite restaurants in New York had seating on a rooftop terrace and she missed the open-air dining.

She handed Amber her teething ring and then realized that the only available seat was next to Asa.

When they ate inside, the chairs were arranged with one on each side and Amber’s highchair at the corner between her parents.

The size and shape of the balcony didn’t allow for that though.

She squeezed between the chair and the table to sit down. Pulling herself closer to the table, her leg bumped into Asa’s.

“Sorry,” she muttered, trying to adjust so as to give his long body more room. But her other leg was pressed up against the table leg. She couldn’t move over any further.

“It’s fine,” he replied casually, knocking his knee against hers.

“I know it’s cramped,” Nikki apologized, handing a plate of grilled pineapple across the table to Zara. “I just really wanted to eat outside.”

“I love eating outside,” Zara said, using the tongs to place a slice of pineapple on her plate.

“Yeah?” Asa asked.

She glanced to her right. Oh boy. He was very close.

“You don’t eat outside at home,” he pointed out.

She cleared her throat and passed him the pineapple. “Ah. Well the best place would be on the terrace, and Cas has asked I don’t go up there alone. He said it’s ‘too exposed.’”

“That makes sense,” Nikki agreed.

“I’ll go with you,” Asa offered, bumping her with his elbow. “I’m not as big and scary as Cas, but I can act as a human shield in a pinch.”

She lifted her eyes to Nikki’s. But Nikki was looking at Asa with an amused expression.

“Remember that time we were playing at the VFW and someone threw a rotisserie chicken at us?”

Asa chuckled.

“Are you serious?” Zara asked.

He glanced at her, those dark brown eyes warm and smiling. “Local shows are…” His lips twisted to the side. “Exciting.”

Nikki snorted. “I saw it coming and ducked behind Asa. He absorbed the blow.”

“I never got all the grease out of that shirt. I finally had to throw it away.”

Zara shook her head, trying to wrap her head around the idea of an audience that threw food. Nope. She couldn’t. Brain wouldn’t stretch that far.

The meal progressed with pleasant chatter about work and Amber’s milestones. André told a couple stories about some of his students from last year. Then talk turned to the home renovations at Nikki’s Victorian.

“The attic dormer is pretty much done,” Nikki said. “I just need to get in there and paint it.”

“I can paint it,” Zara offered.

Nikki lifted her eyes.

Zara shrugged. “I’m not doing anything anyway. And helping you with house stuff was one of the reasons I came here in the first place.”

“Do you know how to paint?” Nikki asked, her tone curious instead of skeptical. Which Zara appreciated.

“I mean, it’s paint,” Zara said. “It can’t be that hard. I can look up some tutorials online or something.”

“That’s true,” Nikki agreed.

“I can help.” Asa refilled his glass of ice water with the pitcher on the table. “I have tomorrow off.” He grabbed Zara’s glass and refilled it as well. “And I already know how to paint so I’ll teach you.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the glass.

Nikki’s head tilted to the side as she thought. “If both of you did it, it would go faster and André and I could keep working on the kitchen.”

Asa’s knee bumped into Zara’s and held there. “So breakfast on the terrace and then painting at Nik’s?” he asked her. “Sound like a plan?”

“Where will the baby be?” Zara asked, trying to ignore the heat from his leg against her own.

“My parents are driving down tomorrow to stay for a couple days so we can knock out a bunch of work on the house. Johnny said he’d call if they needed me. Which reminds me.” Nikki pointed her fork at Zara and then to Asa and back again. “Shawn is in the studio this week. Would one of you mind stopping by and checking on him?”

“Check on him?” “What’s wrong?” Asa and Zara asked at the same time.

Nikki made a face. “I don’t know. He’s…in his head maybe? He’s avoiding me and Johnny but he might talk to one of you.”

Asa nodded like he understood. He probably did. He was way more intuitive than Zara had known in the beginning.

“Sometimes it’s hard to be honest with people who know you best,” Asa said, his focus on his food.

Zara and Nikki exchanged a look and she could swear they were both thinking the same thing.

André caught them having their silent conversation and he hid his smirk behind his glass.

Amber hollered and threw her teething ring across the table. It landed in the potato salad.

Something warm and welcome flooded through Zara’s veins. It was new and soft and felt an awful lot like home.

She knew her life would always come with a very obvious caveat. But these people, here, in that moment? They accepted her and spoke to her like a friend. Like she was part of their family. Part of something peaceful and solid.

She hoped she never made any of them ever regret it.

Zara had never felt so stupid.

Painting was not easy. At least not for her.

Bless everyone at that table who’d heard her say, “how hard could it be?” and had not immediately started laughing at her.

First, Asa had had to show her how to tape everything. That in and of itself was a major task. How was the tape not sticky enough to stay where she wanted it to go and yet so sticky that if it came within inches of her body it stuck to her clothes? It felt like imaginary physics.

And then there were the drop cloths and the different brushes and rollers and pans. She nodded along to all of his patient instructions but she had no idea what he’d said. She recognized most of the words he’d spoken but the order they were in made no sense to her.

And then he’d left her to start on her own—giving her the simple task of rolling paint onto the wall—while he’d gone to do the trim on the other side of the room.

She’d started out so innocently eager. Thrilled to be out of the house, to be doing something helpful, to be with people .

But there was something wrong with her roller. It wasn’t putting paint on the wall like it was supposed to. And why was it so streaky? And runny? Was the paint broken? Could that be a thing?

Maybe she wasn’t strong enough.

She pressed harder on the roller as it moved over the wall. That looked even worse.

Was she too strong?

“How’s it going over here?” Asa’s voice came up behind her.

Zara swallowed and stepped back from her work. She didn’t look at Asa as he silently observed the streaky, runny mess she’d created.

He didn’t speak for so long she assumed he was trying to find a nice way of telling her she should just go home and stop making things harder.

Asa hummed softly, deep in his throat. His warm hand closed around hers as he carefully took the roller from her.

Using thorough and controlled movements he covered her streaks and patches, making the wall look completely different.

“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling like shit.

He squatted to add more paint to the roller and glanced at her over his shoulder. “What for?”

She made a face and gestured to the wall. It seemed pretty obvious to her. “For sucking.”

His mouth flattened and he stood back up. “Don’t be sorry for not knowing how to do something you’ve never done.” He handed the roller back to her.

She took it, their hands connecting briefly.

“Try again. Like you saw me do it.”

She took a breath and stepped forward, feeling like an even bigger idiot. Now she had to do it while he watched?

Asa’s stifled chuckle had her side-eyeing him.

“You look like I asked you to butcher your first chicken. It’s just paint and it’s just me.”

She nodded with his reminder because he was right. The only other person here was Asa and if he was going to make fun of her, he’d already had plenty of opportunity.

He coached her through the next several minutes. Showing her how much pressure to use and to go in different angles for a more thorough coverage.

Sweat trickled down her temple and she blew a loose strand of hair out of her face. Asa’s eyes tracked the hair’s journey up and back down. She grinned at him. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he replied, his mouth tugging up on one side. He turned to go back to his side of the room.

She watched him go before turning back to her task. A task that she now felt more equipped to tackle. She wanted to express her gratitude in more than just saying “thank you,” but nothing came to mind. How do you tell someone thank you for not making you feel stupid?

She thought about it as she continued painting.

Someone had set up a small radio in the corner and it had been playing oldies and classic rock all day. Not loud, just enough to keep the attic space from feeling too quiet.

Chicago’s “If You Leave Me Now” started to play through the tiny speakers and she sang along.

“Are you—?” Asa started to ask and stopped.

She squatted to refill her roller. This was going way better now.

“Are you singing along to Chicago?” Asa asked, sounding confused.

She glanced his direction and flashed a smile. “Guilty. I’ve been listening to them. You know what I love about this song?” she asked. “It reminds me of the theme song from The Man From Snowy River. ”

He didn’t respond but that was okay. She returned to her wall—she was making good headway now—and kept singing.

Goosebumps broke out along her shoulders as Asa’s rich voice joined hers.

God, that man could sing.

The next song was Bill Withers’ “Ain’t No Sunshine” and they kept singing. Together.

Same with the next song and the one after that. Soon, she lost count of how many classic songs they had sang together, drowning out the small radio speakers.

Through it all, the walls got painted a beautiful pale yellow. The lid of the paint can called the color “Moonglow” and Zara decided it was the perfect choice.

“Wow.”

Zara had just set the paint roller back in the tray, having finished her last little section. Nikki stood at the entrance to their little space. She crossed her arms and surveyed their work.

Zara hoped she had done an alright job for her friend. It wasn’t until she was more than halfway done that she thought maybe she should have just paid professionals to do it. But there was something joyful about doing the work herself. She was contributing to Nikki and André’s future with effort and time. Things she couldn’t often do for her loved ones. She didn’t know if it meant anything to them, but she knew what it meant to her.

“You guys did a great job,” Nikki said, sounding pleased.

Asa cleared his throat and stepped back. He looked around the room and then flashed Zara a smile. “We make a good team.”

“In more ways than one,” Nikki added. “We could hear you from downstairs. That was next level.”

Zara snickered but she agreed. She just didn’t want to point it out in front of Asa since he was still so shy about the music thing.

“You’re not wrong,” Asa said, surprising Zara.

He was scraping his brush against the side of the paint can.

Zara and Nikki exchanged a look that was more like a conversation. It went something like this.

Did he say what I think he said?

He sure did.

What does that mean?

I have no idea.

Why not? You’re his best friend.

You’re the one living with him.

“Stop doing that.”

They both snapped their gazes to Asa’s narrowed eyes. He gave them a calculated look and shook his head. “It’s weird. Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”

“We didn’t say anything,” Nikki pointed out.

Asa’s lips flattened and he snorted.

Nikki and Zara looked at each other and cracked up.

That night, after Zara had scrubbed yellow paint off her face but failed at getting it all out of her hair, she snuck downstairs to her favorite spot.

The light under his door was on and she didn’t have to wait long for him to start playing.

But it was different somehow. His voice seemed stronger. Freer. The guitar clear and precise.

She sighed and rested her head against the wall.

That’s it, babe, she thought. You’ve got this.