Booktree.ngIt-Starts-with-Us-Colleen-Hoover

“You’re holding it wrong.” My voice startles him. When he spins around
and looks up at me and I see how young he really is, my heartstrings stretch
so tight, it feels like they’re about to pop. I try to imagine Theo out here
alone in the middle of the night like this.
There’s still a youthfulness to the fear in his eyes. When I start walking
toward him, he backs up a step, looking around for a quick escape. But he
doesn’t attempt to run.
I’m sure he’s curious about what’s going to happen. Isn’t this why he’s
been showing up here night after night?
I hold out my hand for the can of spray paint. He hesitates, but then
hands it to me. I demonstrate how to hold it the proper way. “If you do it
like this, it won’t drip. You hold it too close.”
Every emotion is running across his face as he studies me, from anger to
fascination to betrayal. The two of us are quiet as we take in just how much
we look alike. We both took after our mother. Same jawline, same light
eyes, same mouths, down to the unintentional frown. It’s a lot for me to take
in. I’ve been resigned to the idea that I had no family, yet here he is in the
flesh. It makes me wonder what he’s feeling while he looks back at me.
Anger, obviously. Disappointment.
I lean a shoulder against the building, looking down at him with
complete transparency. “I didn’t know you existed, Josh. Not until a few
hours ago.”
The kid shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and looks at his
feet. “Bullshit,” he mutters.
The hardness in him at such a young age makes me sad. I ignore the
anger in his response and pull my keys out to unlock the back door to the
restaurant. “You hungry?” I hold the door open for him.
He looks like he wants to run, but after a moment of indecision, he ducks
his head and walks inside.
I flip on the lights and make my way into the kitchen. I grab the
ingredients to make him a grilled cheese and I start cooking while he walks
around slowly, taking everything in. He touches things, opens drawers,
cabinets. Maybe he’s taking inventory for the next time he decides to break
in. Or maybe his curiosity is a cover for his fear.
I’m plating his food when he finally speaks up. “How do you know who
I am if you didn’t know I existed?”