Maybe he wanted to spare me the pain he knew it would cause me. Or, maybe like me, he just wanted to hold on to what wasgoodand fleeting.
I turn away from the window, take a seat on my couch, and lie down. The cushions are a little too soft and sunken in, but I’m so tired, I don’t care.
This place isn’t perfect, but it’s mine.
It’s mine.
And as I close my eyes, I let the exhaustion of the last week hit me, and breathe out a sigh of relief.
Because for the first time in a long time, I finally feel like I’m home.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Cameron
Four months later…
I lift my scarf to cover more of my face to shield it from the wind. It’s freezing today and smells like it’s going to snow. As I walk along the sidewalk, I dump my now-cold hot chocolate into the trash. There’s an art festival going on just a few blocks away. Not sure why I’m even going, considering I may end up with frostbite, but it’s something to do, I guess. I wouldn’t hate having more art to hang in my apartment. That’s been my new thing lately. Collecting art pieces to hang in my apartment, wanting it to feel moreme. More like home. I’d considered moving, but I knew no matter where I went it wouldn’t feel like home unlessI worked on it. So, instead of going through all the trouble of moving my things, I figured it’s easier to become a hoarder.
So far it’s working out well, even though my apartment looks like an art gallery threw up in it. Nothing matches, but it’s all pieces I like, that have spoken to me one way or another.
As I get closer, music gets louder, and the smell of fried food lingers in the air, causing my stomach to growl. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast this morning and it’s closer to dinner than lunch at this point.
I reach the corner and stop with the group of people to wait for the walking sign to turn on for us to cross. I get a few seconds of warmth, stuck between all these people. When the light changes, we hurry across the street, some going down the sidewalk while others, including myself, take the trail into the park where the festival is going on.
There are food trucks and a stage with a band, while vendors are set up around the perimeter, selling all sorts of stuff. There are paintings, glass blowings, wreaths, crochet stuffies, clothing… so many things. It’s amazing what you can find to do in New York if you just think outside the box a little.
The line for fried dough is long, but I head that way first, really wanting some. I imagine this place will get much busier and the lines will get longer once the after-work crowd shows up. I doom-scroll while I wait in line, and after twenty minutes, I make it to the window and order.
With a fried dough covered in powdered sugar, I make my way around to check out the vendors. I tend to be drawn to paintings, but nothing I’ve seen so far is speaking to me. I did see a really pretty wind chime, but I find the noise to be a little creepy—thanks to all the horror movies.
I come upon a cart full of stained glass pieces and fall in love with one of a camera. It’s small, and easy enough to carry in the backpack I have for just that reason. I manage to pay for it andget it into my bag, all while not dropping my food, but decide I should finish eating it if I’m going to keep shopping. I don’t want to ruin art with sugar and I don’t want to waste my food. This is so freaking good.
When I’m done eating, I keep walking around and stop at a cart full of black and white photography. There are so many beautiful pieces showcased, all from around New York. Not only the architecture but people too. However, there is one print that sticks out to me and I have to have it.
“How much is this one?” I ask, pointing to the one of the building I told Austen to buy. So weird that this person would have photographedthatbuilding, but he caught it in such a way that it’s eye-catching. It looks almost sad.
“Ten.”
I pull a ten from my wallet and hand it over, before putting the photograph in my backpack. I turn to keep browsing, happy I’m finding so many amazing things, when I bump right into someone.
“I’m so sorry—” I put my hand on their shoulder to steady them, and when they turn to look at me, the air is punched from my lungs.
“Cameron?”
Austen stands in front of me, cheeks red from the cold, his blue eyes as bright as ever. They always were so much brighter out in the natural light.
“Holy shit,” I mutter before a smile lights up my face. “Hey.”
“Hi,” he responds.
“Sorry, I uh…” I shake my head, in disbelief over him being here and that I literally bumped into him. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“There are a lot of people here.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty busy today.”
“You come to these often?”
