He appeared to be painting something on the window. Talia stepped farther onto the sidewalk to get a better view. It was a circle, and appeared to be some kind of design. She walked a little more, trying to see around him. All she could tell was that it was black and white. Just one more step…
She stumbled off the sidewalk, reached out, and banged her hand on a car, narrowly escaping falling onto the snowy street.
Cruz turned her way. "You okay?"
"Couldn't be better." She straightened herself. Why had she been so interested in what he was doing? Now she'd have a sore hand for the rest of the day.
He nodded and went back to his painting. Since they'd already engaged in conversation, she decided to go over and have a closer look.
"What are you painting?" she asked.
He removed the dust mask, letting it hang down over his leather jacket. "A yin-yang."
"Yin-yang?" She flashed back to a conversation she'd had at her old church. One of the ushers had told her that was a sign of the devil.
"Yeah." He flicked his head, getting some hair out of his eyes.
"You can't do that," she exclaimed.
Cruz paused, staring at her. "I think I am."
"No, you can't. Not next to a church."
"What does that have to do with anything?" He set the brush into a paint can and wiped his forehead.
Talia's mind spun. What would happen to her dad's reputation? People might not even want to go to their church with that symbol next door. What if people thought she and her dad approved of it?
Cruz arched a brow. "Well?"
Her stomach twisted in knots. What would her dad think when he saw it? He'd been through more than enough recently with the passing of her mom. It might just do him in.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyebrows coming together.
"I… I…" She paused, not wanting to say anything offensive. No matter what she said, it would come out sounding like she was accusing him of devil worship. "Tell me about the symbol."
He leaned against the wall. "It's all about peace and balance. See how the two sides are the same, but opposite?"
"Peace?" Talia tilted her head, studying it. Maybe she'd heard wrong about it. Peace was definitely a good thing, and something she needed more of in her life.
"Yeah. Sure you're all right? You look like you're gonna be sick."
"No, I'm okay." Here he was, checking on her, and all she could do was think about her father, her church, even her hurt hand. She'd interrupted long enough. Stared long enough. It wouldn't hurt to offer some good will before parting. "Your work is beautiful, by the way." It wasn't a lie. Satanic or harmonic, the work was amazing. The guy had talent.
She turned around and headed to the car to get a box of dust masks, no longer annoyed by the inconvenience of needing to buy more masks.
Eleven
Talia carried another large garbage bag out to the rusty, moss-covered dumpster by the side of the building. It was crazy how much junk there was inside one old church. She slammed the lid and then went back inside, ready to fill another bag.
Her dad stepped out of the sanctuary, wiping some dust from his eyes.
"Are you sure you don't want a dust mask?" she asked.
"It might not be a bad idea. You put them in the closet?"
"On the right." She turned and headed back toward the classroom. "Wait."
"Yes, honey?"
"What do you know about the yin-yang symbol?"
"Why do you ask?"
She didn't want to stress him out unnecessarily by telling him Cruz was painting one. "Peter Banefuller said they were a sign of the devil."
"The usher from our old church?" he asked, wrinkling his forehead.
Talia nodded.
He snickered. "Peter thinks everything is satanic. Have you ever suggested meeting him anywhere?"
"Can't say that I have."
"Suggest a coffee shop, and he won't do that because coffee is a drug, and therefore evil. Try an ice cream place, and that's gluttonous. Start naming off other stores, and he has reasons why they're just as bad."
"So, you don't think anything is wrong with the symbol?"
"My understanding is that its meaning is all about good will and appreciating the differences of others." He gave her a knowing look. "Most anything can be twisted to mean something else. And there are extremists like Peter Banefuller who are scared of anything that isn't specifically from the Bible. He even disagrees with our use of musical instruments because there are no instructions to use them in the New Testament. I pity him, actually. To live in a perpetual state of fear like that."
"So… you're okay if Cruz paints a yin-yang on the outside of his window?"
"Sure. Is he planning on it?"
"He's already done it." Relief flooded through her. She was glad she hadn't made a big deal about the painting with Cruz.
"I'm curious to see it. Did he do a good job?"
"Yeah, he's actually quite talented."
"I'll have to stop by before I leave for the night. Speaking of which, it's starting to get late. Do you want to make dinner, or should I?"
"Isn't it my turn?" she asked. "I'll head home soon. Maybe I'll walk. I could use some fresh air."
"You take the car. I could use some exercise myself."
Talia shook her head. "You're getting enough in there." She gestured toward the sanctuary.
"You could be right. See you at home."
She put her dust mask on the counter that opened up to the kitchen so she could use it again the next day. She went outside and glanced over at the tattoo shop. Cruz wasn't outside, and it looked dark inside his building. Unless that was just the way the old windows made it seem.
Talia went over to the shop and studied the symbol. He'd added small details to make it unique. She stepped closer to see. A small rose sat in each of the smaller circles. Little triangles lined the other edges. Thorns?
There were a lot of small details like that all around the outer edge of the circle as well, and the colors reversed on each side. It was obvious that Cruz had put a lot of thought and care into the painting. It was a whole new side of him. And she couldn't help admiring it.
A cold breeze blew by, giving her the chills. Talia pulled her jacket tight, spun around, and headed toward her neighborhood. As she walked quickly, trying to stay warm, she thought about Cruz and tried to make sense of him.
For one thing, it wasn't like her dad to take to someone like that, but maybe it was just because they were new to town and he wanted friends. But even so, it still struck her as odd. Yes, her dad was friendly—he pretty much had to be, given his job—but his closest friends were usually church staff, not people her age.
Once inside the house, Talia went straight to her room and put on track pants and a hoodie. It was nice to have more clothes now that the last truckload of their stuff had finally arrived. Though after spending all day on the church, she didn't even want to think about unpacking.
She found some stuff in the freezer to throw together and stick in the oven. As much as it would have been nice to kick back on the couch, all the new boxes screamed at her for attention. With her muscles aching, she went into the dining room and began unpacking.
The house started to smell like roasted chicken and spices. Her mouth watered as she checked the food. Judging by the core temperature, she had at least forty-five more minutes. Relax or unpack? Guilt poked at her, so she decided to unpack, but she would do that in her room where she could sit on her bed while she emptied boxes.
Her hair kept falling into her face, so she found a pink hair tie on her dresser and pulled it back into a ponytail. She stared at the boxes, trying to figure out which one to start with. The one marked books sounded nice. She loved reading, so it would relax her—to some degree—to place those on her empty shelf.
Putting those away went a lot slower than she'd anticipated, but that shouldn't have surprised her. Each title made her think of its contents, and along with t
hat, what had been going on in her life when she'd read it.
She held up one, a touching story about a girl who'd been turned into a paraplegic by a drunk driver. Her mom had given it to Talia one time when she was feeling sorry for herself over something she couldn't even recall now. It had worked. Many times since reading that story, Talia would think of the girl and realize how small her own problems were and how much she had to be grateful for.
She flipped through the pages, looking at the author as a teenager doing cheerleading routines. Then images of the crash—it was amazing anyone had survived. But the author had, and she took a horrible situation and used to it help and inspire others.
Talia put the book back, feeling petty. She was getting so bent out of shape over Cruz. It wasn't as though he was causing any real problems. Sighing, she went over to the window and watched tiny flakes fall outside.
"What would you tell me, Mom?" she whispered.
The answer wasn't any big mystery. Whenever someone got on her nerves, her mom had always said the answer was to do nice things for that person. Talia had always hated that advice, but it usually worked. Except for one jerk, everyone else had turned around and started being kinder after Talia focused on good deeds. And Cruz wasn't like the jerk in her past, so it was possible that if she could move past her feelings and just be friendly—cordial, even—it might help.
Neither of them was going anywhere, so they'd both be better off if they could get along.
She imagined her mom standing there with her. Part of Talia wished she'd taken more of an interest in guys when her mom was alive. Now that she was gone, she had no motherly advice to draw from when it came to Cruz.
"Is being generous enough?" she asked. "And why can't I stop thinking about him?"
A voice not her own spoke in her mind. Focus on the good in him.
She sighed. That might be harder than some random acts of kindness. Or would it? Her dad certainly saw something in Cruz. And the fact that he wouldn't leave her thoughts had to mean something. She closed her eyes and pictured him.
Cruz was more than just his tattoos. The muscles. His ruggedly handsome face. He cared about his family. Despite the town giving him grief over his dream, he stayed because of his dad. He had a sense of humor, too. That showed even through his anger—and honestly, she couldn't hold that against him.
Her personal heartache of losing her mom had brought out a side of her she didn't particularly like. She'd never felt such hostility before. And if she was being honest with herself, she was probably misplacing it on Cruz. He wasn't the one who had killed her mom.
"What would you tell me?" she whispered.
Stop pushing him away because you're afraid to be hurt. I was taken from you too soon, but you can't hide from others because of that.
Talia continued watching the snow come down. She shivered and wrapped a soft blanket around her. Watching flakes dance down had been something she and her mom had loved doing every time it snowed. Talia's vision went blurry, remembering—realizing they would never again get such simple pleasure together. Or anything else, for that matter.
"I wish I could give you one last hug," she whispered. "Or better yet, go back in time and tell you to stay home that day."
She slumped onto the floor and sobbed.
Twelve
Cruz dumped more junk onto the pile outside of the shop's door. He'd spent the last few days working feverishly on the old hair salon. Because of helping out with Jake's shop during the days, he'd done most of the work at his shop at night. This was the first time he'd worked on it in the daylight.
One good thing about being so busy was that it distracted him from his cigarette cravings. Most of the time, anyway. He'd given in a few times, but overall, he was doing much better.
He glanced around the shop. There hadn't been nearly as many antiques or collectibles as he'd hoped. Most of it was just garbage. Half-empty, rusted styling products, brushes with hair still stuck between the bristles, cracked mirrors, and stuff like that.
The only thing that might have any value were the old magazines, but even so, he had his doubts. He'd set them aside, but he had a feeling he'd have to hang onto those for another twenty years before anyone had any interest. If there was room somewhere in the back, he'd do it. Or if he could buy a big enough house, he could store some things.
That reminded him. He needed to call Sullivan to see if he would help him find a house. There was no way he would give any business to Laura. Not after what she'd pulled with the church building. He'd rather Sullivan get the cut.
Cruz pulled out his phone, found Sullivan's number, and sent him a quick text asking if he was available. Then he went inside to find a garbage bag. There was a dumpster around the back of the building.
He stared at a stack of old garbage bags, debating whether or not to try them. Twenty year old plastic could easily break, but on the other hand, maybe it would hold up. There was only one way to find out. He grabbed one and went outside, filling it about halfway. Better to have a few items spill all over than a bagful.
Hurrying to the dumpster, he let out a sigh of relief when he made it with the plastic intact. He opened the dumpster lid. A horrible smell smacked him in the face. Gagging, he threw the bag in. He glanced inside and saw what looked like a dead opossum. Eyes watering, he slammed the lid shut. It smelled more like a whole family of them—distant cousins included—had climbed in there to pass away.
Cruz went inside the shop to get more bags and grabbed his dust mask. He doubted it would do much to help with the odor, but it had to be better than nothing. Eight trips back and forth to the dumpster later, he took off the mask and breathed in the fresh air heavily, trying to get rid of the horrible scent that lingered in his nasal passage.
He turned for the door to go inside and see if he could blow his nose and get rid of the stench that way, but he froze when out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone walking his way. A quick glance told him it was Talia. There was no denying her walk. It was so… feminine. He braced himself. She'd probably seen his mountain of trash and was coming over to chew him out.
After what he'd just dealt with when throwing out the waste, whatever she had to throw out would be nothing. In fact, let her try to get to him. He wasn't having any of it—not today.
Cruz stared at her, leaned against the window, and stuck his thumbs through his belt loops.
She didn't make eye contact as she strolled toward him. It took him a moment to realize her expression lacked the typical fire he was used to seeing. That threw him more than her impending tirade. He wasn't going to let his guard down, though.
"What's up, yo?" He kept his gaze on her, waiting for her to acknowledge him.
Talia stopped a few feet from him, staring at her shiny turquoise pumps.
He tried to figure out what she was doing there and to prepare himself for whatever she might conjure up. She kept her gaze away from him.
Talia bit her lower lip and looked into his eyes. "I… I think maybe we need to start over."
"What?" he asked.
She pursed her lips and then looked into his eyes. Her blue-greens were gorgeous. Especially when they were that wide. She seemed… almost vulnerable. "We got off on the wrong foot. I have to admit I didn't want to understand why you were so upset about the church building. My dad and I have had such a hard time with my mom's passing that it means a lot to us. I was overly offended by you trying to talk us out of keeping it."
Cruz stared at her, unsure how to deal with this new Talia. He would almost be more comfortable with her yelling at him. That he could handle.
She held his eye contact. "So, I'm sorry, Cruz. I was unfair to you."
It must have taken a lot of guts for her to come over to him and say that. He shrugged. "It's no big deal."
"No big deal? I—"
"Don't worry about it. It's fine."
"No, it's not." Her eyes looked misty. "Will you just accept my apology?"
He shifted
his weight from one foot to the other and slid his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. Thanks. Just know that I wouldn't do anything to intentionally upset you or your dad, especially now that I've gotten to know you guys. I just want to run my business. I've waited a long time for this. And you know, Bobby was right. Our two buildings being restored, it could be the beginning of this part of town coming back to life."
"True," she said, her beautiful smile showing again. "Maybe they'd actually plow the street."
"Dude, that would rock. I hate parking three blocks away."
She arched a brow, but said nothing about him calling her dude. "That would be nice. I hate driving on these icy streets. I'm always afraid I'm going to slide off the road."
Several cars drove by, stopping in front of the church.
"What's going on?" Cruz asked, trying to see around her. Almost no one ever came down that road.
"A congregation from across town offered to help us out. Apparently, they just heard about us restoring the building and a group of their members volunteered."
Three to four people got out of each vehicle, each carrying tools or other equipment.
"I'd say you got some help."
"Do you recognize any of them?" she asked. "Are they nice? We haven't met them, and I feel a little… nervous about strangers working on our building. Dad's okay with it, though." She shrugged.
"Yeah, I know most of them. The others I recognize."
She stared into his eyes. "You think they'll be careful?"
"More than likely, yeah. Were you this nervous about me and my brothers the other day?"
Talia shook her head.
"So, you trust me more than those churchgoers?" Cruz arched a brow.
"You mind going over there with me to meet them? Just make sure they're okay."
She'd successfully avoided his question. He held in a chuckle. "Sure. Just let me lock up." He dug out the key and locked the front door—though someone would probably do him a favor by taking the stuff.
They walked over, and Talia stayed close to him. It was odd that she was worried about the help.
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