Painted Over
Page 1
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Table of Contents
Cover
Synopsis
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bella Books
Synopsis
Is the unexpected reunion of estranged friends just another still life capturing a moment in time? Or could it be the beginning brushstrokes of a romantic masterpiece?
Back in the day, Paige and Ria were the best of friends. As they grew, they grew closer, always there for each other, even as Paige concentrated on literature and art while Ria cut a swath through every soccer field—and most of the cheerleaders. But something shocking happened during their senior year of college that ended their friendship. Big time.
In the years that follow, Paige becomes a successful artist and Ria a star soccer player. A chance meeting with Ria after all this time has Paige wondering if it’s finally time to forgive and forget. As the two become cautiously reacquainted, the possibility of a true reconciliation is complicated by the arrival of glamorous gallery owner, Cara, who definitely wants Paige’s work…and maybe something more. Then there’s the return of Ria’s gorgeous ex, Elena, who has a mind-blowing surprise for Paige.
Copyright © 2019 by Sofi Keren
Bella Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 10543
Tallahassee, FL 32302
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
First Bella Books Edition 2019
eBook released 2019
Editor: Ann Roberts
Cover Designer: Sandy Knowles
ISBN: 978-1-64247-066-6
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
About the Author
Sofi Keren lives in upstate New York, where she chases waterfalls, writes stories, and makes long to-do lists that she will never finish. Originally from Indianapolis, she embraces her nostalgia by setting many of her stories there. Painted Over is her debut novel.
Acknowledgments
When I was a little kid, I said I was going to write books when I grew up. My family never doubted that for a minute, even if sometimes I did. Thank you to my parents, my sisters, and your dudes, who have always loved and accepted me for who I am. I know how lucky I am to have you. Your support, encouragement, and terrible dad jokes mean the world to me.
Stephanie, my writing partner in crime, thank you for believing in me for the last many years and reading all my stories, some much better than others. Sarah, so much love to you for all your pep talks and support while I went through the writer life cycle of loving-hating-loving my work.
Melissa and Chris, thank you for always being in my corner. MaryAnna, my self-appointed PR person and constant cheerleader, you are a wonderful human being. Stacey, Jeremy, Kristin, Britnee, I’m so fortunate to have had the opportunity to work with you. Sorry I up and moved away but we’ll always have Slack. Kelly, and Bethany, you’ve been lifesavers to me and I love you for it. Carmen, Phyllis, and Sue, I miss you like hell but please do not save me any squash this year. Erin and Nick, I love you and miss your faces. Greg, you better come visit me. Thank you to my writing groups for making me a better writer and supporting me on this crazy path. To all my amazing friends who give me so much love and support, I’m so fortunate to have you in my life and you’re all very attractive. Thank you for letting me be my total weirdo self with you.
Thank you to my editor, Ann Roberts, for all your thoughtful feedback. This book is light years ahead of its early self because of you. Thank you to Jessica and all of the staff at Bella Books for believing in me and this book.
Thank you to you, the person reading these words right now. I’m honored to have your eyes on these pages. Thank you for spending your time with me.
Dedication
To Indianapolis, the city I love no matter
where I lay my head.
Chapter One
Paige saw the light turn yellow, but she knew she could make it through. She willed the wheels of her bike to turn faster. Speeding through the intersection, legs pumping, she just avoided a Kia making a last-minute left turn.
“Damn cyclists! Watch where you’re going!” a man’s voice boomed as the Kia sped off. Paige simply raised her middle finger in his general direction and kept pedaling. After all, technically the right of way had been hers. Her blond ponytail levitated behind her as the breeze pushed lightly against her momentum. Finally, a beautiful day. She’d been waiting for April’s gray gloominess to pass and finally May had officially kicked it to the curb.
She knew she should be in her studio, working on the commissioned pieces that would pay her rent for the next few months, but there was no way she could be inside when the weather was so perfect. She wasn’t alone. Along Mass Ave all the restaurants with outdoor seating were overflowing. Everyone in Indianapolis must be playing hooky from work today. She sat upright on her seat, enjoying the feel of sunshine on her shoulders.
Looking around her at the city come alive, she took her eyes off the road for just a moment. But it was long enough for her front wheel to catch in a giant pothole that seemed to appear out of nowhere. The bike wobbled dangerously beneath her.
“Fucking hell!” she yelled on her way down.
Sprawled on the pavement, she assessed the damage part by part. As far as she could tell, she was all right, though her heart was beating like a hummingbird’s wings. There was a big dirty smudge on her favorite jeans, but she seemed otherwise unscathed. Her bike fared worse; its tire clearly flat, the rim bent. Damn it. Inconvenient, but at least it was fixable. And of course today of all days she didn’t have her patch kit with her.
Paige stood and stretched, waving away the well-meaning onlookers. Why were there always witnesses whenever she did something embarrassing? She could walk the bike home, but that would take forever. It was a simple repair really, and there was one other option. The CycleWorthy bike shop was only a cou
ple blocks away. She hesitated. She hadn’t been there in forever, with good reason. But thinking of Mr. Worth, she smiled. It wasn’t his fault she’d exiled herself from the family. She missed him, and surely he would be happy to see her. She headed toward the shop.
The front door of CycleWorthy was unlocked, but no one seemed to be around. Typical, she thought. Mr. Worth was always leaving the front room and all its gear unattended while he worked on bikes in the back. She admired his trusting nature, but she worried that someone would take advantage of it someday. Indianapolis wasn’t New York, but it wasn’t a small town either.
Wheels and bike frames of all styles hung on the walls and from the ceiling. Paige found herself ogling the brightly colored ones. She’d always been tempted to choose her bike parts based on looks over function. She liked to believe that was because she was an artist, not because she was a magpie, attracted to bright and shiny objects.
Paige leaned her wounded bike carefully against the counter and thumbed through one of the many cycling magazines stacked up on it. After waiting a few minutes, she tapped the bell sitting next to the register.
She heard the rustle as someone emerged from the back room.
“What do you think?” she asked without looking up from her article. “Should I ride my bike across Siberia like this lady?”
“I don’t know. It sounds pretty cold to me,” a woman’s voice replied.
Paige dropped the magazine and looked up. The woman stood there grinning, a mischievous smile playing across her lips, her golden brown eyes twinkling. A striped racer-back tank top showed off her muscled arms, sculpted from years of athletics. Her dark hair stood up in that trademark faux-mohawk of hers. Paige saw reflections in her features of both her Filipina mother and her farm-bred Iowan father. She was a little older now, her features a little less soft, but Paige still lost her breath at the sight of her.
“Ria,” Paige said, her voice scratchy like she’d nearly lost it. She coughed. “What are you… I mean, you’re home. I hadn’t heard.”
“I just got in yesterday. Thought I’d come into the shop today to hang out with Dad. He just ran out to get coffee.”
As if on cue, the door chimed and Henry Worth pushed his way in, balancing two very large plastic-capped cups of coffee in his hands. He sported a scruffy beard laced through with gray that was new since she’d seen him last. “Paige! What a treat!”
“Hey, Mr. Worth,” she said shyly.
“Mr. Worth?” He laughed. “When did you stop calling me Henry?”
“Sorry, Henry.”
“So, two of my favorite ladies in one place—my star athlete and our very own local Van Gogh . To what do I owe the honor?”
“The fact that they still haven’t paved over all those potholes on Mass Ave yet, unfortunately.”
“Well, whatever the reason, it’s good to see you. Now let’s take a look.” Setting the coffee on the counter, he knelt down to inspect the offending tire. “Oh yeah, it really bit you. All right, bring it on back and Ria will get you taken care of.”
“Oh I will, will I?”
“I know you can’t be that rusty, Ria. You may spend most of your time kicking soccer balls around, but I know I taught you a thing or two about the family business.”
“You mean writing romance novels? I’m afraid I just don’t have the talent.”
He laughed. “I think your mother has enough writing talent for the whole family. I’ll stick to my bike arts and parts. Now let’s get Paige fixed up.”
“Oh, you really don’t have to,” Paige interjected. “If I can borrow some tools I can do it myself, no problem.”
“It’s no problem at all,” Ria said. “I’ve got you.” She came around to Paige’s side of the counter. Paige handed off the bike, and as she did, Ria’s fingers brushed across her hand. Paige’s heart thumped and she immediately told herself to knock it off. They’d been friends since they were kids. And then they weren’t. There was nothing to get so undone about. But she couldn’t help but wonder, was that an accident? Not that it mattered. All that was in the past, buried for years.
Ria rolled the bike behind the counter and removed the offending wheel and then pulled off the tire. Placing the wheel on a truing stand, she checked the spokes and tightened them where necessary. Paige stood awkwardly off to one side and watched.
“So, how’s everything?”
“Oh,” Ria replied, “always interesting. I hear things are going well for you.”
“You do?”
“Oh yeah, you know Mom. She keeps track of everything. Sends me links when there are articles about you in the paper. I think she has a Google Alert set on your name.”
Paige laughed. “Sounds like your mom. How is she doing?”
“She’s great. Just published another book. Hold on a sec. Dad, can you toss me a new tube?”
Once satisfied that the wheel was straight and steady, Ria expertly slid on the tube, replaced the tire, and inflated it to the right pressure. She always made everything look so easy.
Henry walked over to take a look and gave an approving smile. “She’s still got it.”
“Thanks, Dad. Glad to know I still have a backup if this soccer thing doesn’t work out.”
“You laugh, but you know someday I’m going to retire.”
“Sure you are, Dad, sure you are.”
He wheeled the bike back around to the front. “All fixed up and almost as good as new.”
Paige dug her wallet out of her bag and started to open it, but Henry just laughed and held up his hand. “Oh, please. Your money is no good here.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Paige protested, shifting uncomfortably.
“Don’t be silly,” Henry insisted. “You know we do repairs for the family all the time. And you might not be blood but you’re certainly family.”
“Speaking of family,” he continued, “we’re having a big get-together tomorrow night. I’m so glad you wandered in so I could invite you. It’ll give you and Ria a chance to catch up, since she’s never home.”
“Daaaaaad,” Ria protested. “You know it’s not that I don’t want to come home.”
“I know. I’m only kidding.” He gave Ria a quick kiss on the head. “Paige, will you join us? I know Mila would love to see you, not to mention the rest of the family.”
“Oh I don’t know,” Paige said, caught by surprise. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“Since when have you been an intruder?” He laughed. “We’ve known each other since before I had any of this glorious gray hair. You probably still have a key somewhere. You know that our house is your house.”
Paige looked up at Ria, trying to read her expression, but as usual, Ria kept her thoughts to herself.
After what seemed like forever, but was probably only a moment, Ria added, “Please come. It’s been a long time.”
How long had it been now? Twelve, maybe thirteen years? And if it hadn’t been for the flat tire, it could have been forever. Paige hadn’t realized until now just how much she’d missed the family. Maybe it was a sign that it was time to move on, to finally let it go. Carrying around all that ancient hurt and anger wasn’t helping anyone, and if Ria could get past it, then maybe so could she.
Chapter Two
“Maybe I could pretend to be sick,” Paige said to her roommate, Brandon, who was perched on a stool next to her at the kitchen counter. “Food poisoning is always a good excuse. It comes on quickly so there wouldn’t be any surprise that I seemed fine yesterday. Or a migraine maybe?”
Brandon raised one eyebrow at her and continued eating his lunch without comment.
“Okay, okay, I know that’s stupid. Maybe I could just go for an hour and then sneak out the back? Do an Irish goodbye?”
“As a person of Irish descent, I’m extremely offended that you think that’s how we leave each other, just sneaking out the back without a word.”
“I am so sorry, Brandon. Please share my apologies with your ancestor
s.”
“Thank you. So why is it that you can’t just go and be social? What’s the big deal about this again?”
“It’s a long story. We had…kind of a falling out in college, and we haven’t spoken since. But before that we were basically inseparable since we were little.”
“I see. Well that makes sense. You should definitely hold a grudge over some old fight from a million years ago instead of making up with your childhood friend. That sounds like a good life choice.”
Paige scowled. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“Isn’t it always? What’s this girl’s name again?”
“Ria. I’ve talked about her before, I’m sure. She plays soccer. Like, World Cup-level soccer.”
Brandon spun around on his stool. “Hold up. Excuse me, are you talking about Pride-of-Indianapolis soccer star Ria? Even I know who that is and I hate sports. And so do you, come to think of it.”
“Yeah, that Ria.”
He hooted. “Well that explains a lot.”
“It does?”
“Um. Yes. Now I get why you’re always watching soccer games on your laptop. Even the ones no one cares about because, let’s just be honest, the only ones worth watching are the World Cup and maybe the Olympics.”
“That’s not true!” She swatted at him. “It’s a good game! I played when I was little, you know. I just like watching it.”
“Uh huh. Sure. Now it all makes sense. You are such a stalker.” He took a bite of the massive sandwich in front of him.
“It’s not stalking if the games are streaming on the internet. They’re public!”
He laughed. “A little defensive, are we?”
“You know, you wouldn’t have to eat so much if you worked out less. You’d cut your grocery bill in half. And your T-shirts wouldn’t be so damn tight.”
“My T-shirts are just the right amount of tight. And don’t change the subject.”