My Cherie Amour (Fully Posted)

Chapter 12

Cherie put all of the emotions she felt after meeting Lewis Draper into music. Her performance at Sarah's was such that Calvin admitted she was "righteous" on a full drum kit. And when she pulled out her tricks on percussion, all the male musicians who came in expecting a lightweight had to eat their words. The recognition felt good.

Still, it didn't compensate for Blaise ignoring her the whole time, and it definitely didn't make up for him leaving her stranded just before midnight. A less resourceful person might've panicked.

But hurt as she was, Cherie took it in stride.

The next day saw her wake up in a room at the only motel in Lowridge, equipped only with the outfit she'd worn there and clothing from the building's Lost and Found. After an unpleasantly cold shower, she dressed and took a good, long look in the mirror.

Like many people, Cherie had her insecurities. She frequently worried that she was too thin or otherwise lacking in some way. Adopting an appraiser's eye, she dragged calloused fingers across the planes of her face, looped those same hands through her curls, and turned to and fro to inspect her frame. Her body was strong. It showed the signs of hard work. She was confident in that.

She didn't think it put her in the same category as Blaise's lovers, though.

Karina Hayworth-Draper, for instance, had been a famous beauty, her image spreading far beyond the arts to popular magazines. Laurencia Zavala was similarly celebrated. Not once had Cherie expected Blaise to think of her in the same light. And yet, she wondered with longing how she'd feel if he said he desired her.

Stepping away from the mirror, she shook her head. "He's in a relationship," she said, and repeated the words like a mantra. This devolved into mild wallowing as she contemplated her plight. Cherie hadn't been in a relationship in more than a few years, and she was batting a thousand with unavailable men, whose addiction, unresolved prior romance, and high-octane career successively took precedence over her.

It seemed a bit unfair that her first major crush since those heartbreaks was on a widower with monumental grief. A widower who, the record would show, hadn't spoken to her in half a day, left her to figure out her night's lodging in an unfamiliar town, and already had a girlfriend.

A strong knock on the room's door interrupted these thoughts.

"Who is it?" she called and instinctively checked the deadbolt.

"It's me," Blaise said from the other side of the wall. "Can we talk?"

Moving with speed to admit him, Cherie wondered what she was in for. Her jaw dropped shortly thereafter.

"Hi," he said wearily.

She was stunned. She was used to Blaise looking beyond put together, but with his eyes bloodshot and an alcohol scent mixed up with his cologne, he now seemed anything but.

"Come in," she said. Without waiting for him to do so, she gently tugged him forward and closed the door.

Blaise obeyed without question when she told him to sit.

"I'll ring for some water," she said. "Have you slept? Eaten? Did you drive?"

"Too many questions," he said. "Yes, I slept at Cal's house. Had plenty of water and food there. It's not far from here, so I walked." He patted the bed space beside him. "Please sit next to me, sugar."

Despite her urge to put distance between them, Cherie sat and let him take her hand.

"Kenny came over this morning," he went on. "He said you asked him to let me know where you were if he figured out where I went. I'm sorry I left you hanging."

"It's okay. I'm fine." She forced a smile. "See?"

"I do see. Every man within a twenty-mile radius can see."

Heat rose to Cherie's face.

Blaise sighed. "I shouldn't have said that. I keep messing things up with you." He patted her hand. "There's a reason I don't visit here often. It never ends well."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"Simple. I'm wrapping this up. I'll stop by the community center to catch my mother and sister at work, hang out long enough to make them happy, then go to the hospital where I'll try to have a civil conversation with my father. But this time, I need you to stay behind."

"Okay," Cherie said. Inexplicable goosebumps had risen on her skin, and something inside of her wanted to run.

"We're driving back to Port Matthews tonight. Is that cool?"

"Of course."

He nodded and stood to his feet. "Mind if I get ready for my visits here?"

Cherie sort of minded, but she said, "Go ahead. Do what you have to do."

"Thanks. It won't take long, and when we get home, there's something I want to show you."

***

Blaise went quiet again on their trip back to Port Matthews, not acknowledging by word or deed what happened in his hometown—with the exception of his decision to have her take the wheel. As soon as they arrived within the city limits, though, he asked to switch places again.

They drove for much longer than Cherie anticipated, and when Blaise finally stopped, the sky showed nothing but the cloud-obscured moon above.

Cherie tried not to think the worst when Blaise requested that she trail him through the darkness, but both outside and within doors she was hard-pressed to see. While she seriously doubted that she was unsafe, his behavior wasn't encouraging.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked when they finally entered a room that had lights.

"I'm good, thank you," she said. Her eyes darted around what appeared to be a library with rather luxurious furnishings. "You'll take me home after this, won't you?"

"Anxious to leave me already?"

"Just asking."

"Right," Blaise said, clearly not believing her. "I will, now stop clutching your coat like it's a blanket and follow me."

"Excuse you?"

"Please, honey?"

Sighing, she did as he asked, and through the lavish, mostly black and gold room, they went. Their ultimate destination remained a mystery until they rounded a corner. Black double doors were positioned at the far end of a hall. Wordlessly, Blaise opened and entered the doors, flipped a switch, and waved her inside.

Cherie was soon greeted with what looked like an art gallery.

"Behold my private collection," he said in a stark monotone.

Lips parted, she looked without rushing at oil paintings of fashionable ladies, passionate lovers, and religious scenes. Each one jumped at her with their creator's liveliness.

"These are all Karina's," she said at last. Although the scrawled signatures on each painting were unintelligible, she knew she was correct.

"Yes," Blaise confirmed. "These are her final pieces. You're the first person besides me and the maintenance staff to come here."

"Wow," Cherie said. "They're so beautiful."

He nodded. "They certainly are. That's what makes this sad."

"Because she can't present them?"

"Yes, and because I won't—can't—allow the world into this place to see them."

🌹