Dreaming in Color by Cameron Dane (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

game, and they never looked back.” Colin's smile altered from exuberant to wistful. “From what I can understand in these journals, Beatrice truly was Stewart's partner in every way. She believed in him and encouraged him, and in turn, he sought her advice regularly and she gave it to him openly, never fearing he would dismiss her thoughts and opinions because she was a woman.” Opening the journal to the back third, Colin smoothed his hands over the text. “I'm only up to the part where Stewart has finally hit it big with taking over a third huge operation that was mismanaged, and he has asked Beatrice once again to describe her dream house, because he's going to build it for her, in Fiji, using the profits he's going to earn from this next venture.” Colin brushed his hand along the dusty wall and floor, and Marek figured the man somehow felt the house again. “They haven't actually broken ground on the land for the house yet, at the point where I stopped reading.”

“So it's not exactly the story of wealthy newlyweds that floats around Fiji, but the gist of it is in fact quite close.”

“People often like to leave the part out about the hard work that comes first in anything.” Colin picked up the painting of the house and handed it to Marek. “Once Beatrice described the house, Stewart painted this rudimentary likeness of what she envisioned, added what he wanted as his touches, and scrawled a note on the back.” He tapped the edge of the canvas. “Take a look.”

Marek turned the small painting to its back side and grabbed the lantern so he could read the faded words.

This will be yours by our next wedding anniversary. I promise you. You gave me your heart, and I give you your dream. One fancy red door included. My love forever, Stewart.

Looking up after reading, Marek said, “That's nice.”

Colin's face suddenly scrunched in puzzlement, and he grabbed the picture out of Marek's hand. He studied the painting intently, and his finger rubbed back and forth over the patch of red. “A red door, a red door, a red door.” Suddenly, Colin froze. “Oh my God.” He looked up, and it was like a whole new level of understanding and awareness deepened his gaze. “We talked about this once. You wanted a red door too.”

Oh no.

“I remember now,” Colin went on. “Son of a bitch. I can't believe I forgot. I can't believe it didn't come back to me the first time I saw you again.” Colin held the picture up and tapped his finger against the small red rectangle that represented the door. “Remember that day?”

I remember every detail like it was yesterday. I can never forget.

As Colin shared his half of the memory of that tiny, insignificant, best conversation in Marek's whole teenage life, Marek closed his eyes and relived it…

* * * * *

“Bye.” Peter Sumter shook Marek's hand. “Thanks again for everything. You have a great evening.” Marek stood on the stoop of the Sumters' house with Peter just over the threshold.

“I will.” Marek dipped his head, and his overlong hair fell in his eyes. Pushing it behind his ears, he said, “Thank you. I'll be here around ten on Saturday morning. Okay?”

“Sounds good.”

Three kids of varying heights, two boys and one girl, all surrounded their father's legs and poked their heads out the front door. “Bye, Marek!” and “See ya, Marek!” and “I wanna play cars with you!” all came respectively out of mouths, from oldest to youngest.

“Bye, guys.” Marek waved at the two oldest but stooped down to the four-year-old's level and stuck out his hand. “We'll definitely play cars next time. I promise. Deal?”

Rather than shaking on it, the youngest child smashed down on Marek's hand with a super hard high five. “Deal!”

“Okay, kids.” Peter had a lecturing tone to his voice. “Marek has to go home now, and you guys need to go wash your hands and faces for dinner.”

The kids grumbled.

“Come on, guys,” Mr. Sumter pleaded. “Marek will be back soon enough. Give him a chance to miss you.”

The kids all gave Marek another enthusiastic round of good-byes, then untangled themselves from their dad's legs and disappeared into the house without further complaint.

“Sure you don't want to stay for dinner?” Peter asked. “Joan always makes plenty extra, and you know you're always welcome.”

The tangy scent of barbecue wafted through the air and created a silent rumble in Marek's stomach. Barbecue sandwiches were enticing enough all on their own, without the prospect of sharing it with a nice, kind family like the Sumters. Marek could see himself sitting down at their table and never getting back up; he liked being at this house that much.

You can't invade their lives just because yours sucks.

“Thanks anyway,” Marek finally answered. “I should get home.”

“Maybe next time,” Peter said. “See you Saturday.” He closed the door, leaving Marek standing on the porch alone.

One red door separated him from a lovely dinner with a fantastic group of people.

People who don't belong to you, Donovan; stop confusing work with your wishes for a sweet, supportive family to come home to every night. This is not your life.

Still, Marek stood staring at the door for a drawn-out moment and even lifted his hand to knock, wanting to reverse his decision about dinner. With his knuckles poised an inch away from the red painted wood, he dropped his hand to his side. He spun away before he changed his mind again…and his gaze collided with Colin Baxter's. The guy watched Marek from the sidewalk.

What the fuck is he doing here? Colin didn't live in this nice neighborhood any more than Marek did.

Heat burned Marek's face; he quickly looked down and made a production out of adjusting the straps on his backpack before slinging it over one shoulder. He could still see Colin's sneakers and jean-clad legs from his stooped vantage point, not moving down the sidewalk one bit. Great. Straightening