His finger dipped down until it was trailing yellow paint onto my overalls.
“I’m sorry I’m so…messy, though,” I breathed.
I’d never been more of a mess, never felt more confused about life and what I was supposed to do now. Even after I’d left Minnesota, left Sully, I’d had somewhat of a direction.
And now…well, I didn’t know what I was doing anymore.
But luckily, Sully seemed to know I was talking about much more than my current paint-covered state, murmuring, “I’m okay with messy.”
He lifted his gaze to mine and held it, branding me with the truth of his words.
“I think I can help with that, though, if you want,” he offered.
It was hard to say for sure what he meant by that. But considering I’d take any help I could get at this point, I nodded.
Within seconds, Sully had swooped me off my feet.
And I realized maybe it didn’t matter where I was going.
Not if I had him holding me along the way.
The humidity hit immediately as Sully brought me outside—the stickiness, the remnants of summer still in the evening air. It might be September, but it didn’t feel like it, not yet.
Which was good, since as soon as I heard the rhythmic ticking and slow hissing of the sprinklers, I had a feeling where Sully was going with this.
“Sawyer…” I started, a warning note in my voice, as he padded barefoot, following the wraparound porch to the back side of the house.
“You arecoveredin paint, Eleanor,” he said simply.
“I really thought we were talking more about how much of a metaphorical mess I am, if I’m being honest.”
He chuckled. “I’m here for all of it. I want to help you with that, too. But we have to do something about this paint first. Did I mention you’re covered in it?”
“And whose fault is that?”
His grin was soft as he looked down at me. “I would never claim to be innocent when it comes to you. You’re messy. I’m messy. We’re a mess, baby. But we’re in this together.”
He looked away then, watching his feet as he stepped down into the grass in the backyard.
But I couldn’t stop staring at him. At the planes of his face, which had little splatters of paint on it. At the way his lips pressed together as he concentrated on carrying me. At the little crow’s feet by the corner of his eyes, evidence that we’d gotten older but that he’d always be that boy who smiled at me and made me feel at home for the first time in my life.
“We can do this here or in the bathroom,” he went on, “but I think?—”
“Here’s good,” I interrupted breathlessly.
I felt him nod. “I agree. Here, I can do it with you,”he said, as though I wouldn’t have let him carry me straight into the shower and strip me down to nothing. Wash me clean. Kiss me until I couldn’t remember anything else but him.
But there was something about being out here, about the smell of wet grass combined with the floral notes from the rosebushes and the sound of kids playing down the street, a backdrop to the sprinklers and Sully’s feet moving through the grass.
Inside, it sometimes felt stagnant. The air in the bathroom remained stilted, memories too fresh.
Out here, I could breathe.
“Okay, let’s do?—”
Sully walked directly into a spray of water, cutting off the rest of my words and my ability to speak. Not my ability to shriek, though, which I did.Loudly. And then Sully kept walking through the yard, and the onslaught of water didn’t stop, and despite the sudden chill and the water running down my face and the soak of clothes pressing against my skin, I laughed.
Again, I was laughing.
