Page 55 of Read With Your Heart

“I understand,” I tell him because I do. “And someday, I hope all your dreams come true.”

His mouth opens and shuts, and I’d give anything to know what he wanted to say, but he leans forward to kiss me, distracting me like he does, and my most immediate hope involves his hands on me.

The kiss turns into a heavy make-out moment of hungry lips and wandering fingers. He skims his fingertips gently over my face, pulling back on occasion to look at me, tracing the line of his fingertip along my jaw, over my chin, or down my nose. Then his mouth returns to mine. We continue like this until I lean over him and reach for the sketchbook.

“Are you trying to distract me to get my secrets?” he teases, and I hate to admit how close he is to the truth. I want to know everything about him.

“Just one look.” I pout as I press my body over his chest, my mouth only inches from his.

“Fine, you sneaky little kisser.”

I giggle at the name while he turns to the nightstand and picks up the sketchbook. He still shields his work as he flips the pages and then pauses on one. He folds the book in a manner so I can only see the page he’ll show me. And then my breath catches.

I stare into eyes that match mine—eyes that are mine.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, almost reverently, as I admire his work. He’s made the dull brown-green look deep and rich with specks of gold, illuminating the colors in a way that makes the eyes replicate a forest with sunshine streaming through the thick leaves.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, his voice low while I rest lying over his middle. I turn my attention back to him, looking into his own eyes. I wish I were an artist, able to capture the silver inside his orbs, but I’d never do them justice. I’d never get the depth correct or the metallic tone bright enough. I have no words, and so I do what’s second best with my mouth. I kiss him. The book is closed and tossed to the nightstand without breaking our connection. In the following kisses, I almost feel the sunshine of his sketch.

+ + +

Halloween draws near, and my brother and sister-in-law go all out for this holiday with their Halloween Smash. The annual party is so popular it has a name, and it’s gotten large enough in attendance they decided to move it to an old barn on the Scott property. Karyn, my sister-in-law, is the Scott in the family, and her youngest brother, Ethan, who is my age, loves to show off his culinary skills and prepare all the treats. It’s going to be the party of all parties, but Leon’s hesitant to attend.

“Why?” I ask.

“I’m not really the costume type, prancing my ass around in front of people I don’t know.” His voice sounds teasing, but there’s an undertone of seriousness. He doesn’t want to dress up and attend the party.

“Fine, go as yourself.”

“What’s that?” His tone sharpens.

“Dress like a mechanic.” He can play a hot mechanic, and I want him to look under my hood.

“I don’t need to advertise I’m some uneducated fuckup working at a garage.”

My jaw drops in shock. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I question, growing irritated. I don’t see him like that, nor do I consider the guys at Dixon’s in such a manner. “You’re being kind of defensive.”

“What?” he snaps with an ineloquent snort. “Don’t tell me you don’t think I’m some dumb fuck because I don’t have a college degree.”

“Excuse me? I have never said that, nor do I feel that way,” I retort, agitated that he’s assuming I’m judging him when I’ve never judged him.

He gives me a look like, come on, but I feel like he’s projecting his own insecurity onto me, and I don’t know how to respond to his concerns.

“How are you going to introduce me to your friends?” Admittedly, we’ve only been to the Tavern once a week and sit with my family. We haven’t been more public together because of my impending marital status.

“How do you want to be introduced?” I snap, crossing my arms as we glare at one another in my kitchen. I hold my breath for some reason, afraid of his answer.

“Well, I can’t be your boyfriend because . . .” The rest of his comment rests on his tongue. Because you aren’t divorced yet. Leon isn’t wrong. Trent’s been avoiding it, and it’s wearing on me. I didn’t realize it was bothering Leon.

“Do you think I still want to be married to him?” I snap, hating how Trent is still ruling my life, still ruining parts of it. Am I going to lose Leon because this is taking too long?

“No,” Leon huffs out, scratching at the back of his neck.

“What’s going on then?” I question. This argument feels like it’s all over the place.

“I just don’t want you to be ashamed of me. I’m an ex-con with no money and taking care of my two sisters. I’m working as a mechanic because I don’t have any other skills at thirty-fucking-five.”

In my humble opinion, working on cars takes skill, and after what Leon told me about his desire to paint and his graffiti, I’d love to suggest he go to art school to hone his creative skills. However, it’s a sensitive topic, so I’ve steered clear of the suggestion. Just as I used to keep away from confrontational subjects with Trent because he never went to college, either. He stayed home to raise Levi. He works as a hunting guide. I was the breadwinner.