Page 52 of Call It Serendipity

My brush glides across the canvas with steady intention. As if something is clicking into place, this feels like the kind of art I should be doing. My style, but also something more than that.

This is art from my soul. A deeper connection with my passion to create, to have a little bit more of me out in this world.

I’ve missed this feeling more than I realized. And even though my hands are growing stiff and my arms heavy, I can’t seem to stop. Not until the faintest sound catches my attention.

It’s subtle, too difficult to identify. And I listen so intently to the silence that follows, I start to wonder if I had simply imagined it.

“It probably is time for a break,” I mutter.

But just as I am turning my attention back to my canvas, I hear it again. Like a sharp tap or maybe a low ping.

It echoes through the night a third time, and that’s when I realize it’s the sound of something hitting the window. I set my brush down and step around my easel to examine the glass panes.

When I don’t notice any cracks or chips, I look through the pristine surface to the night beyond. A snort-like laugh escapes me, and my hand flies up to cover my mouth. Because there, standing on my front lawn under the gleam of moonlight, Jake is in the process of throwing another pebble in my direction.

He smiles when he sees me, and I hold up a finger for him to wait. To tell him I’m coming down.

Snatching my flannel from the corner of my easel as I go by, I hurry down the stairs—pausing long enough at the mirror in the living room to make sure I don’t have any paint on my face. I run my hands over my hair and smooth down any flyaways escaping my claw clip.

Then I throw open the front door to find Jake and Charlie on the other side.

“Hi.” I grin.

“Hi,” he says on an exhale.

I lean my hip against the doorframe. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You consider my company a pleasurable thing?”

“I was talking about Charlie,” I tease, pointing to the dog trying to pull out of Jake’s grip. His tail is wagging his whole back end.

Jake releases him, and he doesn’t hesitate to spring up my front steps to me. “I got some good news tonight.”

Glancing up from the dog, it’s clear that his expression and words aren’t aligned. “Then why do you look like you just swallowed a grapefruit?”

He lets out a single, ragged chuckle. “Do you have time for a front porch chat?”

I look at his bare arms in that short sleeve shirt and step to the side, leaving my doorway wide open. “Why don’t you come inside instead?”

His expression relaxes, and that smile from when he first saw me returns. “Okay.”

When he steps up onto the porch, I can’t help but notice how his legs drag a little bit. This isn’t the Jake I know. He passes by me, and I have the strongest urge to stop him and pull him into a hug.

Instead, I close the door and make a mental note to vacuum off the couch where Charlie has settled, before Claire gets home from Levi’s tomorrow. “Do you want anything?” I ask.

“No, I didn’t come to have you wait on me.” He sinks onto the couch, allowing his dog to flop over his lap.

There’s something overwhelmingly comforting about this sight. The two of them settling in here. The fact that he came by without plans.

I think that I want this, with him.

“I’ve never gotten a Say Anything moment,” I say, sitting in the chair beside them. “If you came to fulfill my teenage dreams, you’ve succeeded.”

His smile reaches his eyes this time, and he leans over to rest on the sofa arm between us. “Next time I’ll remember the boombox, Gin Blossoms and all.”

“I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Jake moves toward me, his fingers brushing back the rogue strand of hair that’s fallen from my clip. “That is, if you still want to see me after hearing my news.” His voice is raspy, as if the words are strangling him.