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“Right. Yeah.” I step back, give her room to pass. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
By the time she walks into the kitchen, I have cheesy scrambled eggs and buttered toast ready. Immediately, I want to make her a better breakfast. One that isn’t rushed and we can enjoy together. But I am getting way ahead of myself.
She tugs on her shoes and shoulders her purse. I hand her the container and a fork as we awkwardly head for the door. And because I am not ready for goodbye, I follow her out to her car.
After unlocking the car, she sets her purse and the container inside then spins to face me, the door partially between us.
I won’t lie… I hate it. The barrier and the fact she has to go.
“Thank you, again. For dinner and a show. It was wonderful.”
“We should do it again. I do have leftovers.” I lift a brow. She opens her mouth to answer, but I hold up a hand and cut her off. “Think about it.”
She rolls her eyes and chuckles. “Fine,” she says on a huff. “But I really do need to go.”
I want to kiss her. Right here. Right now. I want to lean forward, cradle her cheeks in my palms, and kiss her.
But I won’t. Now is not the time.
Soon, though.
“Then I won’t keep you any longer.” I reach out, take her hand, and give it a quick squeeze. “Drive safe. I’ll send you the exhibition details later.”
She drops into the driver’s seat. “See you.”
“See you.”
I close her car door and take a few steps back. Watch her back out of the driveway and wave as she pulls away. The moment she is out of sight, I pivot and jog back to the house. Weave to the stairwell off the dining room and take the stairs two at a time.
The moment I step into my studio, the moment graphite and Turpenoid and canvas hits my nose, I sag with a heavy exhale. Then I snap into action. Bolt into the closet and grab a fresh canvas. Set it on my easel then grab my brushes and paints.
In seconds, I get lost. Lost in the image of her face this morning while she snuggled my chest. Lost in the contours of her face. In the sunshine highlights in her hair. In the fullness of her lips.
Not for the first time, I transfer my memories of Shelly into art. Stroke the bristles over canvas and create the outline of her heart-shaped face. Well, half of it.
Barely a fraction into the piece, I see it all so clearly in my head. Half her profile—plump full lips, rosy cheekbone, twilight iris with a touch of gold, and her slightly arched brow, framed by her golden hair. Behind her, pink blossoms. Primrose and meadowsweet.
This is the moment—the moment—when it truly hits me. The moment I can no longer deny what I feel, even if it scares the hell out of me.
What I feel for Shelly isn’t love. No, it is way too soon for such a deep emotion. But I like her.Really like her.A lot. More than I should.
I admit this, but only to myself. Our relationship is too new for verbal confessions. But I feel it all the same. In the turbulent beat of my heart. In the shortness of my breath. In the thick of my marrow.
Question is, where do I go from here?
It is too soon to put my heart on the line. To cut myself open and hand her my heart. Every instinct inside me says to trust Shelly, that she won’t hurt me. But once upon a time, the same instinct existed in regard to Kelsey. I’d thought we were inseparable. Endgame. And then she crushed me. Broke me in half and left me without a care in the world.
I refuse to let that happen again. To be blindsided and thrown away.
Shelly is not Kelsey. She won’t hurt you. Not on purpose.
As I paint the rich blue of her iris on the canvas, I inhale deeply. “I really hope that’s true.”
Surviving the breakup with Kelsey was painful and life-altering. If Shelly and I went separate ways—no matter the cause—not only would it be painful, it would be downright devastation. A crippling debilitation. Losing Shelly would be a darkness I’d never overcome. A shadowed life I’d never be able to escape. Losing Shelly… I would give up. On everything.
Shelly isn’t just endgame… she is so much more.
A dangerous thought slips into the foreground. One that scares the hell out of me, but I cannot deny.
