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“And reapply.”
“I’ll wash off your makeup. You don’t need anything on your beautiful face to look gorgeous to me.”
She stared at him. He couldn’t be serious.
“Come on.” He took her hand in his. The connection to him surged through her. He smiled over at her and hope surged even stronger. They walked into her bathroom together.
She glimpsed herself in the mirror and cringed—black smears under her eyes, blotchy red skin, and no lipstick at all.
“Now … makeup remover and cotton balls, please.”
“How do you know that?”
“My mum.”
She nodded and opened a drawer, handing over a bottle of makeup remover and a cotton ball. He moistened the cotton ball with the makeup remover and then moved in close. He smelled of cedar, bergamot, sandalwood, dirt, and out of doors.
He cupped her jawline with his left hand and tilted her head. Fire ran through her at his gentle touch and the searing look in his eyes. If he didn’t love her, why was he here torturing her? Why would he look at her like that?
With his right hand, he swiped a moistened cotton ball carefully under each eye, threw them away, and looked over his work. “You look absolutely perfect,” he said. “I am anartiste.”
Much to her disappointment, he dropped the hand cupping her cheek. She wanted him to draw her close with it and kiss her.
She glanced at her makeup-free face. “I look horrible.”
“Never.”
They stared at each other. She could feel each beat that passed by the racing of her heart. She wanted to lean in and kiss him, but she refused to be the one to instigate another kiss. Besides, they had far too much that needed to be said before any kind of kissing could happen.
Instead of demanding to know if he loved her, she turned, took a washcloth off the stack on the counter, and ran it under hot water. She faced him again and rubbed the dirt off his cheek, then rinsed the washcloth again before wiping the blood from a cut near his eyebrow.
“Do I look horrible?” he quipped as she studied him.
“Never,” she admitted.
Brad’s brown-sugar eyes got serious. He took the washcloth, set it on the counter, and then took her hand in his. He walked her out of the bathroom and into the living area. Each step seemed loud, each moment impactful. She was terrified of what he was going to say and at the same time had to hear it.
Turning to her, he said, “I have to clear a few things up with you.”
“Okay.” Nerves were strung tight as she waited. Her stomach pitched and her palms were sweaty.
“I fought with Levi tonight. I apologized. He accepted it.”
“That’s good.” That was where he had to go. It made sense. Had making things right with Levi changed anything for them?
“It is. I went because Mason has been nagging me to go after you, and also to talk with Levi, and then I spoke to Faith. I knew the pain of losing Annabelle had hurt Levi worse than it had me. I had to make things right.”
“I’m glad you were able to.”
He looked her over. “Mason was very interested in you, but on the day of the wedding he said you were only interested in me. Was he right?”
“Are youthick?” She blinked up at him. “I told you I love you. What more do you want?”
“You never said you’d forgive me,” he admitted. “You slapped me after you kissed me and said me saving you changed nothing between us.”
“I did.”
“I realized after I fought Levi and told him to go for Faith that if I can be brave enough to trust that Jesus could help me make things right with him, I have to keep trusting in heaven’s help and be brave enough to tell you what’s in my heart. What’s been in my heart for eight years.” He drew his thumb across the back of her hand in tantalizing circles.
