AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Sketch, I—’
‘I shouldn’t have offered your father money,’ Sketch interrupts. ‘I shouldn’t have tried to buy you as if you were a sack of spuds from my father’s farm. I just wanted to spend time with you.’ Sketch runs a hand through his hair and ruffles it on top. ‘I guess I just wanted to buy you some freedom, you know.’
I nod. I do know.
‘I went about it all wrong. I should have stood up to your father. I shouldn’t have made up some pathetic excuse about you coming to work for me. I should have just told your father how incredible I think you are, and how it would be my pleasure to spend a day with you.’
‘No. God no.’ My eyes widen until they burn. ‘That would have made everything worse. My father would go berserk. He’s not someone you can reason with.’
‘I should have at least tried,’ Sketch says. ‘I shouldn’t have thrown money about as if you were buyable. I didn’t mean to scare you, Annie.’
‘Actually, it was pretty clever,’ I say with a smile. ‘Money is about the only thing my father understands. Well, money and alcohol.’
‘Well, he’s a damn fool, Annie,’ Sketch says. ‘Any man would be lucky to have you in his life. It makes me so angry that he doesn’t see how wonderful you are.’
The passion and truth in Sketch’s tone touches me. Of course, I know the comfort is only temporary. Kind words and best intentions can’t help me, no matter how sincerely Sketch means them.
‘I must give you money later today, Annie,’ Sketch explains. ‘I gave your father my word, and I intend to keep it. Besides, I don’t want to get you in any sort of trouble. I’ll pay the agreed amount. You understand, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I swallow. ‘Thank you.’
‘But I need you to know that I don’t want to buy your love,’ Sketch says, his eyes seeking out mine. ‘I would never want to pay you to give yourself to me.’
‘I know. I know.’ I blush. ‘I misunderstood.’
‘Shh. Listen,’ Sketch says, placing a single finger over my lips. ‘Idowant your love, Annie. I want to earn it. I want to sweep you off your feet, and I want to be the man who helps you forget the past.’
My body suddenly weighs more than I’m used to, and I melt into the seat. I believe him.
‘I’m not sure I could ever forget the past,’ I admit. ‘It’s been so hard. You don’t understand.’
‘I do in some ways,’ Sketch says. ‘I see that so many bad things have happened to you. You wear the pain on your soul like a drawing you can’t erase. Bridget, the others from school, the farmers around town, they all think you’re shy and guarded. But I see the real you. I see why you walk so quickly past people. I see why your heart hurts every time you walk past the Blackwell Tavern. I see why you think you can’t have friends. Iseeyou.’
I drop my head and stare at my knees until my vision blurs and the colour of my flesh and the colour of my dress muddle together. Sketch slips his finger under my chin and tilts my head gently back. Before I have time to look at him, I feel his hand sweeping over my face; his fingers trickle down from the tip of my head like gentle rain and past my eyes, shutting them gently. He traces my nose, my lips and my chin.
I open my eyes and find him so close to me I can feel the heat of his body reach out to me, begging me to come closer.
‘I always saw you, the real you, even when we were just eleven years old,’ Sketch says. ‘You were my best friend, Annie, I’ve missed you every day since.’
‘I’ve missed you, too,’ I admit, realising for the first time in years how true those words are. ‘But it’s complicated now, Sketch. We’re not kids any more.’
‘That’s true.’ Sketch grins, and I remember that cheeky smirk from when we were kids. ‘At least now if I want to kiss you, the school principal isn’t lurking around the corner with a cane ready to whip me if I dare to get too close to you.’
‘I don’t think you wanted to kiss me when we were only eleven, Sketch,’ I reply, and blush.
‘Does that mean you think I want to kiss you now?’ Sketch raises a cheeky eyebrow.
I pull myself up a little straighter. The car suddenly becomes clammy, and I glance around to notice the windows are beginning to fog up.
‘Annie I didn’t just give you apples when we were kids,’ Sketch says. ‘I gave you my heart. You’ve had it since; you just didn’t know it.’
I giggle sheepishly. ‘I don’t know what to say…’
‘Say you’ll keep it,’ Sketch says. ‘And maybe someday you’ll give me yours in return.’
‘Okay,’ I smile, my heart missing a beat.
Sketch runs his long, slender fingers through his hair and ruffles the spiky dark strands on top. The guy with the cool black leather jacket and fancy car suddenly looks like the nervous kid I remember from school.
