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I pursed my lips, looking over my shoulder to Jamie, who was still watching us like a hawk. “I know,” I finally mumbled.
“Well then, Daxton, I think you and I have a lot to go over. Do you have that email from your accountant?”
I gave him a slight smile. “I do.”
Reaching in my pocket I pulled out my phone. Clay had sent me all the information Mr. Gaines was asking about the other night and I was ready to lay it all on the table. My confidence slowly came back as I sat across from him. Jamie joined us after the dishes were done, as we discussed my options and the path I should take while selling. It was the conversation I needed—the push to knoweverything I was doing was right, that I was on the correct path forme.
And at the end, as Jamie and I pulled on our coats to go back to our cabin, Mr. Gaines shook my hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Gaines, I really appreciate it.”
“Please Daxton, call me Howard.”
Chapter Thirty
-Jamie-
Waking up next to Elliot was going to be my favorite thing, I could feel it.
Elliot had managed to make me feel alive once again before enveloping me in his arms. I traced his tattoo and kissed his knuckles as he lightly stirred awake. He kissed my temple when he woke up, leaving the bed to make coffee and a light breakfast. If I had my days right, today was the day we went down to Salt Lake.
As much as I loved Park City, I was beginning to miss the hustle and bustle of a big city. Park City sure had grown in the years since coming here, but it was still small compared to the city. Salt Lake City had everything you could want to keep yourself occupied during the day, and today we planned to go to the outdoor mall in the heart of downtown.
When I finally made my way downstairs, Elliot was perched on a stool with his laptop open and chin resting in his palm. Still shirtless, but wearing his gray sweatpants. He looked relaxed in front of his computer. I wrapped my hands around his waist and rested my chin on his shoulder.
“I heard from Pete,” he mumbled, turning his head slightly towards me.
“Already, it’s still early.” Which reminded me that as awake as Elliot made me feel, I still required coffee. I left his warmth and went to the coffee pot, pouring myself a cup.
“It’s official, the guys are going to fly out next week for a show and he wants me to play this week. So . . .”—he shut his laptop—“I’ll need a guitar.”
“Is it possible to have Bennett ship you yours?” I asked, turning to face him, leaning on the counter. I took a sip of my coffee, humming as the caffeine hit just right.
He laughed. “I would not trust my baby with any shipping handler.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “You sound like Clay and his car.”
“Except my guitar is way better than his Tesla. I found a shop down in the city, do you think your family would mind the detour?” he asked, grabbing the handle of his own coffee mug.
He had one eyebrow raised, his stare focused on me as he raised his mug to his lips. Not once did he break contact as he took a sip of his coffee.
I inhaled, looking down at my mug to force myself to stay where I was. I didn’t need to make us late for the family plans. I simply smiled, responding with, “Not at all.”
It didn’t feel “fake” anymore. I mean, it hadn’t been “fake” for a while with us, but for my family . . . I think they could tell there was a difference. Jillian would give us small glances, small smirks as she saw us interact. Holden and Harrison would try to take Elliot to show him something, but his grip on my hand would force me tocome along. Even my mom would give us these little looks, making me wonder if she knew all along. And my dad was beginning to treat Elliot like he did Will, or Carrie—as part of the family.
The only thing that still proved to me it was fake was when they called him Daxton.
He wasn’t Daxton.
I wanted to tell them everything, I wanted them to know everything. How we met, how he convinced me into letting him come here, and how his life was about to change. How much I was growing to care for him more and more, and how I hoped that after this trip we would still be . . .this.
The last stop of the mall was the craft store, a large building that had everything an artist would dream of. Elliot made the mistake of letting go of my hand. I was lost in the aisle of paint and brushes. I ran my finger along the bristles, my unfinished work coming to mind as I thought about how I could make it even more remarkable. Picking a few of the things I knew I would need, I flinched when two hands found my shoulders, and lips found my cheeks.
“Finding things?” Elliot whispered.
“So many things,” I answered, picking up another paint brush.
“Just let me know when you’re ready. Your parents went to get us a table for lunch and Jillian dragged the kids to the Disney Store again.” Elliot’s hand slid past my shoulders as he stepped to the side, taking the same paintbrush off the shelf.
