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“Why?”
“Because I went to school to paint.”
“You went to art school?” I asked, realizing how much I didn’t know about her.
“Yes,” she answered. “I wanted to be a painter from a very young age. But my mom—being the practical woman she is—was worried that it wouldn’t be a stable job, so I minored in graphic design to appease her. It was supposed to be a fallback, but the moment I got out of college, I got scared.”
“You never tried?”
She shook her head. “I got a job as a graphic artist, took my comfortable salary and benefits, and that was that.”
“So, how did you end up here?”
“I was miserable,” she said. “Daniel knew it. My parents knew it. Everyone could see it, but me. One night, after coming home from a particularly bad day at the office, Daniel asked what my ultimate dream would be, and after a bit of persuading, I finally told him. I wanted to live on the beach and paint. And so, that’s what we did.”
“And he was on board with that?”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice soft but filled with warmth. “He applied for a promotion that would get us the salary we needed, but the travel that it required was brutal.”
We were at a Stop sign, and I looked over at her. “Did you ever get a chance to paint while you were here?”
“Yes,” she answered, her tone changing abruptly. “But I never got a chance to do anything with it. Most of it is hidden away in closets. I feel like I let Daniel down in that way. He sacrificed everything so we could move down here, and I gave up.”
We drove down the empty street, as the autumn breeze filled the air.
“I doubt he’d see it like that,” I said, pulling into her driveway. I turned to her, noticing the way the moonlight danced along her skin. “You could still do it, you know?”
“What?”
“Paint,” I said. “Sell your work, live the dream you wanted.”
She looked at me and tilted her head, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I thought you said I needed to sell and move on.”
“And I thought you said you hadn’t decided.”
The words hung in the air, and I couldn’t help but stare at her.
God, she is gorgeous.
And I knew at that moment, I’d never be able to walk away.
No matter how many times I kept trying, I’d always end up back here, trying to figure out a way to make her mine.
A tiny movement in the corner of my eye jerked my head toward her house.
“Did you leave the lights on?” I asked.
“No,” she answered, still looking at me. Then, she turned and saw the warm glow from her bedroom and kitchen.
“Did you lock the door?”
“I—” she stammered, her eyes going wide. “I don’t remember.”
“Dammit,” I cursed. “Does anyone have a key?”
“No,” she answered. “Just me.”
I pushed the door open, and she followed.
