Chapter 13 – Kenna-Present
Chapter Thirteen
brUSHSTROKES AND HEARTBEATS
KENNA-PRESENT
I still don’t know what I’m doing.
There’s this weird pull in my chest, this back-and-forth between wanting to keep things simple and not fall into old habits, and this other part of me that just wants to give in.
To let Cole back in, even after all this time.
These past nine years have been a blur of numbness and aching, like there’s been this hollow spot inside me that nothing could fill.
Not time, not other relationships, not even pretending to move on.
Yet every time I look at him, each time our eyes meet, that spot in my chest starts to open.
Opening to his love and attention like it did years ago.
It’s scary, honestly. Because if he’s what I’ve been missing, what does that say about the last nine years?
About everything I’ve tried to build without him?
What does it mean for all those nights I told myself I didn’t need him?
I don’t know how to hold both my pride and my love for him in the same breath.
When I walk into the living room, Cole’s standing near the door with a picnic basket in his hands.
There’s a cloth covering the top, and I can’t see what’s inside, but it looks like he packed a lot.
The whole thing is kind of domestic, in a way that almost makes me laugh.
Us doing something as simple as a picnic? It feels strange, but not in a bad way.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice still a little rough from sleep. Even after breakfast and coffee, I’m not fully awake. Part of me wonders if this is just a walk or a drive, but something about his expression tells me it’s more than that. “What’s the nostalgia about?”
He grins at me, and it’s that smile that always does something to my heart. “It’s a surprise. You’ll love it.”
I squint at the basket. “What’s in there?”
Before I can try to peek, he walks over and lifts me up by the waist like it’s nothing.
I let out a surprised gasp, more from how fast it happens than anything else, and then it hits me—this feeling.
That warmth blooming in my chest, spreading through me like a memory I didn’t know I was still holding onto.
His arms around me feel solid. Familiar. Like coming home.
“Cole! Put me down!” I protest, but I’m already laughing.
He does after a second, but his hands don’t fully leave my waist. That warmth lingers, like it’s waiting for me to acknowledge it. And I hate that my body remembers him so easily. I hate that part of me still fits him, even after everything.
But I don’t pull away.
“Come on,” he says with a half-smile as he picks the basket back up. “We’ve got a day ahead of us.”
And for some reason, I follow without asking anything else.
The drive is quiet in a comfortable way. We don’t talk much, just let the scenery roll past us—soft greens and blues, the morning light warming everything it touches. When we pull up to the shore, my breath catches in my throat.
It’s the beach. The same beach we talked at for hours. The one where we became more than just a friendly face in the hallways at school.
I wasn’t expecting this. But part of me is glad he brought me here. The memories come back in pieces. The sun on our faces, the way he looked at me that day, like I was something special. It’s a strange full-circle moment. A reminder, maybe. Or a test.
Still, I want to believe it’s a sign.
The beach is mostly empty, the waves soft and steady. We walk for a bit, and then Cole leads me to a small clearing, and I stop. I just... stop.
There’s a blanket on the sand, and next to it, two easels. Canvases. Paints. Brushes. All of it. The smell of saltwater fills the air, and I can hear seagulls overhead, but I can’t focus on any of that.
All I can see is this.
It’s the kind of gesture that hits you straight in the heart. Because only someone who really knows you would think of this. Only someone who remembers.
“Cole…” My voice is quiet, barely there.
He gives me a proud smile. “I thought maybe we could paint today. I figured it’s probably been awhile.”
Of course he remembered. He always remembered.
I sit on the blanket while he opens the basket. It’s packed with so many of my favorite things—meats, cheeses, raspberry tea. And there it is, tucked in the corner: cookie butter and saltines.
“You trying to bribe me?” I ask, eyeing the spread.
He shrugs, smirking. “Maybe. I’d do just about anything to see you smile.”
And the way he says it? It’s not a line. It’s just true.
The next few hours pass in that quiet, perfect way where nothing really has to be said. We talk a little, joke around, share memories. But most of it is just...easy. He pulls out his own canvas, and I pretend to work on mine, but really, I’m painting him.
Not just how he looks, but how he feels to me in this moment. Safe. Strong. Familiar.
I don’t tell him. Not yet. Some things are too personal, too intimate to share right away.
The sun starts to dip, and I finally finish. I set the brush down and sit with it for a second before turning the canvas toward him.
“Cole,” I say quietly. “I’m done.”
He stands up and walks over, and when he sees it, his breath catches.
“Sunshine,” he says, voice low, “that’s the best painting I’ve ever seen.”
He’s quiet for a second, like he’s letting the moment sit, and then he speaks again. His voice is raw, like he’s been holding it in for a long time.
“I have to tell you something I’ve wanted to say since I got back.
This love that I’ve felt for you over the past decade…
it isn’t just some fleeting thing. It’s not a one-hit wonder.
It’s sheer love. A love so powerful that it’s ruined every single girl in the world for me.
You’re it for me, Ken. And if you need more time, you can have it.
But just know I will be here, waiting for you when you’re ready. ”
My breath hitches. I realize in that moment I’ve never stopped being loved by him. Not even for a second.
My heart thunders in my chest as his words settle in. I don’t know how to respond, but I know one thing. He’s right. I’ve felt it too, this love that has never really gone away. I’ve tried to fill the space, tried to ignore it, but it’s always been there, quietly waiting for me to acknowledge it.
And now it’s staring me in the face with soft eyes and paint-streaked hands.
We drive back to my house, the sun sinking below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the car.
Cole hums softly to a song that’s playing on the radio—For You by Liam Payne and Rita Ora.
When I glance over at him, I can see the faint smile tugging at his lips.
He’s singing to me, and I feel my heart melt a little.
He always did that. Sang like I was the only one listening. Instead of the lyrics being words, they were confessions. I used to tease him about it. Now, I sit in silence and let it wrap around me like a memory I don’t want to wake up from.
When we pull up at my house, he turns to me with that grin again.
“Guess what? We’re going to dinner together. Go get dressed, Sunshine”
I laugh. “How long has this been on the plan for the day?”
He shrugs. “Since about 30 minutes ago, hurry and get dressed.”
I scoff, but my feet are already heading towards the front door. “You’re impossible.”
“Yet you’re smiling,” he calls after me.
I pause in the doorway and glance back. He’s leaning against the side of his car like he owns the place, like he’s exactly where he belongs. That familiar half-smile is playing on his mouth, the same one that used to get me in trouble. The one that apparently still does.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say.
He taps an imaginary watch. “Five minutes, Sunshine. Or I’ll come pick your outfit for you.”
“Absolutely not.”
His grin sharpens. “Four minutes.”
I shut the door before he can see me laugh.
We end up at the small Italian place we always went to in high school. Cole holds open the door for me, his hand resting lightly at my lower back as we walk in. The touch is brief—respectful—but it sends a shiver straight up my spine.
High school Cole would’ve laced our fingers together like it was second nature. This version of him seems more careful. Like he’s relearning the shape of me.
The hostess leads us to a corner booth. Cole waits until I slide in before sitting across from me, resting his forearms on the table, eyes on my face like he’s cataloging all of my features.
“You look good,” he says carefully.
My throat tightens. “You don’t get to say that like it doesn’t mean something.”
His mouth tilts. “I think I get to say it exactly because it does.”
I look down at the menu before he sees how that lands.
A waiter comes by with waters and takes our drink order. I barely glance up. “Strawberry lemonade, please.”
Cole’s head snaps toward me. “You don’t like strawberries.”
I shrug, eyes still on the menu. “Yeah. But you do.”
Something soft passes over his face—gone almost as quickly as it appears. He leans back slightly and lifts a finger. “Actually…” He looks at the waiter. “Can we get two raspberry iced teas instead?”
The waiter nods and walks away.
I blink at Cole. “Hey. I ordered…”
“I know what you ordered.” His gaze is steady and warm. “And I also know what you really like.”
I cross my arms. “Since when do you get to override my drink choices?”
He smiles, slow and sure. “Since I’m the one doing things for you today, Sunshine.”
I press my lips together, fighting a grin. “You’re smug.”
“You love it.”
“I tolerate it.”
“That’s not what you said the other night when I—”
“Finish that sentence and I’m leaving.”
He laughs, the sound low and familiar, and something in my stomach eases. Like a knot loosening that I didn’t realize I’d been carrying.”