Chapter 15 #3
“There you are.” His deep timbre that I love so much spreads warmth through me, and I can’t help but grin up at him.
“Hey,” I say, closing my sketchbook and tucking it under one of the cushions. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I’m nervous to show him my art, or perhaps it’s because I’m not ready to show anyone yet. I just got it back. I kind of want to keep it to myself for a while. “You’re back.”
“I’m back.” He kisses my forehead, then settles onto the couch next to me, tugging me back against him, and I go willingly.
I like that he wants to touch me so often.
That’s how it’s been since he got back from his road trip, and it always makes those butterflies go wild.
I melt into him as he asks, “How was your day?”
We left at the same time this morning. I headed to the bar in the new car Gavin helped me pick out last week for a quick afternoon shift to cover for a coworker who was at the doctor, and Gavin was attending a team event.
“Good,” I answer. “While my savings account doesn’t care for it, I like the short shifts. Gets me out of the house just long enough to smell like beer, but not long enough for me to start questioning my life choices. How was your event?”
His chest rumbles with a soft laugh. “It was fun. The kids were adorable, though that’s no surprise. They usually are.”
“You did a skate with them, right?”
“Yeah, and there was this one kid—Jagger—he was so damn good. He’s only eight, but he has a hell of a future ahead of him if he keeps it up. I thought for sure he was going to toss mitts with Keller, and not in a joking way either. He took the game very seriously.”
His voice is full of awe, as it always is when he talks about his nieces and nephews.
It’s cute, and honestly, fitting for him.
I bet Gavin would make a great father. Flashes of two dark-haired kids float through my mind.
They’re laughing as Gavin chases them through the yard, and I watch from the porch with a smile.
What the hell? Where did that even come from?
I shake the thought away. It’s silly, and so not happening. We’re just having a little bit of fun. Nothing serious. Certainly nothing that warrants thoughts like that, no matter how nice they were for a few fleeting moments. The butterflies in my belly settle, and I miss their flurries instantly.
Gavin clears his throat, then says, “So, what were you working on so intently?”
Intently? How does he know I was working intently? Was he watching me? Was he standing there much longer than I realized?
“I was drawing.”
He sits forward, which sends me propelling in the same direction, and he catches me before I fall off the communal couch.
“Sorry,” he says, leaning around me to catch my eyes. “I’m just… You were drawing?”
His excitement is contagious, and I find myself smiling right along with him.
“I was drawing,” I repeat.
His eyes twinkle, and he presses his lips against mine lightning fast—so quick I barely have time to react—then he’s back to grinning at me like he’s the one who picked up a pencil for the first time in over a year.
“Can I see?”
I tense instantly, and Gavin doesn’t miss it.
“You know what? Never mind. Forget I asked. It’s your art. You don’t have to share that with me, especially since you just got it back. I shouldn’t have even asked.”
His words echo my exact thoughts earlier, and it’s almost eerie how well he understands me. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though. It was like that our first night together, too. He never made me feel bad about anything then, even if I did give myself emotional whiplash.
I’m overwhelmed with the sudden feeling to share my drawings with him.
I don’t want to; I need to. I retrieve the sketchbook I tucked away and flip it open, handing it to him.
He settles back against the cushion, his eyes tracing over the page that’s full of thin and thick strokes and so many delicate curves.
When he doesn’t say anything for several moments, I begin to get antsy, wringing my hands in my lap.
“Well?”
He drags his eyes from the page, looking up at me. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but what is it?”
My eyes fall to slits. “What do you mean you don’t know what it is?”
His eyes widen, his breath getting caught in his throat. I last all of five seconds before I break, laughing at him.
“Had you going, didn’t I?”
He blows out a huff of air. “Fuck, you really did.” He looks at the page again. “It’s beautiful, by the way. I don’t know if I said that, but it is.”
“Beautiful even if you don’t know what it is?”
He points to himself. “Hockey player, remember? Not an art connoisseur.”
I laugh. “That’s fair.” I run my finger over the biggest, thickest line on the page. “Those are her hands.”
“Her?”
“Yep.” I trace it, showing him the outline of her jaw and chin, where her hands cradle her face. “Her lips, her nose.”
His eyes widen. “Holy shit. I see it now. Her eyes,” he says, taking over for me. “And her nose. She’s… She’s gorgeous.” He leans forward, squinting at the drawing.
I see the moment it clicks for him.
His hazel eyes snap to mine. “She’s you.”
I grin, nodding. “She’s me.”
“She looks like she’s sad. Like she’s crying.”
“That’s because she is.”
He smiles sadly. “Are you sad?”
“I’m—” I shake my head. “No, not anymore, I’m not.”
Because of you. I don’t tell him that, though.
“Is that why you used yellows and oranges and not blue?”
“Yes, this is her rebirth. Like a phoenix. Hence the feathers.”
His eyes scan the drawing again, really taking it in now that he understands it. Then finally, he looks up at me, and there’s nothing but pride in his eyes.
“This is stunning, Nessa. Absolutely fucking studio-worthy.”
Heat flares in my cheeks at his admiration. Is it good? I guess some people would think so. But is it studio-worthy? Not a chance.
“While that’s sweet, I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.”
“Why not?”
“Uh, because I don’t even have my own place to live. Or my own bed, for that matter. Speaking of…where is that?”
“Oh, uh…” He scratches at the scruff along his jaw. “The mattress company called to reschedule for next week. Something about being short on delivery drivers. Anyway, back to this studio thing—why not?”
I huff. “Because I’m not ready for something like that. Like you said, I’m just getting back into”—I gesture toward the book—“well, whatever that is. A studio is a dream for years down the road, when I’ve refined my skills far, far more.”
He frowns, and I can tell he wants to keep arguing about this more, but I don’t bother giving him an inch, knowing he wants a mile.
I grab the sketchbook, closing the cover and setting it and the phoenix-rising version of me aside, then crawl over him on the couch.
I kiss his chin—right in that little dimple he has there—then up to his lips.
I don’t just kiss him because I want him to forget all about my art struggles, but because I missed him today.
If I’m being honest, I’m missing him more and more every time he goes.
“I know you’re trying to distract me,” he says against me, his hands sliding over my waist and down to my ass, where he squeezes my cheeks firmly.
“So what if I am? It’s clearly working.” I wiggle my hand between us, palming his already hard cock.
Gavin groans, kissing me harder. I let him because it means I don’t have to think about my future.
I don’t have to think about what I want from my art.
I don’t have to think about what I’m going to do when he no longer needs me around to feed his fish.
I don’t have to think about how much I don’t want that to be all this is between us.
And I don’t have to think about how maybe…just maybe…I want that future to include him.