Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Atticus
I stare down at the top of Cassie’s head, warmth seeping through my chest that has little to do with her body heat.
She was… worried about me?
“You came running because you thought I was injured?” I swallow hard.
“I heard you scream.” She nods against my chest, still breathing heavily. “It was you, wasn’t it? I thought maybe someone had come to find you as some holiday prank.”
I smile beneath my burlap mask, moved by her compassion.
“They did,” I explain, and her head pops up so she can see me. “Some teenagers snuck into the far end of the field, but I scared them off.”
She hesitates, her eyes locked with mine like she’s trying to detect any hint of a lie. “So, they didn’t see you?”
“Not even close.”
A tiny sigh escapes her and she settles against my chest again. “Thank God. Give me a second, and I’ll move after I catch my breath. I’m not exactly in shape…”
I stroke my hand over her hair again, completely content to stay exactly where we are. After not seeing her for so long—a few days felt like weeks—I plan to savor every second with her. However she wants.
“You don’t have to move at all if you don’t want to,” I assure her.
She stills against me and, for a moment, I think she might stay where she’s at. That she might keep me pinned to the ground, every curve of her body conforming to mine. That we can stay like this, pressed against one another, forever.
But she moves to stand seconds later, and my heart sinks.
“I won't torture you like that.” She grins and offers me her hand.
I laugh dryly. I’m no stranger to torture. I’ve suffered for over a century, experienced more pain and anguish than I care to admit. Being close to Cassie isn’t torture.
It’s bliss.
“If being close to you is torture, I'll gladly suffer for all eternity.” Her mouth falls open, her cheeks turning bright pink, as I take her hand.
When I’m on my feet again, I pause inches away from her, my heart pounding hard. Tension swells around us, making the air feel like molasses.
“Well, I… That’s very…” She stammers, her face growing redder with every word, and clears her throat. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thank you.” I tip my head slightly in a nod of appreciation. “Now, follow me. There’s something I want to show you.”
I grab her hand and thread our fingers together before turning and leading her down the row of cornstalks.
“You have something to show me?” She repeats like she can’t believe it. “Like what?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I’m not sure if I’m capable of blushing anymore, or what it might look like if I did, but heat warms my face beneath my burlap mask. It’s a risk, showing her what I’ve been working on in the days since she was last here. But now that she’s here, I’m eager to show her.
What if she thinks it’s weird? Too much? Creepy?
What if she hates it?
“As you can imagine, I get very bored,” I explain as we walk. “Before, I could only stand at my post and watch the stalks sway in the breeze. Now, I try to stay busy, but there aren’t many distractions. So I’ve been trying my hand at art.”
I glance over in time to see her brows furrow together, and she shoots me an inquisitive look.
“Art? In the cornfield?”
“Yes. Obviously, I don’t have much to work with—mainly dirt and blades of grass—so keep your expectations low.”
She laughs, music to my ears, and squeezes my hand. “I’m sure it’s great.”
I try to find reassurance in her words, but as we approach the clearing, my stomach knots with nerves. Every doubt I’ve had over the last week resurfaces tenfold, and I’m tempted to change my mind.
The stalks begin to thin, and I suck in a nervous breath. This is my last chance to change my mind.
I stop walking abruptly, and Cassie looks at me worriedly. “What’s wrong?”
“I need you to close your eyes,” I say. Maybe it’ll help my nerves if I can brace myself before she sees it. “I’ll tell you when to open them.”
She raised one slender eyebrow. “Atticus, what are you up to?”
“Just trust me. Close your eyes.”
With a tiny smirk, she obeys, and I guide her by the hand into the clearing.
In the middle of the open space is what I’ve been working on for a week solid, a six-foot long, intricate drawing carved into the dirt. I painstakingly emphasized the shadows and highlights by digging into the ground or building up parts so they catch the sunlight.
I’ve never drawn anything before, but I was quite proud of it up until this moment.
Now, I see every flaw, every imperfect line. I knew it would be impossible to capture the details exactly, especially considering how divine my inspiration was.
“Okay.” I blow out a breath. “Open them.”
Cassie’s blue gaze jumps to me first before slowly shifting across the clearing. It takes a moment for her eyes to fall to the ground, and I hold my breath as she takes in the drawing. Emotions play over her face, and I do my best to decipher them, but she’s hard to read.
“What do you think?” I ask hesitantly.
I look at the drawing for the millionth time, at the curves and dips I’ve memorized over the last several days. The flowing hair, the supple lips, and glint in her eyes that I fought to get just right.
“Is that…” She takes a step closer, cocking her head to the side. “Me?”
“Yes.”
It’s only a portrait from the shoulders up—I plan to keep going until I run out of space—but the likeness is uncanny. At least, it is in my opinion.
I still can’t tell how Cassie feels about it.
“How long did this take?” she asks, moving closer still.
“Umm… a few hours.” I take my hat off and scratch the back of my head through the burlap. “Okay, a lot of hours.”
She kneels next to her likeness and drops her backpack to the ground, gently brushing her fingers over the edge of the drawing.
“This is incredible, Atticus,” she finally says. “Holy shit. It looks just like me.”
A weight I didn’t realize was weighing me down disappears, and I’m suddenly light as a feather.
“So, you don’t hate it?” I ask.
“What? Of course not!” Her head snaps in my direction, and she stares up at me. Confusion is clear in her eyes. “I just don’t know why you’d want to draw me, of all things.”
“Is it not obvious?”
She stands so we’re eye level, and I reach to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Even though my glove prevents me from feeling her skin, the contact has my skin heating.
“You, darling, are the first good thing to happen to me in over a century,” I say. “And a hundred years from now, I’ll still be thinking of you.”