Page 106 of Falling for my Brother's Best Friend

Her hand covers my heart. “Because your heart is beating like a stampede of elephants is running through your chest.”

I chuckle, taking her hand. “I’m usually an open book, but what’s behind this door, I haven’t shared with anyone… ever. But you’re a part of my life and I want to share it with you.”

“Okay.” She nods.

I turn the metal doorknob, pushing the door open. We step into darkness, but I flick the light on. The barn isn’t really a barn. I’ve refurbished it to suit my needs.

“Liam!” She gasps in awe.

She steps into my private space where all my easels are set up and paintings are hanging, some stacked up in the corners. The tables dotting the space are full of paint and brushes. The floors are covered in cloths to protect them, and there’s a full fridge in the corner and a couch and chair for the late nights when I find myself blocked.

She turns away from a painting of Lake Starlight at dusk. “You painted all these?”

I nod, stuffing my hands into my pockets and feeling my cheeks heat.

She walks to another pair of easels. One has a painting of Calista at Brooklyn and Wyatt’s wedding. The other has a painting of the gazebo in the town’s center, all decorated for Austin and Holly’s wedding. She says nothing as she takes them in.

I crack my neck, watching her gaze move up the walls. The pictures I’ve hung up are mostly ones of Lake Starlight. One when Terra and Mare opened. Wyatt’s hotel from the backside with the lake in front of it.

“Say something,” I urge.

She glances at me, then her hands run over the completed canvases stacked in the corner. “They’re all so beautiful. So realistic.”

I rock back on my heels.

“Why are you hiding all these?” She goes through my stack of paintings leaning in the corner and I fight the urge to stop her. Some of my first paintings are in that stack, including some that will probably sadden her.

“Because they’re just for me.”

She nods, but she stops perusing. I slowly walk over and see that she’s looking at one of her parents’ caskets side by side. Before bringing her in here, I thought about getting rid of those, but I couldn’t.

“I did that from memory.”

She studies it for a second. I’m sure she sees the nine Bailey siblings, all years younger than they are now, sitting in the first row of the church.

“It’s everything I remember from that day,” she says in a quiet voice.

“Remember Phoenix and Sedona wouldn’t leave you alone?” I brush the backside of my hand along her arm.

She nods, then rummages through the pile again.

“I should warn you—”

But her gasp says she’s there. The picture of my mother and her mother laughing on the couch. She’s not ready to see all the ones I’ve done of us as kids at cookouts and fishing trips.

“You do look just like her.”

She turns around and the pictures land back in place. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you do this?”

I shrug. “It helps me process, I guess.”

“Process what?” She steps toward me, and I wonder whether she’s going to slap me for bringing her in here.

“Their death. My parents leaving. Life.”

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