Page 132 of Before I Loved You

“Is that who taught you how to paint? Your mom?” I ask.

“Yeah.” She stares off. “As I get older, I feel like I remember less and less from my childhood. But I remember all the times I spent with her in her art studio. Or at her art shows. She was amazing. So unbelievably talented. I wanted to grow up to be just like her.”

“She would be so proud of the woman you’ve become, Sarah.”

She swallows, her eyes misting. “My dad couldn’t paint for shit.” A slight bubble of laughter escapes her. “But he was the best dad. He would stay up late with me if I had a nightmare. He taught me how to ride a bike. He would pick me up from school early to take me out for ice cream on special occasions like my birthday. He…” She pauses, lost in her memories. “That’s why I never understood why he did what he did… Why did he leave me?” She looks up at me, hurt glimmering in her eyes.

“I can only imagine he wasn’t in his right mind.” I hold her tighter, needing to remind her I’m right here. “I’m not saying what he did was right, but he probably felt alone and scared. He needed help. And unfortunately, it probably got so bad in his head that he only saw one answer to solve his problems. But that doesn’t mean he ever stopped loving you. He most likely convinced himself that what he was doing was best for both of you when it wasn’t.”

She sniffles. “I know. When I think of him, I try really hard to only think of the good memories. Because I know the man I saw toward the end of his life wasn’t my dad. He was just a shell of a person by that time, consumed by depression.” She shakes her head. “When my mom died, I think that’s when my dad truly died, too. He lost his other half. His reason for living.” She lets out a deep breath. “I miss them all the time. Especially around the holidays.”

“I bet they miss you too, baby girl. All the damn time.”

She wipes some tears from her cheek and shakes her head, throwing a little grin on her face, her eyes memorizing the old house before us. “Someday,” she starts, “I want a house just like this with twinkling lights hanging everywhere. I want it painted white with black trim and shutters. I want a stone pathway that leads up to the house with lilies potted on each side. I want a large eastern redbud tree smack in the front yard.”

“An eastern redbud?”

“Yes,” she confirms. “It’s a beautiful tree that blooms in an abundance of pink flowers.”

“I didn’t take you for a pink kind of girl…”

“I have my moments.” She waves me off with her hand. “But most importantly, I want a small art studio next to the water where I can paint any time of the year. It’ll have twinkling lights surrounding it, looking straight out of a fairy tale. And inside, I’ll have plenty of room for my supplies and paintings.” She sighs, her eyes roaming over the whole property. “I could see myself painting here.”

Hmm. That’s not such a bad idea…

But also, speaking of painting…

“How are your pieces for your show coming along?”

“I think okay.” She shrugs, sounding unsure. “I’ve never done something like this before, so I’m not entirely sure what to expect, but so far, I’m happy with what I’ve created.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see what you’ve made.” I spin her out, watching the smile bloom across her face. “I’m going to point at every painting and say, ‘My girl made that.’”

She spins into my arms, placing her palms on my chest. “Do you think anyone will actually buy one?”

An optimistic light glows around her like an eternal flame, and I don’t want to see it ever doused out.

“They’ll probably hold a bidding war,” I affirm, tucking her under my arm as a shiver runs through her. I tug on her hat, making sure it covers her rosy ears. “Let’s get back home and warm you up.”

“I think I know a few ways you can warm me up,” she offers with a mischievous sparkle in her iridescent green eyes.

“Oh yeah?” As we begin to walk in the direction of my house, I ask, “Should I warm you up with my tongue, fingers, or cock?”

“Hmm…” She taps her chin. “I think all three.”

“All three?” I chuckle. “My girlfriend is pretty damn greedy.”

She pulls on my coat, gripping the fabric with her fingers, bringing my face before her. “Damn straight I am.” Her lips press against mine in an all-consuming kiss before she parts and whispers, “When it comes to you, I want it all.”

* * *

Coffee roasting first thing in the morning is one of my favorite scents. It brings back memories of times when I was a kid. Times when both of my parents were here on Christmas morning.

Following the aroma into the kitchen, I find my mom in her flannel pajamas.

“Merry Christmas, Mom.” I wrap her up in a bear hug.

“Merry Christmas, sweetie.” She turns around, brows furrowed. “Why are you up so early?”

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