Page 14 of Pushed to the Peak

Marigold jolts, suddenly spearing me with those baby blues. Her mouth drops open. “Wait… you knew?”

Did I know about this sweet young woman’s inexplicable fixation with me? Did I see those pages and pages she filled with my face? Has it wrecked me ever since?

Yes. Holy shit, yes.

Gusting out a long sigh, I nudge Marigold into her small room and close the door behind us. When I spin the lock, it clunks into place.

Good. That’s one less thing to curse about.

“You lied,” Marigold accuses, even as she lets me walk her back toward the mess of her bed. A pink flush is climbing higher and higher up her throat, and god, I don’t think she’s wearing a bra under that white shirt. Not judging by the two hard points pressing against the thin fabric, like her tight little body is straining for me.

“Then we’re both liars.” When I toss it, the sketchbook bounces before settling on the mattress. I place my hands on Marigold’s shoulders and squeeze gently, marveling at how delicate she is beneath my hands. “Now, what will it take for you to unpack this bag?”

“I can’t believe you knew.” Marigold stares at the sketchbook, relief and unhappiness warring on her features. “You knew all along. This is so freaking embarrassing.”

I turn her chin back to face me, privately thrilling when she allows the touch. Was it really only last night that she kissed me so hungrily? Feels like a hundred years ago. “Answer the question, sweetheart.”

And maybe I should apologize more—maybe I should fall to my knees and beg forgiveness, but as far as I can see, the two of us are even now. Sweet Marigold pretended that she’d never drawn me before, and I acted like I’d never seen those sketches. A lie for a lie. We’ve both done our share of hiding things, and we’ve both been caught out, and it serves us right for being cowards.

Meanwhile, I’m still reeling with relief that I didn’t hurt my girl last night. The room’s only just stopped tilting like a ship’s cabin in a storm, and my heart is beating harder than it’s done for hours, happy and strong.

Marigold is here. I’m here.

And she’s letting me touch her again. Thank fuck.

For such a shitty morning, this day suddenly holds promise. Before, my bones felt heavier than lead, but now I’m standing straighter, breathing clear.

“What’ll it take?” I say again. “To unpack your bag?”

Marigold shivers as my thumb traces the line of her jaw. “Flint.” She grabs onto my elbow for balance, and her bare toes scrunch into the carpet below, but she’s not moving away. No, she’s swaying closer.

“Tell me,” I coax, and after a long, dark night of doubt, I’m now cocksure and pushing my luck. Riding high on that flood of relief, on the giddy thrill of having my hands on Marigold once again.

She scowls up at me, so pretty and put out. “You know.”

Do I?

Seeing my mystified expression, Marigold repeats, “If you’ve seen those sketches, then you know.”

Christ, more riddles. Twirling a lock of her silky blonde hair around my knuckle, I wrack my tired brain. “You don’t tell me anything the straightforward way, do you sweetheart? For the record, I haven’t had coffee yet.”

Marigold rolls those big, blue eyes. A pleased laugh fills my chest but stays trapped there as I think, think, think.

What do I know?

I know that Marigold loves drawing me. For whatever strange reason, I’m the star of her summer sketchbook; the focus of her season’s work. The world’s most unlikely muse. Is that what she means?

Well, what else could it be?

“What if we make a deal?” The words come slowly, as I measure everything twice before I say it. Lord knows I don’t want to screw this up again. “You like drawing me. I like that too. How about we pack this bag up after all and move you into my cabin? Then you can draw me whenever you like.”

Marigold blinks, surprised. I gain speed, liking this plan the more I say it out loud, because what else could she possibly have meant?

If I want Marigold to stick around, I need to model for her. Well, no problem, because feeling her gaze on me is about the best thing I’ve ever felt—minus the fierce way she kissed me last night, of course.

Besides, this hostel is depressing as hell. I want Marigold away from these faded carpets and shabby walls and that unlocked front door, tucked away somewhere safe and clean and warm where I can look after her. Yeah.

“You want me to move in with you.” Her voice is faint.

---