Page 87 of Sweet Madness

He stands at the water’s edge, wearing a cowboy hat atop his head and ripped blue jeans, with no shirt on. My gaze lowers to his perfectly tanned torso, a bead of sweat trickling down his defined six-pack.

Oh, my.

I had imagined what his body might look like, but the reality far exceeds my vision. This man is insanely blessed. Nothing about him is ugly, not even his past. Not to me.

Locking eyes with him, I ponder whether it is too soon to love him. We aren’t officially a couple, and beyond kisses, nothing has happened between us. Yet, we aren’t strangers, not truly. I have always felt a connection as if we have known each other in previous lives—that for a while, we were just starting down a different path.

He’s always felt like a part of me, even during times when I didn’t truly know anything about life.

Another realization that has dawned on me these past few days is how much I take pleasure in watching Shaw. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing—he could be silently fixing a fence or tending to the animals—and I find him the most interesting person in any setting.

Butterflies flutter in my belly as we lock eyes, no words necessary.

His penetrating gaze holds me captive, his features softened by the fading light of dusk. There is a depth to his stare that always says more than words ever could, revealing secrets and emotions he has kept hidden beneath layers of self-preservation and strength.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moves, caught in a silent exchange that transcends words.

A rush of a million emotions, stirred only by him, surges through my body. I become acutely aware of the intimacy of the moment, of being seen naked but on a level that touches my soul.

Only by him.

Only ever Shaw.

After a long while of just staring at one another, Shaw takes a tentative step forward without breaking eye contact. I hold his gaze, my heart racing with a mix of anticipation and excitement, knowing that there is no turning back now.

His walking toward me feels like he has finally shattered all the barriers that held him back from going after what he wants.

Me.

Shaw

Throughout the day, I keep myself busy with work while moments from last night replay in my mind like scenes from a vivid dream. I never tell a single soul on this earth about my final moments with my mother, the image I hold of her in those last moments.

I wonder if it was the right thing, now that my mind is less clouded by the dark nightmare. I also question whether opening my mind and heart to Ella, like I did, was a good move. Showing someone the depths of one’s mind is dangerous, and it makes me feel vulnerable. Yet, when she looked into my thoughts with those understanding and kind eyes, I felt a weight lift from my chest. It was as if, after years submerged underwater, she held me and whispered sweet words of solace, allowing me to finally breathe again. She reached into the darkest corners of my soul and brought a flicker of light.

Her light.

Her gentle touch against the turmoil within me brings a sense of peace, ending the internal war I’ve been trapped in.

More thoughts of Ella flood my mind. I can’t shake the image of her from last night—how perfect she looked, ethereal and serene. Ella’s beauty has always been striking, but under the moonlight streaming through my window, she appeared otherworldly. Her big doe eyes, normally a deep shade of blue, seemed to reflect the cosmos itself, shining brighter than every star in the sky and the moon combined. Her hair, a cascade of black curls that usually frames her face with wild abandon, was tamed that night. A few pink and black tendrils escaped her ponytail, framing her features delicately. I loved the way the moonlight danced on those curls, turning them into strands of silver and pink that shimmered with every movement.

Fuck, nothing more beautiful has ever existed.

After waking up from the best sleep I’ve had in years, I find that Ella is no longer by my side. An emptiness settles in my chest at not seeing her there.

I leave the house early and spend most of the morning and early afternoon tending to the horses. Then I make my way towards the tulip fields, working tirelessly, hands deftly pruning and tending to ensure the blooms thrive. Each snip of the shears, each careful stroke as I arrange the blooms into orderly bouquets, is a deliberate effort to regain my composure and keep my mind occupied and away from thoughts of her. The scent of earth and blossoms fills my senses, grounding me in the present moment. But I find myself missing her. I fight the urge to go back to the house and kiss the hell out of her. With Ella, it’s more than a physical attraction. It’s much more.

When she’s not around, the world seems darker. When her eyes are not on me, I feel like I’m missing something. When I don’t hear her laugh or her sweet voice, I find myself wanting to seek her out so I can listen to her forever.

I know I’m screwed the first time that beautiful creature makes me smile, but now, while surrounded by her favorite color, I know deep in my tattered soul that Ellaiza Kenton is what was missing from my life.

Laughter.

Sweetness.

Love.

Then, as if my heart senses her, amidst the rustling of leaves and the gentle swaying of tulips in the breeze, I see her.

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