Page 94 of The Keeper and I

Several thoughts went through his head at once. First, anyone who couldn’t see how beautiful she was had to be blind. Second, anyone who made her feel bad about herself deserved to be thrown over a cliff. And third, she was impressive. When he thought he couldn’t admire her more, she showed him a new side of her.

“Not that you need my validation or anything, but I’m fucking proud of you for getting there,” he said. “Finding your confidence is damn hard, and you did it on your own.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I had a wonderful support system in my family. But yeah…I did the inner work myself.”

“And you’re fucking badass for it.”

“I love it when you talk so sweet to me.”

He chuckled, and she shimmied over the couch to nestle under his arm.

“Okay, play it again,” she said.

Jack and Rose’s story continued on the screen, and Jordan found it all the more charming with Laci properly in his arms. When it came to the famous, “Jack, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls” scene, Laci held him closer. He felt her cheek move against his chest, which let him know she was smiling.

“You like this part?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “It’s my favorite scene.”

A piano played the soft melody of “My Heart Will Go On” while Jack dragged the pencil across the parchment, and Rose held still.

“It’s so…dreamy,” Laci said. “The thought of someone capturing me like that is like, my biggest fantasy.”

“What do you mean?” Jordan looked incredulously at her. “You’re photographed all the time.”

“It’s different,” she insisted. “A photo is a reflection of exactly how you are in reality. A portrait is how that artist sees you. I can hardly think of anything more romantic.”

His heart did a triple Axel inside his chest, but his mind issued a warning:it doesn’t mean she’d be impressed that you’ve been painting her since before you met. On the other hand, perhaps it was the perfect time to show her. Not only did she deserve to be taken seriously, but she deserved to know her biggest fantasy was within her reach.

He paused the movie again. She raised her head and looked at him.

“Jordan?”

“I’ve got something I need to show you.”

She sat up when he nudged her. He took her hand and helped her off the couch. On his way to his studio door, he grabbed its key off the hook.

“What are you—”

“Hold on a moment,” he said as he worked the key and turned the lock. With a click, he opened the door, revealing the canvases within.

She peered inside and her jaw dropped. “You’re an artist?”

He nodded and took her hand again to lead her inside. “Have a look.”

Smiling, she stepped into the room, her gaze traveling from one piece to the next, the contemporary rainbow painting he’d shown Ava the night he met Laci, a Renaissance-style portrait of her with waist length hair and a billowy dress around her curves, one of her face, up close, leaning on her hand with a pink background, a pose he’d seen on her Instagram. Her eyes fell at last to the unfinished “Laci in Blue.”

Jordan’s heart pounded, unable to tell if her watery gaze was because she was horrified or touched. Her trembling lips turned up.

“I…I’m your muse?” she asked, voice hoarse.

“Aye,” he said, releasing a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. “You are. You have been for a long time.”

She blinked. “How long?”

He cleared his throat. “Since I was a boy.”

Her eyes went wide. He reached out and cupped her face.

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