Page 25 of This December

“Marines. He’s currently stationed in Germany. Hopefully I’ll get to see him when we do our European tour this summer. I miss the asshole.”

“Well, until then or at least until you get to see your parents again, you can take solace in the knowledge that you’ve unseated Matt as the James family favorite. A seat he’s claimed for over a decade. So congrats.”

“Matt, huh?” He sank down on the bed and watched me load my little duffle bag. “Who’s he married to again?”

“Aspyn.” I let my expression say what I was thinking.

“Right.” His lips quirked too. They hadn’t spent any time together—Aspyn skittered away anytime either of us came near—but Cole had heard a few stories over the past couple of days. He jumped up from the bed and headed for my art wall opposite the door. “These are amazing. Did you do these?”

I watched him for a second as he took in my high school and a few college art projects—the pencil drawing of my family I’d done in tenth grade, the realistic meadow drawing that’d been my senior project, the nude I’d sketched in college and been so damn proud of.

God, I missed drawing. The ache hit me out of nowhere. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d picked up a pencil and just drew. Felt like forever.

“Yeah.” I shrugged then turned my back on my art as I fussed over my bag. “It’s been a minute since I’ve drawn anything though.”

“That’s a fucking crime.”

My head jerked up at the naked passion in Cole’s voice.

He sent me a wide-eyed look and gestured at the wall. “This is fucking amazing. You have a goddamn gift, December. Why aren’t you doingthis?”

I snorted. I couldn’t help it. Of course Cole Jackson would think that I could make a living from my sketches. “Uh, because I have student loans to pay? And my car needs gas? Oh, and because I like eatingsolidfood.”

Cole cocked his head and frowned at me. “What?”

“There’s no way to make a living off my doodles. I was fortunate enough to minor in art while getting my marketing degree. But what you’re talking about is a ridiculous pipedream. And a neat shortcut to living in a cardboard box.”

“Have you even tried?”

It felt like he’d socked me in the stomach the way my breath whooshed out of me. I couldn’t breathe for a minute. Tears glittered in my eyes as I glared at him. “Seriously? Do you always walk around this fucking clueless? This entitled? Short of setting up a shingle and doing caricatures on the boardwalk, how the hell do you think I could ever make a living doing—” I gestured wildly at the wall. “That?”

“I’ll fucking hire you.”

“What?”

“I need art for my next album cover. Consider me your first commission.”

“Cole.” I sighed and my arms fell to my sides as I slumped. “Come on. Be serious.”

“I am. I’m as serious as a fucking heart attack. You’re good. Your drawings are fucking amazing. And I saw that look in your eyes when you looked at your art. You love it. You miss it. It’s the fucking thing that nourishes your soul. And I get that. It’s how I feel when I’m singing one of my songs. It’s like fucking mana; you need it to survive.”

“That doesn’t mean I want you to subsidize my art.”

“I never said I was offering that. But I can give you your first break, so why don’t you let me? What’s stopping you?”

“I-I-I haven’t drawn anything in forever. I’ve probably forgotten how.”

“Passion and talent like that doesn’t just disappear overnight.” He shook his head and crossed the room to press a soft kiss against my temple. “Just think about it, okay?”

After a long moment, I nodded.

“And maybe pack some pencils and sketch pads while you’re at it?”

I rolled my eyes. Clearly he knew me better than I thought. I wasn’t going to think about it.

But as his light laughter followed him down the hall and back toward my family, I found myself stashing a few pencils and sketch pads.

Charming bastard.

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