Page 58 of When You Saved Me

“Tiny but fierce,” I added.

“Just like her daughter.” He brought his hand to the back of my hair and brought me closer, kissing my forehead.

“The snow is starting to melt.”

Deacon pulled back and looked over the top of my head at his property sprawled out behind me. “Seems so.”

“What will happen once it does, and we’re no longer trapped here?”

“I’d hardly say my time with you has made me feel trapped.” His gaze darted between my eyes like he was assessing if that was how I’d felt—trapped.

When I didn’t answer he ran his fingers down the long locks of my hair, playing with the ends. “I’m not sure what will happen. This is new territory for me, Sunshine. I do know one thing for sure though.” His fingers moved to the bottom of my chin as he gently tilted my head back, so I was looking at him fully. “I don’t want this to end.”

I was floating and his grasp on my chin was the only thing grounding me because he’d just said what I’d only hoped to hear him say. He didn’t want things between us to end. He wanted to try.

It was all I could ask for and he was willing to give it to me.

“I don’t want things to end either.”

DEACON

“You’re almost done with this one.” It was more of a question than a statement. I rubbed my palms over Charlie’s shoulders as she made tiny little strokes of white over the river water. The painting seemed done to me a few days ago. I thought it had been perfect then, but now that she was adding even finer details, it all seemed even more real. Like I could walk into the image and feel the mist from the river on my face.

“Just a few more things to fix, then yes.” Tilting her head back, she looked up at me. The pale blue of her eyes matched some of the wisps of paint along the river scene. I ran my hand over her decolletage and up the delicate column of her throat as I brought my lips to hers.

“It’s stunning,” I whispered across her mouth. Then, I felt her smile against me and my heart skipped a beat. The things she could get me to do with that smile. The list was endless.

When she lifted her head to get back to work, I moved to her left and leaned against the windowsill to watch her paint.

“How did you get started with art?” I asked, watching the small muscles of her forearm flex and shift as she moved the brush along the canvas.

A giggle had the balls of her cheeks blooming light pink. “As my parents tell it, they caught me drawing on everything in the house. If there was some kind of marker or crayon available, I would find it and use it to make everything around me prettier.”

Thinking back to her asking to paint murals in the tiny cabin, the story made a lot of sense. Her long locks of hair shimmied across her back when she turned her head to look at me.

“One time—I think I was about eight—my parents walked into my bedroom and every single wall was covered in flowers I’d drawn with some markers I’d snuck home from a friend’s birthday party. Most parents would have been furious, but mine just put me into art classes and art summer camps. I think they knew from that point forward; it was my passion. They’ve always been really great at supporting my dreams.”

“You’re lucky in that way.”

Her eyes softened. “I know.” The wood of her paintbrush tinged against the glass mason jar filled with murky water as she swirled it around. “What about you? Have you ever been into anything creative?”

“I can show you.”

Her brows popped up. “Really?”

Extending my hand for hers, I said, “Come on.”

When she slipped her hand into mine, I gave it a tender squeeze. I loved holding her hand. Everything of hers was so tiny compared to me, but I knew she was strong. Charlie had the kind of quiet strength that only came with conviction in her truth and the confidence that she knew what she wanted from this life. There weren’t many people in the world like her.

Heading for the garage, I stopped with my hand on thedoorknob. I’d never shown anyone my woodwork before. Not outside of my parents. It was the one thing I’d always kept for myself. But I wanted her to see it. Wanted to share every part of myself with her.

“Ready?”

Even though the hallway was dark, there was a brightness to her eyes. Excitement. It made my heart hammer against my ribcage.

“Yes!”

I opened the door, and we stepped into the garage-turned-woodshop. Sawdust littered the floor and after a few weeks of not being in here, a fine layer of dust covered most of my works in progress.

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