Page 123 of Sparking Sara

He leans in to kiss me. Then he pulls me against him and I lay my head on his chest, feeling sure about something for the first time in a long time.

As he removes the condom, I look at the wall next to the bed and see my painting hanging on it.Ourpainting. I was so focused on Denver that I didn’t notice it before. “You hung it up,” I say.

“Of course I did. It’s the most honest painting I’ve ever seen. And it tells the story of us.”

I smile, thinking my paintings can still do that—tell stories.

“I don’t think I’ll ever paint something I will love more than this one.”

“What do you think you’ll do, sweetheart? As far as painting? I know you’ll never stop doing what you love, but have you given any thought to going back to work?”

I laugh sadly. “Only every day. Oliver doesn’t think I’m ready.”

He stiffens. “Oliver is an asshole.”

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong about my painting.”

“He’s wrong,” Denver says with conviction. “Just look, Sara.” He points to the wall with the painting. “You did that. It’s incredible.”

“I think you might be a little biased.”

“I’m not. I took it into Davis’s gallery.”

I lift my head off his chest. “You did?”

“I wasn’t going to sell it,” he says. “I’d never sell it. But I wanted to know what he thought about it.”

I close my eyes. “And?”

“And he offered me ten thousand dollars on the spot.”

My eyes fly open and my heart races. “He what?”

Denver nods. “You are so talented, Sara. In so many ways. You can do anything. You can be anyone. Your life is a clean slate just waiting to be written upon.”

“What if I say I wantyouin that story?”

He kisses my forehead. “I’d say I’m a damn lucky man.”

I put my head back on his chest, content to be exactly where I am. “I still want to paint. And I like the idea of other people having my paintings on their walls. But not like before. I don’t want to travel so much.” I trace the edges of his abs, pondering something I’ve been thinking about for a while now. “Do you think I could still do what I do without traveling?”

“Are you kidding me? Remember the painting you did of me and my family in the snow? You did that from a simple story—a story you didn’t even recall hearing. But the details were spot on. You have this incredible ability to see what people have experienced and bring it to life. You didn’t need to go to a mountain and stand in a blizzard to paint that picture.”

I nod, hoping he’s right. I don’t want to live my life going from one time zone to the next, taking sleeping pills to help me cope. And perhaps I can do different kinds of paintings. Who says I have to keep painting people’s memories?

“One thing’s for sure—I don’t want to have anything to do with Oliver Compton.”

I feel him tense beneath me. “I’m going to kill that motherfucker when I see him again.”

“No. Don’t. I don’t want you to jeopardize your job or your future over me.”

“Youaremy future, Sara.”

“I wish I had my phone with me so I could video you saying that.”

He looks at me in confusion.

“That way, if I ever lose more of my memories, I’ll never forget what you just said.”

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