Page 30 of Reckless Single Daddy

“Say what you want, but even a billionaire needs to get away from the world’s problems from time to time,” I say as I turn us around and head back to the estate. It wasn’t just getting up in the helicopter that I wanted to show her, but something else I’ve set up.

“If only you’d let me into your problems,” I hear her say, and I look towards her. She’s staring at me, waiting for me to let her in and truly allow myself to be vulnerable.

I take a deep breath. As much as I want to will myself to open myself up completely, I’m just not ready to do that.

“Soon,” I tell her.

It’s the best I can give her, but it isn’t just an answer; it’s a question, too. I’m not the only one holding back on being vulnerable. While she is willing to open her heart up to me and let us explore this connection, I can feel herself holding back as well. If neither one of us is willing to be open with one another, then I fear this thing will end.

She stares at me and lets out a shaky breath, understanding the implications of my response. Finally, she nods. “Soon.”

That seems to be the mutual understanding we needed from each other. And for now, that’s enough for me. I don’t need to complicate this or establish what we are, even. I’m happy just knowing where we stand on our feelings and if this thing between us has the potential to grow, even if it doesn’t have the usual labels.

After I land, I help her out of the headphones and her seatbelt. When I take her hand to help her out of her seat, she gasps when she sees what’s in front of her: a little picnic for just the two of us.

“I never knew you to be such a romantic,” she says, and I chuckle, walking hand in hand toward the setup.

“Then you don’t know me very well,” I tease.

We sit on the blanket overlooking the pond on the property. We take turns trying the different finger foods I prepared earlier while enjoying the peace and quiet around us. It’s simple and serene, and the way she’s lit up today makes all of this worth it.

“How is your collection coming along?” I ask.

She groans as she eats a grape, and I chuckle. “That good, huh?”

“Artist’s block is real,” she says as I lean back against my elbows. “I think I have something, and then suddenly, it goes away when something terrible throws me off.”

I wonder if any of that has to do with me. Have I been distracting her and causing her to struggle with her art?

“Remember when I told you to just paint what comes to mind?” I ask, and she nods. “Art is a feeling, is it not? So feel the art and let it inspire you to make a cohesive collection.” I say it as if it should be obvious, reiterating to her what I’ve said a few times already.

After that, we fall into silence. She nibbles slightly on her bottom lip in thought. Suddenly, she gasps like she’s had cold water splashed on her.

“I need to get back home as soon as possible,” she says breathlessly.

I nod frantically, though I’m still confused. “Is everything okay?” I ask as I get up, concerned about why we’re leaving so abruptly.

She smiles widely at me. “Just that I think I know what my collection will finally be about. And it’s thanks to you.”

She presses a kiss to my cheek as she visibly buzzes with excitement. All I know is, whatever the theme of her collection will be, I’m confident it will be perfect. Just like her.

Chapter fourteen

Sloane

During my picnic with Cade, inspiration struck me like a lightning strike in the middle of Florida. I immersed myself the next day in a slew of colors and brushes, covered head to toe in smudges of red, blue, orange, and sweat—pure, salty sweat. It wasn’t that it was hot outside. Far from it, actually, as the crisp autumn air wafted in through my open window.

For once, I was working this hard on my collection because I finally understood what Cade meant when he said, “Art is a feeling.” For years, I took it as using art to get out my feelings, and, yes, that was the initial meaning of his words. But my new collection touches on that, andmore.

I stare off to the side at the old painting I made of Cade when I was pissed off at him. Every color I used told a story of who he was, like scars marring his past and shaping his personality. The truth is, I didn’t really know him then, and I still don’t know him now. But what I do know is that the person I painted isn’t the Cade I’ve gotten to know.

Yes, he’s guarded and prickly around the edges, but underneath all of that is a good heart and a passionate soul. Each of those colors was chosen for the bitterness I was feeling. Yet, now they’ve managed to embody the complete opposite meaning.

Which is what my collection is going to represent.

It still needs work, of course, but the end result is in sight. I can finally see who I plan to showcase, and what I plan to represent. Each person has a story to tell, and each one of these people holds a significant place in my heart for different reasons. I want to be able to build upon who they are and what they’ve brought to my life, and share it with the rest of the art community.

I step back from the new painting of Mike, considering it as it begins to take shape. It isn’t nearly close to being done, because not even I can put onto a canvas all I see in Mike in under eight hours. But the vision is shaping itself, though, and that’s all I can ask for.

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