Page 116 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
Mara and I cried together. She finally understood why I couldn’t give her more. Stevie’s shadow has always been between us.
Then she asked me a question I’ve never allowed myself to consider:
What would I do if I got another chance?
I didn’t have an answer. Still don’t.
What I do know is I won’t go back to being a man who puts himself last until there’s nothing left. Rafferty deserves for me to be so much more.
I’m studying one of my newer pieces, a sharp-edged collage with colors so layered they look alive, when it happens.
A shift in the atmosphere.
I don’t need to turn around to know.
She’s here.
I pivot slowly, scanning the space until I find her near the entrance.
Stevie.
A black dress skims her curves, golden hair spilling over her shoulders. Her steady, unblinking gaze pins me in place.
She crosses the floor like she’s walked into this gallery for me and no one else. Her faint scent of vanilla threads through the sharper scent of paint and varnish.
Stevie’s eyes roam the walls before landing on me again, sharper now, alive with recognition. She’s close enough I can seeher pupils flare and feel the heat roll off her. Every nerve in my body wants to close the gap, but I hold before I take a tentative step toward her. She moves toward me too without looking away.
The crowd fades to nothing. Awareness turns into a throb low in my gut, matching the pulse at the base of my spine.
We stop with inches between us, her breath mingling with mine. She tilts her head, not backing down, as if daring me to remember every kiss, every gasp, every way we’ve come undone together. My fingers twitch, aching to touch her, to prove she’s real.
“You did these?” Surprise, edged with a challenge. “They’re…breathtaking.” Her mouth curves into a smile. “So much for anonymity.”
“Aye.” I lean in, my voice low enough for her alone to hear. “Some things can’t stay hidden.”
Before she can answer, a hand claps my shoulder.
“Padraig, there you are.” Caden steps between us, oblivious to the crackling current he’s severed. “I want you to meet a few collectors. Looks like we’re on track to sell out.”
I force myself to step back and breathe. Stevie shifts, her attention sliding toward Caden. I catch the spark of recognition in his eyes as he greets her warmly, like they’ve spoken before.
Hmmm.
The next hour is a blur of introductions and champagne flutes, polite laughter and feigned interest in people who want to talk about technique.
Throughout, I know where she is at every moment. By the far wall studying my largest canvas, from our sophomore year in college. Lingering near the bar. Pausing in front of a piece I painted the week Rafferty came home from the hospital.
She’s a magnet, pulling my eyes without effort.
As the crowd thins, she slips to my side again, empty glass dangling from her fingers. “Well…”
I tilt my head toward the door before she can say goodbye. “Want to grab a coffee?”
“Lead the way.” A flicker of something unreadable sparks in her expression.
We find a quiet cafe shop a block from the gallery and take a booth in the corner, steam curling from our mugs. The shop’s nearly empty with only the sound of the espresso machine filling the space between us.
She curls into her seat across from me and takes a sip of her hot chocolate.
