Page 75 of The Cabin

“Uh. A… uh, special one?”

“Hmm.” He steps away, grabbing both craft kits and throwing them on the shelf.

“Grayson, what –”

“Come on. We have business in a different aisle.”

—

Every color paint imaginable is spread out across the dining room table. We started the day here and now we’re going to end it here, apparently. Full circle or whatever.

We’ve got brushes of every shape and size. Sponges, those cute little art palettes, canvases. You name it, we’ve got it. I walked away from the register before the cashier announced the total. I don’t even wanna know how much he spent. And I willingly let him pay this time. He owed me something to do.

Grayson is in the kitchen pouring us some wine and I am going to be on my very best behavior. Me plus alcohol plus Grayson equals dramaaa.

I pull a bunch of different paints close to my side of the table and pour a little bit of each in the little dips of the palette. Grayson places a glass of white wine next to me and pulls my hair back out of my face, leaving his hands on my shoulders and gently massaging. “Mmm. That’s nice.”

“What are you going to paint?”

“I don’t know yet. Something simple. Test out my eighth-grade level art skills.” I feel his chest move as he laughs against my back. “Do you know what you’re going to paint?”

“Yes ma’am.”

I lean my head back into his stomach, looking up at him. “What is it?”

“It’s a surprise. Can’t rush art.” Eye roll.

“Whatever you say.” There are a few quiet minutes where I test out colors, mixing some together to create different shades and pulling different brushes out of their packages to see which ones I want to use. Grayson stays behind me, quietly massaging me, rubbing me, kneading in spots he must notice are more tense than others.

He lets me create in silence. I would say peace, but having his hands on me isn’tquitepeaceful. Invigorating, maybe.

I’m adding black to the trunk of the tree I’ve painted when I ask, “Are you going to start yours or what?”

“Not yet.”

The leaves are almost entirely filled in when he stops touching me. “Are you finally ready to start?”

“Yeah.”

I scoot my chair over a little to give him room. He doesn’t sit.

“Stand up and turn around.” It’s amazing how as soon as he turns commanding like this my entire body lights up.

“What are you –”

“I have an appointment, remember? Stand. And face me.” Was he really waiting until exactly five o’clock?

I follow his directions, taking him in. His strong arms, the way the muscles in his neck move, how much taller than me he is. The incredible deep green eyes, the set of his jaw and the scruff that has grown back since he shaved his beard down. His thick, bulking thighs. The lips I haven’t gotten to taste yet. Talk about art.

His hands find the bottom of my shirt and lift, throwing it over his shoulder.

I almost laugh at his insolence. He’s pissed about the sports bra. “They’re all I have, you know.”

“Then don’t wear anything.” Easy for you to say.

My pants and underwear come off next, ensuring I, once again, am the first to be naked.

“Lay back on the table.” He reads my expression immediately. “I made it myself, Sol. It’s not going to collapse under you.”

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