“Have a look around if you want,” I say to Dylan. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
* * *
Dylan
She’s still wearing it.
Jasalie is still wearing the necklace I gave her in Tucson.
My heart pounds with emotion as I try with everything I have to remain calm on the outside.
I didn’t know what to expect when I decided to come here tonight. I thought she might throw me out, refuse to speak to me, or yell in my face, all of which I clearly deserved.
But while she covered it up quickly, her first reaction when we made eye contact was…happiness.
Her cheeks flushed with color, and her face lit up. And the cracks in my heart started to heal.
God, she looks so damn beautiful. Her gray eyes still hold a million times more wisdom than I feel like I’ll learn in a lifetime. Her pink lips are parted with interest. She’s curious why I’m here. And I’m holding onto my self-control with everything I have.
I try my best to stay polite and casual, but I can’t stand around and make small talk with Jasalie Gordon. I’ve got a lump in my throat the size of France from finally seeing her again, and the pain of what I did is rushing back in waves. All I want to do is take her in my arms and tell her everything.
“Have a look around if you want,” she says to me. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I watch as she turns to walk away with the gallery owner, and I have to shove my hands into my pockets to stop myself from reaching out to touch her one more time.
Once Jasalie’s moved out of earshot, Lilla smirks at me. “You ca-a-ame. Yay!” Her excitement is infectious, and I smile at her.
“Thanks for taking a chance and telling me where she’d be,” I say.
“You better not blow it,” she warns me. “You swore I wouldn’t regret telling you.”
“You won’t,” I promise her. “I came exactly when you said to, fifteen minutes before closing. I hope it wasn’t too early.”
“Nope,” she assures me. “This is perfect timing. I know Jasalie would want you to see the show. That’s why I said to come before it was over.” She gives me a second look. “You okay? You seem kind of tense.”
I nod quickly. “I’m fine.”
I’m not fine.
From the moment I stepped into the gallery and saw Jasalie for the first time since I pushed her out of my life, I’ve been holding on with bare restraint to my impulses. All I want to do is drop to my knees and beg her to forgive me. All I crave is her lips on mine. All I need is her in my arms, telling me she still believes in us.
But I can’t do any of that because it would be selfish. Jasalie deserves this gallery show so much, and the last thing I’m going to do is interrupt her night.
I’m incredibly proud of her and of what she’s accomplished since I last saw her. I’m also not surprised in the least, however, not like she seems to be. I know how talented she is. I knew it as soon as I saw her first sculpture. She’s got that thing, that “it factor” with her art, and I was sure if she only dropped her cover and let others in, they’d see it, too.
I wander away from Lilla and through the one-room gallery. I pause in front of each and every one of Jasalie’s pieces as I simultaneously study her artwork and the hand-written titles placed above the sculptures.
The words “A Mother’s Love” sits above a sculpture of a pregnant woman. I haven’t seen this piece before, and given Jasalie’s background, the sentiment takes me by surprise. It also makes me curious if she ended up going back to Tucson yet.
A few paces to the left, the title “Hard to Breathe, Hard to Live” hangs above a sculpture of a man looking like he desperately needs air. That one is new to me, too.
Then I reach a familiar sculpture. I freeze when I read the title.
“Worth the Risk.”
Fuck.Does that mean…is she saying—
“That’s the one I sculpted of you.”
