His gaze drops to where my fingers rest against my chest, over my scar. “Do you feel any different?”
I could lie and say no, but Alex would see right through me.
“It feels strange,” I admit. “Like I’m still trying to figure out how to exist in this body again.”
Alex props himself up one elbow, reaching out to push my hair back from my face. “You’re doing better every day.”
“I know.”
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” His fingerstrailing along my jaw, down my neck, until they rest above my new-to-me heart. “Every part of you is perfect.”
His lips meet mine, intertwining slow and careful. I press closer, threading my fingers into his hair and tugging slightly. His restraint seems to snap, as if that was the sign he needed to let loose all his need and desire.
His hand slides to my waist, pulling me flush against him. The heat between us builds, deepens, until I’m breathless and my skin hums with the weight of everything we’ve been holding back. His mouth moves to my throat, as his fingers grip my hips and anchor me to him.
I tilt my head back, softly moaning his name, and it nearly undoes him.
But seconds later he stills, forehead pressing against mine. “As much as I want you,” he says, breath ragged and shallow, “you need to rest.”
I pout. “You’re being infuriatingly responsible right now.”
He chuckles, brushing his lips against mine one last time. “One of us has to be.”
I huff, but he’s already rolling out of bed. “You should go to the bar for a bit. Check on the guys.”
He gives me a look. “Em, I don’t?—”
“I’m fine, Alex. Really.” I interrupt, reaching for his hand. “You can go for a few hours. I promise, I won’t overdo it.”
He’s clearly reluctant, but knows not to argue with me about it. “Fine. But I’m not staying long.”
“You’re such a worrier.” I tease.
“Yeah,” he says, leaning down to kiss me again before leaving. “And you’re the reason why.”
I kneelon the floor of the studio, paint-splattered overalls clinging to my body, streaks of color staining my fingers. The canvas in front of me is a swirl of emotion, all deep reds and soft blues, sharp edges and blurred lines. It’s chaos and calm all at once. A reflection of everything I can’t put into words.
I don’t hear Alex come in, but Ifeelhis presence.
“Jesus.” His deep voice echoes through the small room, knocking me out of my trance.
I glance over my shoulder. He’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the frame. His eyes drink me in.
“What?”
He takes a step closer, shaking his head. “You’re the most beautiful thing in this room.”
My heart stumbles.
“In a room full of art…” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Youare the only masterpiece.”
I can feel my cheeks flush as a result of his words.
Alex crosses the room in a few strides, pulling me up gently and admiring me in the silence.
If my change of heart is good for anything, it’s to show me what really matters in life. The life I had in Manhattan was wild and exhilarating, everything I dreamed about for a long time. I reached milestones with my career that wouldn’t have been possible elsewhere and I am grateful for that chapter of my story.
But being back in Windhaven has made me realize that this is the life I am meant to live: here in this quiet, sleepy Vermont town, with the boy that would move the heavens and Earth if I asked him to, painting and creating art for myself, not for the money or fame it used to come with.
