“Thank you.” Two months ago I would’ve said that Ryan was the talented one, which he had been. But this, for once, wasn’t about him. It was about me and it felt a little bit easier to say that now.
“Do you want to go to the barn and see my paintings?” I folded my arms and raised a brow when she looked up at me.
“I do. Maybe you can show me something else too.”
I put my hand on her back while we walked outside and round the back of the house to the barn. The touch was slight, but it built a thousand bridges between us, crossing a chasm.
I put the lights on full and started to move the canvases to show them off. I had around two dozen in the barn on easels or against the wall stood on boxes. Yesterday I’d had a gallery owner come to look with a view to showing some of them in his place in London. Tomorrow I had a collector, who had seen some of my work on Instagram and then my website, coming to see me. I didn’t need the money. My lifestyle on the island was hardly the same as it had been when Ryan and I had been out most nights when we weren’t working. But I was doing something that was easing my soul.
“These are incredible. I mean, I’ve seen them before, but I haven’t looked properly. The lighthouse – and that one of the beach…”
She saw the one of her which I’d recently finished, the one from the first evening I’d seen her when she was on the sands with the wind catching her hair.
“That’s me.”
I wasn’t sure what to say.
“I remember that night. I was wearing those clothes because I hadn’t unpacked properly. You saw me.” Her eyes didn’t leave the painting.
“You looked like everything fitted together at that moment. The way the light caught you and how the breeze whipped up your hair – it was like you were one of the elements or something.” I laughed, partly out of embarrassment.
“Gabe, I feel like I should tell you I hate it because it’s of me, but it’s really good. Are you going to sell it?”
I shook my head. “No. I want to keep this one.”
She looked at me, eyes wide as if she’d just seen something.
“Tell me about the others.” She made the request quickly, foisting her hand into mine and moving us on.
I explained each painting that she pointed to, talking about the colours and textures of the paint and she told me about where they were on the island and some of the history. By the time we’d finished it was late and she’d fallen in closer to me, touching more.
“Do you want to stay?” I moved her hair back from her face. “I get if you don’t.”
She put her forehead against my chest and grabbed onto the T-shirt I’d thrown on. “Yes. I feel like we had a fight and I don’t know why. But I don’t want to leave.” Her eyes were shiny when she looked up at me.
“I know. I don’t get it either. Let’s just go to bed. Just be.” I held her close, not wanting to let her go. Not quite understanding what this actually was.
Anya
Gabe was in bed before me, the white sheets contrasting sharply against his tanned skin. He’d managed to fix a lamp up so there was some light where his bed was, making it slightly less of a challenge to get up there. I scrambled under the covers, feeling him studying me. It had been a trying day and once I would’ve been walking away from him, from any man, who wasn’t able to handle my shit, but I didn’t know if that was the case here.
“Are we good?” My words were quiet as I lay next to him, taking one hand and stroking his beard.
“We’re good. I think today was a learning curve and I don’t think it was a bad one to have.” His hand went to my hip, staying placed there. I could feel his heat and I shifted closer.
Today was possibly one of those days which I’d look back at and flag as a time when things shifted. Harry was fine. There could’ve been a disaster but there hadn’t. Things wouldn’t always end tragically.
But it showed me how fractured we both still were and I wondered about the serendipity of things, why had I met Gabe this summer when we were both so broken and had no clear idea of our futures? But maybe that was why he was here right now, before I went back to tidy up my life in London.
“We can say that now. And all is good. We’re a little clearer.”
“That this is just a summer romance?”
I laughed, the phrase taking me back to when I was about sixteen and a boy who had summered here had broken my very fragile heart. “I’m not sure. Aren’t we too old for a summer romance?”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever too old for that.” He held me closer and I shifted into his arms. We didn’t need any more than this because this was all it could be.
I moved my arm around Gabe’s neck and pressed my mouth to his. It was a soft kiss, especially compared to the ones we’d shared that could’ve lit a fire. He held me, demanding nothing and I wondered whether we were at an end, whether this was where the road stopped for us.
