But just like when I tried to fall asleep last night, all I can hear, see, feel, and smell isGavin.
His moans against my mouth, his mocha hair gripped between my fingers, his lips dragging over my neck, his masculine scent everywhere around me.
All the lines are blurred. Lines I’ve been hoping to blur for years.
But now I’m on one side of that line I can’t distinguish, and I’m terrified he’s still on the other.
He’s on the side ofno, and now I’m fully on the side ofyes.
Last night, I heard the need in his voice and saw the longing in his eyes and felt the desperation in his grip. But in the time it took for that tree to hit the ground, he had rebuilt an impenetrable wall around himself.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My eyes open to find Gavin with a knuckle on my window, motioning for me to open it. As I hold the button down to lower the glass, he leans closer.
“Want to come into the last place with me?” he asks, tiny snowflakes landing and melting against his cheeks.
“You came back with no pizza, and now you haveanotherstore to go into?” Crossing my arms over my stomach, I glare up at him.
A burst of pleasure zips through my veins when his eyes dip to the vee of my emerald-green dress before he snaps them back up quickly.
Oh, Gavin, you may not like that you want me, but you want me.
And I get to torture him about it.
“Is there something on my dress?” I dance my fingers over the line of my cleavage and watch every flicker of movement in his jaw. His gaze shoots behind me to Luci before it dips to where I want it, darkening as I drag the neckline over a little. He swallows hard, his grip tightening on the door, and anticipation flutters behind my ribcage.
“Hmm. I don’t see anything,” I say innocently, blinking up at him.
His attention snaps back up to my face before he grits out, “Fuck.” Clearing his throat, he straightens and mumbles, “I’ll be right back.”
My lungs expand with victory as he jogs across the street. Maybe the lines are blurring in his mind too.
He passes a small market and stops in front of the art gallery, then casts a glance in my direction before opening the door and disappearing inside.
Damn it. Of all the places he could go, he enters theonethat intrigues me.
Ugh! I throw open the door, grab my jacket, and walk toward the gallery, careful not to let my heels slip on the pavement.
The familiar scent of paints and clean canvases welcomes me as I step into the shop. I haven’t been here in years, but upon a quick scan, it seems the new owners have kept the setup about the same. Art supply store in the front and gallery in the back.
“She just said art supplies, so I’m not sure.” Gavin’s voice drifts to me as I make my way deeper into the shop, trying to keep my heels as quiet as possible on the hardwood floors.
“Well, over here,” comes an older woman’s kind voice. “These paints are all washable, so that might be best for a child.”
I bypass their discussion, drawn to the welcoming coziness of the small gallery in the back. Canvases and a few sculptures line the walls, with instrumental holiday music echoing softly through the room.
As I wander down one side of the gallery, I stare at each piece for a long moment, trying to absorb the feelings they elicit and hear what the artist is trying to tell me. There are detailed landscapes, a beautiful portrait of a father holding a baby, and an abstract piece full of bright colors. They each speak a different language, but I seem to be able to translate them all.
When I reach the last painting on the wall, my breath pours from my chest.
A beautiful older woman is depicted before me, her dark skin glowing against the dim background. Her gray hair is braided over her shoulder, and her eyes are closed with a peaceful smile covering her lips.
But from the center of her chest radiates a medley of colors. Swirls and spirals and hearts and flowers, like they’re erupting out of her chest.
Their translation sayscreativity, inspiration, excitement.
I instantly envy her.
