I nod, grateful for her perceptiveness. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just... a lot. But in a good way,” I add quickly, not wanting her to think I’m uncomfortable.
She smiles understandingly. “Come on, let’s go somewhere a little quieter. I want to hear all about your meeting..”
Paige leads me through the house to a set of French doors at the back. We step out onto the spacious deck, and I feel like I can breathe again. The deck is beautifully decorated with twinkling fairy lights and garlands of evergreen, creating a magical atmosphere against the backdrop of the starry night sky.
“Here,” Paige says, guiding me to a loveseat near a sleek gas fire pit. She flips a switch, and flames spring to life, casting a warm glow and taking the edge off the winter chill.
We settle onto the loveseat, and Paige turns to me, her eyes shining with curiosity. “So, tell me everything. How did it go with Ramona?”
The excitement I’ve been holding in bubbles to the surface, and the words come tumbling out. “It was amazing, Paige. She loved my sketches. She thinks I should sell them.”
Paige’s face lights up, her smile radiant in the firelight. “Noah, that’s wonderful.”
I’m grinning from ear to ear—the feelings that carried me to Ramona’s door are like waves that wash over me and recede, leaving me changed like the shoreline. “I can hardly believe it. Ramona had all these ideas—postcards, puzzles, calendars. She even suggested adding inspirational quotes to some of them.” I can already see several of these images.
Paige reaches out to take my hands in hers. “Your art deserves to be seen by the world, Noah.”
As I look into her eyes, seeing the pride and belief shining there, I feel a surge of courage. “For the first time in a long time, I feel like I could really do something with my art. I want to learn everything I can about making this work.”
Paige squeezes my hands. “And you will. I’ll help you however I can.”
“Paige,” I say, my voice softer now, “there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”
She giggles lightly. “Sounds serious.” When I don’t laugh, she tilts her head, curiosity evident in her expression. “What is it?”
I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together, and it’s been wonderful. I don’t want it to stop, and I want to promise you that I’m not seeing anyone else. I want to be exclusive.”
For a moment, Paige is silent, and my heart rate picks up. Her face breaks into a smile so bright it rivals the Christmas lights twinkling around us. “Noah,” she says, her voice filled with warmth, “I’d love that.”
Relief and joy wash over me, and I lean toward Paige, drawn to her with everything that is inside of me. My heart pounds in my chest as if it’s trying to get to her, too. Her eyes flutter closed just before our lips meet, and in that moment, there’s only Paige and me and this perfect moment.
Her lips are warm and yielding against mine, tasting faintly of peppermint and promise. I bring my hand up to cup her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin beneath my fingers. As we settle into the kiss, it deepens, becoming more assured. It’s as if every emotion we’ve shared over the past weeks—every laugh, every shared glance, every moment of understanding— is being poured into this one perfect connection.
When we finally part, it’s with a shared sigh of contentment. I open my eyes to find Paige already gazing at me, her navy blue eyes shimmering with emotion in the firelight. Her cheeks are flushed, and there’s a smile playing at the corners of her mouth that makes my heart skip a beat. In her eyes, I see my own happiness reflected back at me, along with something else: a question about the trip. I can’t approach that yet. I’ve made big steps today. I have. There’s still a ways to go before I can follow her around the world. Right now, I promise to always be here when she gets back. She sees that promise and, for now, tucks the question away. It’ll come up again because it has to. Hopefully, when it does, we’ll both know the answer before we say the words.
“So,” she says, a hint of playfulness in her voice, “does this mean I get to call you my boyfriend now?”
I chuckle, feeling lighter than I have in years. “Yes.” I kiss her temple. She leans into me, and I hold her, wanting to stay here forever.
The Christmas lights twinkle like earthbound stars, the scent of pine and wood smoke fills the air, and the woman I love is by my side. This all came because I took the step; I followed my gut and the talent God put inside of me. I can’t thank Him enough for all that. Maybe I don’t have to say the words. As long as the feeling is this strong inside of me, He’ll know.
I lean in, placing a gentle kiss on Paige’s lips. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Noah,” she replies.
The sounds of the busy household behind us fade into a distant hum, and the worries about the future—my art career, Paige’s trip—are there, knocking at the door to be let out into the -open. I don’t want to ruin this moment, so I keep the door shut. I’m certain they’ll come back. Unresolved things always do.
Nineteen
NOAH
The familiar scents of cumin and chili powder greet me at the door to Casa Rameriz. Normally, my mouth would water with anticipation; instead, I have a rock in my gut. My parents wanted to take me out to lunch today and drove into town. I have no idea why they came or why they even bother with me.
I had a thought last night as I took the guest bed out to the garage. I could see why they want me to do the practical thing; they think it will protect me. They felt like they had to protect me from myself, and then I felt that way, too. I don’t feel that way anymore, though, and I’m afraid my tolerance for their parenting style is at an all-time low at the moment. I’m not sure sharing a meal with them is a good idea. But they called, and I don’t want to cut them out of my life.
The restaurant is a riot of color and sound, with vibrant murals adorning the walls and the lively strains of Mariachi music filling the air. My parents are already seated at a booth near the back, their postures stiff and out of place among the relaxed diners around them. My father is impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that seems excessive for a casual lunch, while my mother fidgets with her pearl necklace, her eyes darting around the restaurant as if searching for any familiar faces she hopes won’t see her in a place that sets chips and salsa on the table before the meal.
As I approach, my father’s sharp gaze locks onto me, his lips curving into what I suppose is meant to be a smile, but comes across more as a grimace. “Noah,” he says, his voice carrying that familiar note of disapproval. “You’re late.”
