“Yeah.” I bite my cheek, itching to show her now, but I don’t want to distract her further.
“Well, I have something to tell you.” She sits back on her knees, brows pinched as she studies the canvas in front of her. As of now, it’s mostly untouched. Similar paint strokes to the one she just made are etched across it in varying colors. It almost looks like some kind of abstract sunset, but for fear of being entirely off base and offending her, I don’t voice it.
“What’s that?”
“I committed to UC Irvine,” she says nonchalantly, eyes still fixed on her painting.
“Willow,” I gasp. “That’s huge.”
Her eyes dart to me, doing a double take when she realizes I’m radiating with excitement. “It is?”
“Yes.” I slink off the couch, dropping to my knees as I envelope her, laying her back on the floor beside the canvas, careful not to get wet paint on either of us. “You make me proud, Wills.”
Emotion shines in her eyes as she peers up at me through long lashes, cupping my face with her hands. “You make me proud too.”
I laugh roughly at that, I’m not sure what I’ve done to give her that feeling lately. I’ll finish working with Leo through August, and he’s helping me find resources once I return to Santa Monica, but he’s barred me from competing anymore this season. He doesn’t think I’m ready yet, and while we’ll reevaluate where I stand before the Championship Qualifiers this fall, there’s virtually no chance of me even attempting to reach the Olympics next summer.
Her brows pinch at my response. “I’m serious, Wes. Most people would’ve crumbled beneath the weight of what life handed you, but you carry it with grace. You somehow made room to carry me too, and I’ll never stop being awed by you.”
I’ll never stop carrying you. Never stop loving you.
The words linger at the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them down, I don’t know if Willow is there yet. I don’t know if she’s ready to hear the true depth of my feelings for her, the lengths I’d go to carry her for the rest of time. I’m new to this entire realm of existence, and part of me wants to wait until she says the words first because I’m not sure I can recognize the signs of whether she’s ready.
Willow licks her lips, eyes cast downward, breaking contact as she twirls the fabric of my T-shirt between two fingers. “The university has counseling for students, so I . . . I registered to meet with someone once I begin classes next month. I’m going to start talking to someone about what happened. You inspired that.”
I tip her chin up, forcing those ocean eyes to mine. “You make me so proud, Willow,” I say again, ensuring each word is laced with the conviction that matches the warm expansion happening inside my chest. “My brave, strong girl.”
Her lashes flutter as she draws me in, tangling her fingers with the hair at my nape, brushing her lips over mine in a tender kiss full of everything neither of us can seem to say yet. The soft beginning strums of “Iris” by Goo Goo Dolls filter through the speakers in the house.
My mouth moves over hers, tongue slipping through to taste her, drowning myself in her sweetness, swallowing her whimper as I kiss her deeper. She presses against my shoulder, and we rise together—a cohesive unit. There is no ending for her and no beginning for me, only what we become when tied together like this. Rolling me over, Willow pins me on my back, settling herself over my legs.
Her knee slides over the canvas, through the streak of wet paint, knocking over her palette and the cups of paint she had lined up along the top of the canvas.
“Shit, Wills,” I murmur, though she continues to kiss me thoroughly. “We’re going to ruin your painting, baby.”
She sits up, straddling me, hair falling from her bun and framing her face in gold, cheeks flushed the most beautiful shade of pink, a perfect complement to her shimmering eyes. “I was lost with this piece, anyway,” she breathes. “I want to create something new. With you.”
Crossing her arms across her stomach, she grasps the hem of her tank and pulls it over her head, leaving her in nothing but her scrap of black panties.
Her rosy nipples, peaked and puckered, matching the blush spreading across her chest, breasts bounce with every sharp inhale and Willow’s movement as she unbuttons my jeans. She raises her eyes to mine—lust and a request for permission swirling within her gaze.
My cock springs to life at the sight of her, and I nod as I lift up and peel my shirt over my head while she tugs my jeans down my legs. She’s so focused on getting them off me, she doesn’t notice until she’s tossed them across the floor and turns back to me.
Raking over my body, her gaze quickly snatches on my thigh, eyes expanding with shock. “Wes, what is that?” Willow points at the tattoo, covered by that transparent second-skin material August promised would help it heal faster.
“It’s a... stained-glass window,” I stutter, grinning sheepishly. “A tattoo.”
She raises her eyes to me—bursting with astonishment. “You’re afraid of needles.”
“I think I was afraid of being afraid.” I shake my head. “Your uncle said I should consider exploring art that makes me feel alive, rather than focusing on scarring myself with what I’ve already lost.”
“Stained glass makes you feel alive?” she asks softly, tilting her head as amusement dances across her face.
“No, but you do. I told you . . . you’re like the sun shining through the window. Your presence creates color.You’rethe art. To me.”
Her lip trembles, gaze cast downward as she brushes her fingers over the ink with a feather-light touch, studying the design. I went with something simple. A gothic shape with basic borders and lines cut through it, creating geometric flowers within the panel. Black and white.
“Sunflowers,” she says with a disbelieving laugh, an astonished smile spreading over her face.
