I take a deep breath. He’s right. Clenching my jaw, I zone in on what’s in front of me, visualising what to do.
Just step on his hand, grab the ledge and pull yourself up.
I got this.
‘Three …’ Ryker counts down, ‘Two … One.’
I charge at him, planting my foot on his hands and he surges me up. It feels like I’m flying through the air. My fingers reach out for the ledge and I grab on. His hands still push my feet and I use them for leverage. I make it to the top and straddle the ledge, looking down at him and a bit giddy from the height. It’s so bizarre to see him from this angle.
The stars make his eyes twinkle as he looks up at me.
‘Wait there,’ he says with schoolboy excitement.
I watch him take a few steps back then run at the wall to hike himself up with ease.
‘You’re such a show-off,’ I tease.
Ignoring me, he swings his long legs over and lands on the ground without even a thud. He reaches up to me with large palms and I slide off the ledge, landing safely in the warmth of his arms.
He takes my hand and we slip to the south side of the building until he stops at the doors that lead to the art room. He kneels down, attempting to pick the lock, but he’s using a ball pick. He groans in frustration when it doesn’t work.
From my back pocket, I pull out my new nail file. ‘Allow me.’
Ryker’s jaw drops as he watches me pick the lock with ease, and the door unlatches free.
‘It was you,’ he breathes, a wicked smile pulling right across his lips.
‘What was?’
‘Never mind.’ He kisses my forehead before placing a hand on the small of my back to guide me through. ‘Such a Little Suspect.’
In the art room, I’m hit with a scent that feels like everything I’ve ever missed: paint, clay, warmth and freaking happiness.
After all these years, this place still feels safe.
I leap into Ryker’s arms, wrap my legs around his waist and kiss him. He walks us over to one of the workbenches and places me down.
‘Wait here,’ he says animatedly. ‘I’ll be right back.’
He dashes off into the supply closet and I can’t stop my giggles that burst free. It’s refreshing to see him this way again. It feels like the last time we were in here, all those years ago. He comes back cradling tubes of paint, a tin of different brushes and textured art paper.
When he rolls the paper out, my heart cracks. It’s the paper we made together all those years ago; the artwork I never finished.
‘How did you get this?’ Gripping him by his tee, I pull him in for another kiss. ‘You’re right. This is better than flowers.’
He hums his approval. ‘See? I know what you like. I got a tip from your old professor … turns out he was always hoping you would come back and finish your degree.’
I look down at all the paint colours he’s brought. My fingertips start to tingle and I want to cry at the melancholy and bliss. I haven’t felt like this since the night Jace left us.
Releasing Ryker, I jump off the workbench and pour a few colours on a palette. A shot of nervousness hits me,hesitation holding me back from marking the paper. But I’m sick of holding back. I bring the brush down and paint. God, it feels so good. Tears spring free and I let them. I cry. I smile. And I freaking paint.
It’s only when Ryker weaves his fingers into my hair that I remember he’s been watching me in silence this whole time. He tilts my head to the side and gently kisses along my neck. Delicious tingles pour down my spine.
‘God.’ I sigh. ‘I can’t focus when you do that.’
‘Hmm,’ he mumbles, the vibration sending goosebumps across my skin. ‘I can’t help it. You look so sexy when you love something.’
I turn in his arms. He looks at me as if I’m the most precious thing ever to exist. I run my fingers through his hair, leaving a streak of yellow paint in their wake.
