Page 73 of Will to Run

“On Sunday, Rose asked me if I wanted to do an art show.”

My mouth drops open for her. “Del!” I exclaim. “That’s amazing!”

“But I don’t know if I’m going to do it,” she cuts me off from gushing.

“Why?” I ask. I can’t pretend to know anything about the art world, but I imagine this is an honor.

“So many reasons: logistics, confidence, who would buy my paintings, this is still something I consider sacred, am I ready to open myself up to people’s opinions? It feels a bit like a fool’s errand?”

“How dare you sell yourself so short?” I ask her. “Few know the backstory at play, but look at what you create, Della. Your work is enchanting, inviting, and beautiful. If I, who has no background at all, can get lost in what you’re doing, imagine how many people other people you can touch, too.”

“So you think I should?”

I can’t help bringing my hand to her to help land my point. “Why are you asking permission to fly, Della? Take this opportunity and soar. This is made for you. I’m so happy that Rose is giving you this chance.”

From my point of view, this couldn’t be more perfect. She can get some more confidence, maybe even have a reason to stay. The latter thought is a whisper in the wind, but we can’t pretend that this is going to be easy when she leaves. So maybe… just maybe… she stays for a little longer.

“What if I only have, like, thirteen paintings?”

“Then you have the best thirteen paintings the Painted Heart Gallery has ever seen, and you’ll sell the shit out of them,” I reply.

“How do you have so much faith in me, Jax?”

“You mean besides the fact that I’ve seen your work?”

She surprises me when she leaps forward to kiss me. I’m glad my back is already supported by the truck cab, because I would have fallen over.

“Do you really think I’m good enough?” she whispers on my lips as I pull her legs to straddle around me.

“You are going to rise like the sun that we love to watch, Della. And how lucky am I that I get to witness it?”

After that, things turn quickly, and before I know it, we are both checking off boxes. Her riding me when I’m sitting up, and me, among my favorite wildflowers; a spot I’ve never taken anyone before.

35

DELLA

On Thursday, I'm heading to the art store to visit Rose again and show her my art. She loves it, but I still can’t commit to the show. I’m not sure why I’m hesitating. Maybe because although Jax and I talked about me doing it, we didn’t talk about the logistics of it, like where I would live, so committing scares me. I intended to talk to him last night, but he got called away for a situation and didn’t come back because it was too late. After filling my shopping basket with my head in the clouds, I wander over to the kids section and pick up some washable paints for Luke and a craft for Mazie.

The plan is for Jaxon to come over to cook dinner and just hang out. He’s been so busy, so I am taking what I can get. The night in the wildflowers right after work was already asking a lot. But that hasn’t stopped us from enjoying most of our nights and mornings together. I realize that isn’t exactly healthy, but I’m still operating on a timeline, so I am soaking up every last ounce of Jaxon I can.

Tonight, my job is to prep dinner; that’s it. When I get home from the art store, I start to paint a scene from the street I can’t stop thinking about. But like so many times in my little Amberheart painting room, I lose track of time, and when the doorbell rings, I about jump out of my skin.

Racing downstairs, I catch a glimpse of myself before I answer the door, and I’m a mess. There’s paint streaked on my face, cheek, tank top, and shorts. He hasn’t seen these volleyball spandex since that first night, but we’re past self-consciousness. I’m more concerned that I never got around to starting dinner. Whoops.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says as I greet him. “It appears you are in the middle of something.” His eyebrow raises, and he rests his tongue on his bottom lip.

“I totally spaced on dinner,” I blurt. “There were these two old people sharing ice cream on the bench outside The Painted Heart. But both of them had their faces tipped towards the sun, as if each ray they were soaking up was giving them life. I only intended to start it, but I got carried away.”

He holds his hand up to stop me from continuing. “I’m not here for dinner, I’m here for the company. I’ll take care of it.”

Before I can argue, he pulls his phone out and calls someone.

“Hey Mario!” he says into the phone. “Look, I’m in long-term cabin fourteen, and we could use dinner. Any chance I can order a last-minute delivery?”

Mario? Who was that again?

“Yeah, that sounds perfect. Thank you so much, man. Charge it to me and add a fifty percent tip for the last-minute pain-in-the-ass tax, please.”