Page 21 of Will to Run

“How long are you staying Miss Della?” she asks as I clip her in.

“Well, it wasn’t safe for me to go through the mountain yesterday, so I think I’ll stay until it’s all clear up there.”

“Good choice. Dad always says that we have to make good choices.”

“Say goodbye, kids,” Maria chuckles.

Both of them wave, and I shut the door.

“Nice to meet you, Maria,” I say before turning and staring at the storefront. I’m already out of my car, so I can probably just pop in to see what they have. Accessing a mental inventory of what I need with ease tells me not all is lost. Maybe I will rediscover this passion after all… or maybe I’ll just go down in flames and have a fiery and colorful demise.

But as soon as I push into the store, I know Quinn is right. There’s a feeling that, as a creative, you just can’t describe; it’s stepping into a place where ideas come to life.

“Hello and welcome to Painted Heart. How can I help you today?”

The woman who rounds the corner looks like she was made to live in an art shop. She’s got the eclectic hippie vibe about her, and she’s smiling the kind of smile that makes you feel like you’re home.

“I’m Rose. How can I help you today?”

“Hi Rose, I’m Della, and I’m here on the order of my best friend. I’m trying to get my groove back.” It is meant to be a joke, but it hits in quite a different way when she tilts her head to me.

“Well, lucky me, you’ve come to the right place.”

Over the next forty minutes, I shop, of course, but we also talk art, and she shows me the gallery upstairs when I ask for the tour. This place has been here for five decades, and they added the local artists’ gallery upstairs fifteen years ago. As I wander through it, I’m blown away by the very non-small-town feel this has. You’d find something like this in a kitschy neighborhood in Chicago.

By the time I leave, I have all the basics I need to dip my toe back in. Though I’ve painted with both acrylic and oil, I decided to go with a heavy acrylic because it’s less messy, and I also grab a few small canvases because I won’t fit giant ones in my car when I take off. Making a stop at the grocery store, I promise myself I’ll be back to explore the rest of town, but I’m excited about my paint and want to capitalize.

I know that everything is going to hit me soon: the wedding, the lies, the fact I’m doing art without my mother, but right now, I am going to try to get that brush on the canvas.

12

JAXON

When she doesn’t respond to my text, around three, I start to worry the tiniest bit. What if she’s in that weird spiral like she was last night? What if she tried wearing heels in the dirt and sprained her ankle? What if she’s gone?

I know I should stay at work tonight since I arrived so late, but I can’t help myself from leaving the office right on time and heading to cabin three. Although we have two thousand acres here, the living quarters are close together. My golf cart and truck are at my house, so I throw my earbuds in and start on the twenty-minute walk. When I arrive, her Toyota is gone, but the golf cart remains.

My God, she left.

She must have decided to take on the detour and breezed out as quickly as she breezed in. It’s not like she owed me anything, but a goodbye would have been nice.

My feet are climbing onto the porch, and I’m looking in her window before I process what I’m actually doing. Holy shit, what’s wrong with me?

“See anything good?” her voice rings out. Spinning around, she’s standing behind me with a shit-eating grin on her face. How the hell did I not hear her car?

“I was… no… I just…”

“You just became a full-on stalker. I listen to those kinds of podcasts too, you know,” she laughs.

“Or I’m making sure you were okay since I never heard back from you,” I try to smooth over the fact that I have lost my ever-loving mind. “As someone who provided exceptional cougar murder sound protection, I’m pained I didn’t get a response,” I flirt.

“Jaxon, I’m better than good,” she holds up bags full of stuff. “I went to town today for art supplies and groceries. Then, I met the owner, Rose, and she was… she was just so wonderful. And she showed me the gallery upstairs; it was the kind of place you’d find back home! I completely forgot to text you back!”

She is tittering with excitement, and I can’t help but fall into that with her. My artistic talents top out at fingerpainting with Mazie.

“I haven’t painted since… well, since my mom’s death, but Quinn suggested starting again. Maybe it’s the fact that this morning was beyond words, and I don’t think a photo can capture that the way a painting with layers and textures can, or the fact that I saw your niece and nephew outside the store, and they are the reason I got out of my car…” she stops talking and holds my gaze. “I don’t know. Something just feels right.”

Funny, I think to myself. Feels right is my first impression of Della Tatroe too. I want to hug her because this person in front of me has me captivated more than she should, but her joy is that contagious.