Page 36 of Will to Run

“What’s that?” I ask.

“It’s… well… actually, it’s a collection of my paintings. My mom and I kept a record of the things we created.”

Oh shit. That’s too personal of a thing to ask to see, even though I’d love to.

“Wanna see?” she asks, reading my mind.

My eyes look up and catch hers. “I’d be honored if you shared that with me, Della.”

“Are you telling me we’re going to eat cake and look at paintings?” she asks, unable to control the beaming smile. “That would be the best night ever.”

“Hell yes, we are.” I grab the album and the cake, while she gets two forks before joining me, sitting as close as we’ve sat every sunrise. The air between us is charged as she balances the book on our legs.

“Here we go,” she says, taking a deep breath.

We thumb through everything, page by page. Some paintings she rambles on about, some of them, I hear her voice hitch. All I know is that she’s… what’s a word beyond talented? Because she’s that times some. Hearing each backstory, each tidbit, just leaves me wanting more. The hole in her heart from not painting had to be a cavern in her soul, because the way she talks about this? It’s her love. When she closes the last page, we look at the clock. I have no idea how that many hours flew by.

“I’m sorry, Jax. I didn’t expect to take you through my entire painting career. I just got carried away. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at these, much less allowed myself to think about how much I loved this. Thank you.”

The invisible magnetic pull between us tightens. Every time we are together, we are pushing boundaries. When I came over, I entertained the thought that we could cross that boundary tonight, but not now. She just did the equivalent of spilling her heart out to me, and I don’t want this moment to be clouded by a kiss. Because that spark will rage quickly, and I just… God, it feels so right and so fucking wrong.

Clearing my throat, I stand up, but don’t miss the hurt that flashes on her face before she schools it.

I can’t kiss her. Right?

There’s too much red tape to get involved with a runaway bride. Too many strings. It doesn’t matter that I’m the one who showed up at her door because I needed to see her… I still need to keep my wits about me.

And she’d make me lose my mind.

My rather abrupt retreat the previous night has no impact when we meet for sunrise. The buzzing between us remains a constant presence, still simmering below the surface.

In just a week, it’s become my favorite part of my day. One more tally in the column of reasons I’m fucked. I’ve been watching this sunrise my entire life, so I can see the slightest variation in the spot it rises. It’s a visual metric for how every day is a day closer to her leaving.

I’m not sure what I want to happen. I’ve had a handful of opportunities to take this to the next level, and I keep finding excuses to shy away. If my brother weren’t being such a dick about her being here, he would laugh his ass off that I, Jaxon Wills, am shying away from a woman.

Trying to steal a glance, my eyes end up lingering on her face as she’s studying the changing colors of the sky. This woman is beautiful in a way that defies words. Feeling the weight of the stare, she turns to me.

“What?” A smile slowly spreads across her lips.

“Nothing. I enjoy seeing this through your eyes. It’s old news for me, but I love to watch how you take it in.”

“I think I’m going to paint it,” she says, looking back at the sky. “The colors would be spectacular.”

“God, please do,” I say. “Consider me your buyer.”

Her shoulder pushes into mine. “I’d probably keep it,” her eyes move all around the scene as if she’s memorizing each moment. “It’ll be a reminder of how I got back on the horse. No pun intended.” She cracks up at her own joke, and if I could bottle that sound, I would do it in a heartbeat. When our daily meeting ends, she stands, and I follow before we break to tackle our days.

I’m seeing some friends for drinks tonight in a town an hour away, and spending the night at my buddy’s house. If there were any other ladies attending, I’d bring her, but it might get awkward if she were the only one.

It doesn’t stop me from thinking about her the rest of the evening and getting into a night-long text conversation bugging her to send me photos of her progress on the sunrise painting.

19

DELLA

Iwas curious how seeing him the morning was going to go after I let him into one of the most intimate parts of my world. He seemed to leave in a rush, and I thought I might have scared him. But when he shows up, I feel even closer than I did before. At one point, I catch him looking at me like he forgot the beautiful sunrise even existed.

These moments between us live in a space between special and odd. Odd because I’m inching closer and closer to him both literally and figuratively, but then he consistently disappears into the day. And that’s where the special comes in. The fact that he’s carving out time every morning, time he doesn’t have, intensifies this thing blooming between us. At least on my end. Freaking high season.