Rowan Revived by Taylor Danae Colbert

Author:Taylor Danae Colbert [Colbert, Taylor Danae]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-10-02T16:00:00+00:00

16

Lena

I woke up this morning with a knot in my belly, and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t until breakfast, when I caught a glimpse of the Baycrest Journal on the counter, the date on its corner staring me straight in the face, that I realized why.

One month. Jesse and I have one month left of these renovations, these little projects, this dependable time together. And then he leaves, we leave, and I have to figure out a whole new life for the three of us—a life without him.

I haven’t turned on my phone in over a month, either, and I have to say, it’s been pretty freeing. To be totally closed off from Boston, from the nightmare of a life that made us, and the nightmare of a life that we landed in there. In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve become a little more carefree; a lighter version of myself than I’ve ever been.

As I stare down at the adorable little hometown paper, reading about the Millers’ fruit stand, I hear the clanking of metal outside. I lean toward the window and lay my eyes on him. He’s carrying three cans of paint in one hand, and a few paint brushes and rollers in the other, as he treks from the barn to the side of the house. When he sets them down, our eyes meet through the window, and I can’t stop my lips from responding in with a slow, sweet smile. Seeing him first thing in the morning is better than a cup of coffee, or two. Those bay-colored eyes, that hair shining in the earliest rays of the day. I can’t look away. And to my surprise, he’s smiling back, nodding his head good morning. I throw back the last sip of coffee in my mug and head out the parlor door toward him.

“Paint day,” I say. He nods.

“Paint day.”

We each dump a gallon of paint into a fresh tray and start rolling. We paint in silence for a while, him up high on the ladder, and me, of course, down low on the ground where I’m safe. I smile at how simple it all is, the two of us, out here painting away in the early morning light, the breeze keeping us cool, and my thoughts of him warming me from the inside out. Every chance I get, I steal a peek at him, the muscles and veins in his arms protruding with every wide stroke he makes.

“You gonna get any painting done,” he says, “or ya just gonna keep lookin’ up here?”

I feel the heat rush to my cheeks, knowing instantly that they’re pink. Caught me.

“I can’t help it. Your stroke is all wrong,” I say, trying to salvage my dignity by sounding as nonchalant as possible in my teasing. He glances down at me, then slowly climbs down the ladder, never taking his eyes of me. I swallow and turn back to the house. I’m not fazed.

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