Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I face her. “Yes. Nick is so—everything.”
“Good. He should be.”
“I’m not ready for him to be everything.”
“Because you’re scared?” she asks.
“Yes. He hasn’t revealed all of himself. I know this. I sense it.”
“Chris once told me that we are all the sum of all of our broken pieces. You can’t grow if you don’t risk more damage, Faith. You can’t find the person who makes you whole again if you’re afraid. Nick. Your art. Whatever it is, ask yourself: what if there is no tomorrow? Because there was no tomorrow for Rebecca. It can happen to any of us.” She cuts her gaze and swallows hard, seemingly shaken, before she stands up. “I want you to work here,” she says, pushing past the obviously upsetting topic. “I want you to paint one of the offices the way Chris did this one,” she adds. “Pick one. Any one, but if you say you’ll do it, you can’t stop coming here until it’s done.”
“You want me to—”
“Yes. Say yes, Faith.”
“Yes.”
She opens a drawer and pulls out a key, offering it to me. “Your key. I’ll pay you two hundred thousand dollars a year. I’m going home to my husband. The security system arms if you hit the button by the door.” She starts walking toward the door.
“Sara,” I say.
She turns to face me. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“No thanks needed. I’m really glad to have you here.” She disappears into the hallway, and I believe her. Sara and I are alike in ways few people could understand. And suddenly I have two people in my life who fit.
I’ve never had anyone in my life who fit.
But she fits. Nick fits.
I inhale on a ball of emotions. Fear? Is that what is controlling my decisions? And if it is, how did fear become that powerful in my life? How did I convince myself that fear was strength? Because I did. And it makes me angry. I hate that this is what I’ve become. My phone vibrates with a text, and I open my purse to find a message from Nick: I’m outside.
He’s here. He is always here when I need him, and if I let it happen, that will be always. And needing him doesn’t make me weak. It makes me brave. Suddenly, I want to see him; I want to feel what he makes me feel and see if it feels different after that conversation with Sara. I exit Sara’s office and hurry to my new office, pausing with my hand on the light switch, envisioning Sonoma on the walls. Or maybe something new and daring. My lips curve, and I shut out the light, my pace hurried as I exit into the gallery, a little thrill in my belly as I think of my art on display. I reach the exit and open the door, punching the security button before I step outside. And there is Nick, looking like sin and sex in his tan suit, leaning against his Audi, the beam of a streetlight illuminating him.
My heart starts to race, and I start walking, his eyes—those intense, blue eyes—following my every step, a curve to his mouth. And the minute I step in front of him, he pulls me to him, that raw, sexy scent of his consuming me. “How the fuck did I miss you this much?” he asks, his mouth closing down on mine. And oh, what a kiss it is. Deep. Passionate. Hungry. Like he has been starving all day, and I didn’t know until this minute that I have been, too. “I have something for you.”
“That wasn’t it?” I ask, sounding breathless. Feeling breathless.
“That was just hello, sweetheart.” He strokes a lock of hair from over my eyes. “I was going to save it for your show, but I think it’s a good way to celebrate you being here today instead of in Sonoma.” He pulls a box from his pocket and opens it to display a jeweled necklace, shaped like a paintbrush and color palette.
“Nick,” I whisper, completely blown away, and not because the stones glisten with reds, blues, and greens. It’s the sentiment, the thought he’s put into this. I push to my toes and kiss him. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”
“You’re perfect, Faith.”
“No, Nick. I’m broken. But I’m pretty ready to be broken with you, if you think you want to be broken with me.”
“Not broken. Together. Whole. Us. We. You and me.”
“Yes.” My heart swells all over again. “I like how that sounds.”
“Me too, sweetheart. And how’s this for a plan for the night? We walk two blocks to the best Mexican food place in town. After we eat at Diego Maria’s, we go home, where the process is: Fuck. Paint. Fuck. Paint. Sleep. No nightmares tonight.”
I smile. “I like that plan.”
“But do you love it, Faith?” he asks, his voice low, raspy, and I’m not sure if we’re talking about the plan or us. Either way, I don’t let fear win this time.