Holiday Sparks

He leaned down. “I’ll make it beautiful.”

“I know you will.”

Chapter Twelve

He moved to the thermostat and bumped the heat. She tried to calm the hummingbird that was currently trying to bust out of her chest. This wasn’t what she’d intended to do when she got in her car.

The rage that had fueled her when she saw that lonely tree in the middle of her yard with the pathetic white lights had put her back into the car so fast she didn’t even realize she was heading into the center of town. She had Ben’s work address in her contacts on her phone and somehow she’d ended up on his street.

Every night she watched the driveway instead of the neighborhood view she loved so much. All she could do was wait for his truck at night. Some nights she woke to the rumble of his engine, some nights she even caught a glimpse of him.

Work was fine. She had a million things to do to distract herself, but at night?

She’d never ached for anyone in her life.

She hated it.

And she wanted to hate him, but one look at him and she realized just how stupid she was being. Every reason she’d come up with to cut him out of her life was as flimsy as wet tissue paper.

She slid onto the modified chair. Part of it reminded her of a dentist’s chair with the hydraulics and cushioning. It smelled of lemons and the underlying burn of bleach. He took care of his studio.

No wonder he’d looked at her as if she was insane when she talked about replacing his work as an artist. Everything about the room screamed Ben. From the hauntingly beautiful artwork on the walls to the orderly work station, all of it mirrored the man she was just starting to know.

They’d rushed through the preliminaries and went right into intimacy. No wonder she couldn’t find her footing. His Christmas designs were just an extension of the artist who was as at home here as he was in her duplex.

The same touches were in his half of the house. Orderliness with an overlay of art.

She lay back, stretching her back out to find a comfortable position. Ben was silently unwrapping new needles, which he deftly slid into a pen-shaped cylinder. He hooked the end in a small square contraption that looked like two spools. The quiet snap of a rubber band made her shut her eyes against watching anymore.

Not knowing was probably better for her.

“I’m going to draw out some lettering freehand and then transfer it on your skin, outline it and shade a little bit.”

She nodded and took a steadying series of breaths.

“You don’t have to do this, Darcy.”

“I know. I want to.” She really did. She trusted Ben on this. She saw his work on the boards in the heart of his waiting room. The colors were unbelievably rich, but the underlying art was what drew her. “Just keep it small.”

When he didn’t say anything, she opened her eyes to see him hunched over the table. His fingers were flying with a mechanical pencil, then he switched off to a marker. He was done with the design in less than five minutes.

“How’s that?”

She sat up. The lettering was less than two inches wide in thin strokes of black and shades of gray. The E in hope tailed off into a star that wound into the center of the O.

“You drew that just now?”

He nodded. “Suits you.”

She leaned forward and kissed him softly. “It’s lovely.”

His dark eyes gleamed and the smile rolled her heart in her chest until there was nothing but warmth. “Let me just go get it on transfer paper.”

She lay back again and smoothed her palm against her jittering belly. She wasn’t afraid of the word, no… It was the pain she wasn’t so sure about. Surely it couldn’t be that bad.

He came back in with a small piece of paper and snapped on black latex gloves. He rolled over to her. “Let’s get you situated so I make sure this is good and straight.”

“Where do you want me?”