Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks 1)

I’ve never cared about money; how little or how much I had has never mattered. Of course I need it to run my studio, so it matters that I have enough for that, but other than that, it’s insignificant to me. I’ve never been materialistic.

I tear my gaze away from the painting I can’t stop staring at for two minutes while I open the balcony doors to let in the light, summer breeze, and turn on the radio, relishing in the notes of the calming music as they wash over me. I turn back toward the painting and wonder what Oliver was thinking when he created it. Is there a muse behind it?

I sigh, smiling as the lights change and the woman depicted smiles back at me.

I feel him before I see him, my skin prickling with goose bumps and a shiver rolling through me as he wraps his arms around my waist from behind before kissing the sensitive skin beneath my ear.

I turn around in his arms, seeing his eyes fixated on the painting before he murmurs, “Worth every single dollar.”

“You shouldn’t have spent so much money on me.”

“It wasn’t for you. It was for me.” I raise a brow in question and he leans in close to my mouth and whispers, “Seeing your reaction and watching you try to figure out the reasoning behind the painting is priceless. I’d pay a large amount of money any day to see the look on your face right now; over and over again.”

She stares at me in shock at the words I’ve said, and all I can do is smirk at her.

She’s not the kind of person who easily accepts gifts—she never has been—but this is different because I saw the way that she was staring at this painting the other night. The way I feel is: if I can’t use my money to buy things like this for her, then I don’t know what I can spend my money on. It’s not as if it was a hardship, and I’ll do anything to bring that smile to her face and the look in her honey eyes.

I press my lips against hers in a gentle kiss before I pull back, lifting up the bottle of red wine that I brought with me.

From the first moment I pulled up to her studio and I saw that balcony, I always imagined drinking a glass of red wine on it as I watched the sun set. I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d be doing it with Harmony by my side.

“I brought this,” I tell her as I grab the two plastic glasses that I found in the picnic set that sits unused in my house. They may not be the wine glasses that I imagined when I first saw the balcony, but they’ll do the job.

“So, you were thinking you could sweet talk me into having a drink with you?” She raises a brow at me playfully as she tilts her head to the side.

“Maybe.” I smirk and grab the bottle opener. “How many times have you looked at that balcony and imagined drinking a glass of wine while you watched the sun set?” I ask, knowing that she’s got to have at least thought about it once.

“How do you know that I haven’t spent every night on it with a glass of wine in my hand already?”

She purses her lips as she tries to stifle a giggle, laughter shining in her eyes.

I shake my head as I pull the cork out of the bottle. “Because I know you,” I say, pouring the wine into the two glasses and handing her one as I step forward. “You don’t like to drink alone.”

She smirks but doesn’t comment before looking down at the glass. “Weren’t you brought up around fine wine? Surely you know red wine needs to breathe for at least half an hour before you can drink it.”

I raise a brow, bringing the glass to my lips and letting the dense liquid swirl around my mouth, tasting black cherry and spice with a hint of vanilla. “You don’t need to let mature wine breathe,” I say with a wink. “That’s one of the reasons it’s priced so highly.”

She rolls her eyes before walking out onto the balcony and I follow her. “You’re right,” she comments, her eyes settling on the setting sun. “It’s breathtaking out here right now.”

Leaning my arms on the railing, I lift my head and watch the setting sun; the pink and orange hues extending as far as the eye can see. “It is,” I marvel, thinking that that’s not the only thing that is breathtaking out here—she is too. So beautiful that I almost find it hard to catch my breath as I stare at her, watching her hair trail along her shoulders as the wind flows through it.

The song playing on the radio changes and “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran plays through the speakers. His soulful voice wraps around us like the vines that wrap around the balcony, his words hitting me in the chest and making me swallow to keep my emotions under control.

I never thought that we’d be back here, not after all of the history between us.

I place my drink down on the white metal table before grazing my fingers down her arm and to her hand, gripping it gently and pulling her toward me slowly.

She startles at first, having been entranced by the sunset, but a smile slowly creeps up her face and her eyes twinkle. “What are you doing, Mr. Carter?”

“I’m trying to dance with you, Miss Jameson.” I pull her even closer as the piano and string instruments play through the speakers, intertwining with his voice.

She places her glass on the table before hooking her hands around my neck and I snake my arms around her waist, bringing her closer to me so that our chests are touching. I can feel her fast heartbeat thumping against me as it matches the rhythm of mine.

I gently sway us side to side, my eyes not leaving hers as each word he sings resonates within me.

The smile doesn’t leave her face and I start to hum the tune, making her giggle. Her carefree aura has a grin lifting my lips and I step back, still holding her against me as I walk us off the balcony and into her private studio.

I let her go, keeping my hand connected to hers as I twirl her around. She lets her head fall back, laughing out loud as I start to sing the words and bring her back between my arms—right where she belongs.