Frostbite

They are sweet words men whisper to women when they’re satiated. When their muscles are sore from pleasure, and they’re drained of their strength in the best way possible, they soften. Men say what sits in their hearts when they feel fulfilled.

It may be fleeting, but it feeds something inside of me.

“I need to show you something.” He scrubs his face with his hand. “I can’t explain it, Raelyn. Maybe I don’t need to. Maybe it will all make sense to you.”

Dread settles inside of me, tugging at my heart. “What do you need to show me?”

He grabs my arms to shift our positions. Tilting my head back, so the hot water washes away the conditioner, he kisses my forehead. “Let’s finish this, and then you’ll see.”

I close my eyes and wish. I wish for this to be the beginning of the rest of my life, not the end of what might have been.Chapter 23CalderI have to do this. I need to see her face to know for sure that Raelyn is the artist behind that masterpiece hanging in my bedroom.

I should have asked before we made love. I was tempted to stop her on her way to the shower. It would have only taken a turn of her waist to direct her eyes to the painting, but I didn’t do it.

I had to let my shock settle before I let this dream slip through my fingers.

Maybe the Ray Walsh who painted this is a kid who has talent beyond his years. Or it could be a man who has spent years honing his craft until he captured the beauty of his lover on a sunny, summer afternoon.

My heart is telling me that the woman I’m toweling dry is the one who placed each brush stroke on that canvas. It’s her quirky signature in the corner. The shakiness of it reflects how unaware she was of her talent when she completed the piece.

“Tell me that what you are about to show me won’t hurt me.” A crooked smile accompanies those words. She’s trying to find something to anchor her feelings, so I give her that, to the extent that I can.

“I pray it doesn’t hurt you,” I say honestly. “Please know that I would walk on a fire barefoot before I’d ever hurt you.”

Her gaze drops to the sweatpants I’m wearing. “Can you get my dress?”

I reach for my navy blue robe hanging on a hook on the bathroom door. I wrap it around her, and even though her arms get lost in the length of the sleeves, she smiles. “I like this.”

“I do too,” I confess. “Come with me?”

I offer her my shaking hand. She takes it in both of hers.

With the sound of my heart pounding in my chest, I open the bathroom door to head back into the bedroom, tugging gently on her hand as she follows me.

Once we reach the bedroom, I position her so her back is to the painting. I need to preface this with my story. With the comfort I’ve found with her and with what I believe to be a self-portrait that she created.

“Do you know Eleni Melo, Rae?”

Her eyes widen. Her teeth latch onto the corner of her bottom lip. With a nod, she whispers, “I worked for her for a year.”

“When was that?”

“Did you sleep together?” Her bottom lip trembles. “Is that it? Do you have a picture of the two of you together? If that’s what you want to show me, I don’t want to see it.”

I reach for her chin. “No. It’s not that. It’s nothing like that.”

Her eyes search mine. “What is it? Just show me, Calder. Please.”

The plea in her tone cuts through me. “I need you to know that I had no idea that you were the artist before I met you.”

“The artist?” she parrots my words back to me. “I’m just an artist. Sometimes I wonder if I should be.”

My gaze falls to the painting behind her. “You are an artist. You are the most talented artist I’ve ever known.”

Tears fill her eyes. “You don’t have to say that. You don’t know my work, Calder. All you’ve seen are the broken pieces of a Christmas ornament.”

I rest my lips against her forehead. “I’ve seen so much more than that.”

She looks up at me. “What do you mean?”

I slowly spin her around. “I bought that from Eleni a year ago. I had to. It spoke to me in a way I can’t explain.”

Her head falls into her hands as a sob escapes her. “You have it? You have my painting?”

I round her until I’m directly in front of her. “I’ve always had it.”

With her shaking hands resting against my chest, tears race down her cheeks. “I thought it was stolen. I thought I’d never see it again.”