Before my thoughts could drift any further, I turned my head, pressing my lips to hers. Sweet, sweet Macks…
Why had I ever let her go?
13
Mackenzie
Walker was warm and welcoming, holding me in his arms on the floor. It was so different from what I was used to—with anyone. I had never shared my art with the men I dated. The only person I’d ever shown my pieces to while they were in progress was Walker. After him, I kept things closed off and close to my heart.
Even after we’d decided to be ‘friends with benefits’, or whatever this weird thing was, I hadn’t been ready to share my latest pieces with him. I had confidence in my skills, but not necessarily in the marketability of my art. My pieces were beautiful but strange; I knew that. And the thing was, they were all me. I put a piece of myself on every painting I created. I bled onto the canvas. So to take the risk of sharing them and have someone whose opinion I valued, who I cared about—whether I wanted to admit it or not—was terrifying.
But tonight, I had left the door cracked open on purpose. It hadn’t been an open invitation, just a… possibility. A chance for him to peer into my world if he wanted to. I honestly hadn’t known if he would. Several of the guys I’d dated post-college had condescendingly spoken about my painting as a ‘fun hobby’ and had never once even asked to see anything I was working on.
Then, of course, I’d gotten so wrapped up in the music and my latest project that I’d completely forgotten I had left the door cracked and had nearly had a heart attack when Walker snuck in.
As we lay tangled in each other’s arms, I watched his gaze dart around to all the canvases set up around the room, and even though his words when he entered had been complimentary, I studied his face for the truth. And his expression didn’t lie—he really did like them. His features softened, the corner of his lips quirking up as his head tilted slightly toward the canvases, as if drawn by the magical images painted on them.
“These are all so beautiful.” His gaze darted to me before scanning the paintings again. “You’ve really improved. Everything about your work that was amazing when we were in school is even better.”
I bit my lip against the smile that wanted to explode across my face. “And the flaws?”
“What flaws?”
I knew they were there—the flaws in my work. No artist went through life without flaws. I used to have the worst time with faces. Doing hyper-realistic art meant that any strange, imperfect aspect of your art was made ten times more noticeable than if you were working on something abstract.
Now, looking at the freckled fae woman I’d been working on when Walker poked his head in, I saw she was truly, very nearly flawless.
I sat up a little on my arm, looking down at Walker. The clean lines of his suit hugged his perfectly muscled body in a distracting way, and the paint on his cheek only made him look more handsome.
“It’s kind of embarrassing,” I said. “You say the same thing Alex does, or the others down at his studio. Or my teachers, or the people on Insta that see the few final pieces I deem fit enough to share. But it’s hard to see that myself, you know? Really hard. I don’t know. Nothing I do seems like it’s ever enough to really take off, and after—”
I paused. I didn’t want to say it out loud because it sounded like a bad thing, hinting at something in the past that was better left there—in the past.
Walker nudged me. “What? What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. It’s just… after you left, I didn’t have a soundboard anymore. That guy rooting for me in my corner.”
A dark shadow passed over his eyes. He looked away, just for a moment, before turning back to me.
“I shouldn’t have done it like that,” he admitted. “Leaving you like that. Ghosting so hard. I should’ve talked to you more, tried harder to make the distance work. Maybe things would’ve been different if I had.” He tilted my head toward him. “But you shouldn’t be scared of your own work just because I’m not around. You were always strong enough to let your art stand on its own. Even before we came back into each other’s lives.”
A pleasantly painful lump formed in my throat at his words, and I tried to push down the warmth spreading through my chest.
Keep it together, Mackenzie. This is just the ‘friends’ part of ‘friends with benefits’. He’s cheering you on as a friend.
Still, his words meant more to me than I could ever say. His simple belief in me bolstered my belief in myself. Maybe, after all this was over, I could hang onto that feeling.
The reminder that this would all be over soon was like a bucket of ice water poured over my head, and I had to force a smile as I pressed my body closer to his.
“Thank you, Walker. Really.”
He grinned, rubbing a dab of red paint from my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I have an idea. A great idea. An amazing idea. And I want you to say yes, no matter how you might initially feel about it.”
I looked at him, my brow raised.
“That sounds like a trap.”
His chuckle rumbled in his chest. “It’s not. I promise.”