Page 83 of Shuttered Hearts

“You did?” I push at him, trying to sit up in excitement.

“Easy there.” He laughs, giving me space to get up from the bed. I grab his shirt from the chair in the corner and throw it on, rushing out the door without stopping. I hear his laugh following me down the hall. “Can you wait for me? I want to see your face when you see it!” he hollers, taking his time following me.

“Well, hurry up, I’m not waiting,” I shout back, already down the stairs. I stop in the kitchen, on the threshold of the sunroom, and wait.

He’s been smart. Turning the canvas so all you can see from the doorway is the back of it. I want to see what he’s painted so badly, but I wait for him.

I hear him walk up behind me, but I don’t move, waiting for him to say it’s okay to go in.

“I got you something else for Christmas originally,” he says softly in my ear, wrapping his arms around my middle and pressing himself against my back. “But I saw this photo and just couldn’t get this idea out of my head.”

He slowly brings his hands up to cover my eyes. Staying close behind me, he slowly guides me into the room, getting me into position.

“This isn’t my normal subject or style, so please be kind to me.” His voice wavers, his nerves showing.

I reach up, place my hands over his, and turn around to face him, leaving his hands to frame my face. “I have no doubt it will be gorgeous, whatever it is. But even if it’s not, I will love it because it inspired you to pick up a paintbrush again.”

“You inspired me to pick up a paintbrush again. Seeing your love of photography reignited through teaching, it sparked something in me.” He smiles, his fingers trailing gently over my face, tracing my lips. “I think I might have been a little jealous you had this hobby you loved so much. I kind of missed having my own.”

I reach up and press my lips to his in a tender kiss. “Can I see it now?” I ask as I pull back.

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Go for it.”

I turn around and instantly stop breathing. Declan is right. This painting is nothing like anything I’ve seen from him before, but it is truly breathtaking.

Declan’s style has always been hyper-realistic, but his use of vibrant colors makes everything just a bit abstract. And while people appear in his paintings, portraits have never been his main focus.

But this painting in front of me is almost the opposite of everything he’s known for in the art world. While still realistic, you can see practically every brushstroke he made. And the colors are far more muted than his usual style but still create a cheerful atmosphere.

I can feel the care Declan put into this painting, and seeing the subject of the painting, I know why. I recognize the image and can tell you exactly what we’d been doing because it’s a portrait I took during my senior year of high school. It’s a portrait of my dad.

It had been one of the first nice days of spring. One where you couldn’t help but want to be outside after being stuck inside over the long winter.

Dad and Caleb had been kicking a ball around, Max trying to run after it on his little toddler legs, and I’d had my camera snapping shot after shot of the three of them. I’d decided Iwanted to take portraits of all three of them, and while Caleb had been against it, Dad was all for it. So I started with him.

I ended up capturing this shot of him staring right at the lens with the biggest smile on his face. Caleb and Max had done something behind me, causing him to laugh. The smile is so genuine you can feel the joy emanating from that photograph. And Declan has captured that feeling so perfectly in this painting.

I feel like if I reach out and touch it, I’ll be able to feel the roughness of my dad’s beard and the wrinkles on his face. I can hear his laugh in my mind. That warmth that always sweeps over me in my dad’s presence touches me now.

Declan has made it so I feel my dad in the room with me. Something I’m won’t be able to simply drive across town to experience soon.

“It’s perfect,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, tears in my eyes.

“I know you already have the photo, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it or get this image out of my head.”

“No, this is so much better than that photo.” I swallow, trying to hold the tears at bay. “I feel like he’s here.” I reach behind me, pulling Declan to my side so I can bury myself in him while still looking at the painting. “It’s perfect,” I repeat.

Declan wraps his arms around me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head before leaning his head on top of mine, both of us studying the painting a little longer.

When I feel like I can speak again without the threat of tears, and when I’m done studying the painting, I pull away from Declan, move toward the kitchen, and call over my shoulder, “Just so you know, you are definitely not getting your Christmas gift from me today. There is no way I can top that.”

Declan laughs, following behind me. “Oh, come on! I still want it.”

“You’ll get it, just not today. Maybe tomorrow.” I smirk at him over my shoulder as I grab a mug to pour myself some coffee.

Declan shakes his head at me but says nothing else about it. He sits at the kitchen island, watching me move around, making coffee. He’s not there long before the front door opens, and we both turn to find Ava coming through the door, dragging multiple suitcases with her.

“Oh, sorry! I should have realized you both would be here,” she says, dropping a bag from her shoulder.

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