Page 36 of Chasing Sunsets

He doesn’t let me finish the thought anyway because he tugs me in close and crashes his mouth to mine.

This kiss is different from the one last night; there’s an urgency to it. As I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss himback, my body instantly comes to life. I open up to him, and he deepens the kiss, our tongues colliding passionately.

He presses me against the wall of the tower as I weave my fingers into his hair and tug gently. I can’t get close enough. He pulls away from our kiss just long enough to lower his hands to my backside, and he lifts me up, my legs wrapping around his hips.

I moan, and my legs start to tremble as I feel his hardness against me.

“Anson,” I say shakily as he pulls his lips from mine and trails them down my neck to my collarbone.

His head lifts and rests against mine, both of us panting.

“Come on, Trouble. Let’s get you back on solid ground so you can start painting before you decide to throw me to the birds,” he says, stepping back as my feet touch the floor.

I laugh, but as we make our way back down the winding stairs, I know something has shifted and we can’t go back. And I don’t want to.

This isn’t just an adventure; it’s a turning point.

Anson thought of everything. He climbed back aboard the boat and returned with a blanket and a basket filled with cheese, crackers, fruit, and wine.

After the sun sets completely, we return to the wharf and load the boat onto the trailer before heading home.

“Thank you for today,” I say as Anson walks me to the RV, carrying my half-finished canvas.

“You’re welcome. It was fun,” he says as I unlock the door and step inside.

I click on the switch that powers the external outlet, and the entire front of the RV lights up. Pete helped me hang several strings of patio lights from the awning to a couple of maple trees, which I also decorated with solar-powered Chinese lanterns. I even hung a hammock between the trees.

Anson glances over his shoulder at the display and says, “Damn, you’ve managed to make this place feel so homey.”

I shrug and say, “Well, it is home after all.”

He nods as he steps farther inside and sets the canvas on the counter beside the sink. Glancing around the RV, he takes in the other paintings hanging from the cabinets above the sink and the bed.

“Sorry, it’s a bit messy in here right now,” I mumble, embarrassed by the chaotic state of my living space.

“Wow, these are great! You have a good eye,” he compliments, ignoring my comment.

“Thank you.”

“It’s as if you can feel the scene,” he says as he looks over one of the oceanscapes. “What medium do you use?”

“I use a variety of materials. I work with acrylics, and I’ve started mixing in organic elements for texture—like sand, leaves, and other things you wouldn’t normally combine with paint,” I explain.

“That’s incredible,” he says, awe in his voice. “What’s this one?” he inquires, pointing at a canvas hanging above my table.

“Oh, that? It’s nothing,” I reply, quickly rushing to cover the painting I started of him after he dropped me off last night.

The memory of that kiss kept me up, so instead of texting him, like I wanted to, I picked up a brush and began painting him.

“It doesn’t look like nothing to me. Is it a portrait of some kind?” he asks, curious.

“Yeah, it’s something new for me. I sketch caricatures in charcoal sometimes. I actually made some extra money doing that on a beach in Virginia before we made it down to North Carolina. But I typically paint abstracts or landscapes.”

“Well, I liked it,” he praises.

“You think so? I mixed coal ash from the firepit outside with paint to shape the cheek and highlight the eye. It really brought out the depth of the subject’s expressive, relaxed nature,” I say enthusiastically.

“I have no idea what you just said, but what I saw was pretty cool.”

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