Page 39 of In Your Dreams, Holden Rhodes

I shook my head, pushing the memory out of my head.

This was just for fun. No one would ever see this painting.

I sat down at the easel and lifted my pencil.

Dickhead,I thought again as he appeared on the canvas, sitting at the bar, holding his beer, face tilted to the TV above the bar, watching the game. My pencil flew in a flurry, dragging lines and shading as the image came to life.

I stopped to scrutinize my sketch and burst out laughing. The bag of my brushes clinked as I rifled through, pulling out my favorites. When I dabbed paint onto my palette and swirled them together, my heart lifted.

I had missed this. Maybe painting for fun was silly and pointless, but swirling paint colors together and watching them change, hearing the scratch of my pencil on the canvas, inhaling the weird plasticky paint scent, it made me forget about Holden standing me up tonight.

I picked up paint on my brush and applied color to the canvas.

As I worked, the rest of my problems fell to the background. The stuff with Grant, my debt, Katherine passing, it all faded away. I hummed to myself and focused on the canvas alone. The painting was neither detailed nor well-done, but it was just for me.

I added a dribble of tears to his face. Some tears welling up in his eyes. Extra frown lines around his eyes and on his forehead.

My cackle echoed around the room as I leaned back to study the finished painting. It was perfect.

I set the canvas on Katherine’s desk to dry and picked up another.

I painted late into the night. The paintings were neither detailed nor thoughtful. They were rushed and slapped together but my heart thudded with excitement and glee at the images of Holden. I couldn’t remember the last time I painted like this, so untethered and delirious. I painted him again and again, my eyes glowing as my hand and paintbrush transferred images from my mind to the canvas.

Holden in his truck, studying the road, crying.

Holden at the gym, doing bicep curls, crying.

Holden at the beach, staring out into the sunset, crying.

Holden outside the coffee shop, holding his coffee and peering into the windows, crying.

Holden at the grocery store, inspecting an orange, crying.

The tight, furious knots in my shoulders loosened and a wicked smile curled at my mouth. I remembered the way Holden had stared at his phone while I called before ignoring me, and a lick of disappointment and embarrassment hit me in the stomach.

I really thought he was warming up to me.

I guess I was wrong.

17

Holden

On Thursday morning,Sadie opened the front door of the inn with murderous rage in her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I held up a paper bag with grease stains.

She crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes flashed with fury. “I saw you ignore my call.”

Fuck. My chest strained with regret.

“I’m an asshole,” I told her, feeling like garbage.

No wonder Sadie said that about me, all those years ago.

She blinked at me, and I saw hurt behind her eyes. “Why did you do that?”

I rubbed my jaw, hesitating.

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