Page 90 of In Your Dreams, Holden Rhodes

He nodded. “Sometimes. She’s been tired lately with being pregnant.”

“Yes, she mentioned that last week.”

He nodded at the painting. “Why is this your favorite?”

I studied it as Emily Carr stared back at us with a haughty,don’t fuck with meexpression. “Self-portraits are such a mind fuck, Holden.” I shook my head, rubbing my forehead. “I failed a painting class in university because I refused to hand mine in.”

“You didn’t do it?”

“I tried.” I laughed lightly. “I tried all year. It was a two-semester course and I had to take pottery in the summer to make up the credits.” I rolled my eyes at him. “The people in the pottery class kept trying to read my tarot cards.” I bit my lip. “Actually, that was fun, and I got a cool vase out of the class.”

We wandered to the gift shop. “Why couldn’t you do the portrait?”

I dragged in a deep breath, organizing my thoughts. “It was hard. It wasn’t like painting someone else. A self-portrait is you telling the world who you are. I had heard that guy making fun of my painting and I couldn’t get it out of my head.”

My throat caught as the memories rushed back at me. I wished it were different, and I’d never met Luke, the painter ex.

We stepped into the gift shop and found the book section. “I felt like such a failure when I couldn’t finish the painting. Everyone went out for drinks after the last class and I didn’t go because I didn’t want to admit I hadn’t done the painting.”

“You’re not a failure.” His voice was low and quiet but his gaze on me was intense.

“Holden. I literally failed the class.”

His eyes met mine and my stomach rolled at the warmth in them. “You’re not a failure,” he repeated. “Would you ever try again? To see if you could?”

My gut lurched like I was back on the singles cruise. I shook my head. “I don’t like painting myself.”

“You haven’t tried in a while.”

I shook my head with a rueful smile. “I don’t think so. Come on.” I tugged on his arm. “Let’s go say hi to Avery at the restaurant and we can get some lunch.”

He didn’t move. His eyes scanned my face with a little frown.

“Holden.” I tugged his arm again. “Come on.”

“You’re talented, Sadie.”

My lips pressed into a thin line. I wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m good at design stuff, I know.”

“No.” His eyes were bright and it was like I was all he could see. People side-stepped around us on the sidewalk and we should have moved but the intensity in his gaze rooted me in place.

“You’re good at design, but you’re a talented painter. Self-portraits aren’t supposed to be perfect. They’re supposed to be honest. That’s what brilliant art is.” His hands framed my jaw and my pulse picked up. I couldn’t tear my gaze from his. My throat worked under his strong hands. “Your paintings are incredible, and I think you should give it another try, even if you decide to burn it after. Fuck up, Sadie. Fuck up and move on.”

Were we talking about painting still? I had no idea. “I’ve already fucked up so much,” I whispered.

“And you’re okay.” The firm tone he used weaved something through my heart. Like I didn’t believe it until he said it.

I was okay.

He searched my eyes and I had the urge to raise up on my tiptoes and kiss him, but we were on the street and we were supposed to be friends in public.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he told me.

I shook my head, face still framed by his hands. “Holden, we can’t.”

“I don’t care.”

I opened my mouth to protest but his mouth lowered to mine and I sighed into him. The day was chilly and his mouth was hot, hungry, and inviting. I let him kiss me there right on the main street of Queen’s Cove and any protest in me faded away as his tongue glided over mine. His breath skated across my skin and I melted into him. His words danced in my head.

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