Page 31 of Rose's One Night to Forever
His words held a strange tone, and she was about to ask what was wrong when another question escaped first. “What goes there?”
Chance froze. He swallowed hard then turned with his face as somber as she’d ever seen it. “Goes where?”
Really? She flipped up a finger and pointed to the empty space. The space that, no matter which direction she’d paced the gallery, caught her attention and drew her eye. The empty place that should clearly display the starring feature. “Chance, it’s pretty obvious something is missing.”
The corners of his lips twitched, and his eyes snapped with sudden emotion. “You want to see what’s missing?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” she offered softly. Maybe he was waiting for the piece to arrive. How nerve-racking that must be. “If this isn’t a good time, don’t worry about it.”
“Oh, I mind. In fact, it’s all that’s been on my mind,” he grumbled. He caught her by the hand and all but dragged her across the room toward the stairs.
“What are you doing? Slow down. I can walk.”
“Not fast enough,” he returned. “I want to show you what’s been missing from my life.”
What? From his…life? “I thought—”
She snapped her lips together and held back her questions. All her effort went into keeping her balance as he hurried them up the stairs to the upper level.
The long counter on the back wall was piled high with paint supplies. The sink was full of old yogurt and sour cream tubs that had been repurposed to hold paint. Splatters of colour were everywhere, the walls, the floor, the chair to one side of the enormous easel filling the main studio space.
“There.” He spun her toward the painting then jabbed a long finger at it, embracing her against his body. “That’s what’s supposed to be at the center of the show. That’s what’s supposed to be at the center of my world.”
She lifted her gaze to the painting. Inside her chest, something grew and grew until she was ready to burst.
There on the canvas—it was her.
13
Chance had been all but possessed since the guys’ night out.
He’d begrudged the energy and time it took to arrange the other works for the show, to deal with the fiddly details. He did that job first, though, and did it well as usual. The few moments he’d stolen with Rose after the gallery tasks were done recharged him enough that when he left her, he returned straight to work on the painting.
Sleep and food and everything else were shoved aside as he sought to make his message clear with his skills.
A few times he’d blinked his attention off the canvas to discover Cody in the studio, shaking his head and offering plates of food.
“It’s two a.m. You’re going to kill yourself trying to get this done before the show,” his brother warned. “You don’t need to meet this deadline, you know. Just talk to the woman.”
“I am,” Chance told him simply. “In the language I speak the clearest.”
Cody had looked as if he had something more to say, but then he shook his head and sighed. He patted Chance on the back, shoved a bag of sandwiches into his hands, then headed out.
And now, after all the sleepless nights, Chance was finally done. His heart pounded as heavily as if he’d run up twelve flights of stairs instead of one.
Because she was here. Rose, quivering in his arms, hand held to her mouth as she stared at what he’d made.
He stepped away, reluctant to let her out of reach but desperate to see her face, her eyes. Needing to see her and learn if the message of his heart had come through on the canvas.
As she examined each brushstroke with her gaze, he followed along. He knew what he’d placed there, a contrast of happiness and peace and home and adventure.
He’d painted Rose in a moment of sheer relaxation, her head tilted, her face lifted toward the sun. Long black hair streaming toward the earth with wisps caught by the wind as if the fairies had come out to play. The spring barely turned to summer created a mosaic with every shade of green as a background palette. In the trees, the grass, the low bushes, and the deep moss. Mist drifted like a magical cloud from the mountainside while the blue sky reflected in the glittering water of the lake at the foot of the falls.
The lake that was shaped like a perfect heart.
That blue heart, full of bright, dancing, sunlight sparks, framed Rose. She lay at the center of everything. The lake, the painting. The gallery showing, if she’d allow it. But most of all—
His heart.
