Page 39 of Artfully Wild
The closet may be small, but there’s plenty of space forclothes, shoes and a box of extra gloves, which is sitting right on the top shelf. It’s much heavier than I’d expect for something that is full of dense cloth. When I open it, though, I don’t find gloves or ear warmers. I find dozens of sketch books, but they aren’t filled with Skylar’s old drawings I used to snag when she wasn’t looking—the ones I have hidden in a box similar to this one in my closet. These sketch books are filled with dried flowers, carefully pressed between the pages with a description next to each one.
Snowdrop - for new beginnings.The snowdrop I gave her when we first met inMarygold’sis taped beside it to hold it in place. The next page has a daisy attached; the one I gave her when we almost kissed for the first time.Daisies - for friendship.Even though it felt like we were more than that then.
I flip a few more pages.Iris - for hope.My fingers carefully trace over the dried stem as they remember twirling it between them before presenting it to her a few months after Sarah passed on a day it seemed she needed a little bit of extra hope.
In the middle of the book, the spine is cracked like she revisited this one the most over the years.Hyacinth - for joy.The one I gave her when we snuck out to come here to skate. I was braver than and kissed her on the cheek despite our agreement and gave her the hyacinth in her bedroom before sneaking out her window.
This book and the others are filled with the flowers I have given her throughout the years. I grab the one that looks the newest and flip to the first page. There, taped to the beginning, is the flower I gave her just the other day.Lilac - for love.
“What is taking you so lo—” Skylar stops in her tracks and surveys the scene in front of her. The box on the bed with the books open, the newest one still in my hand.
“You kept all of them?” is all I can think to say. The amount of time and effort to not only keep them, but to press them and preserve them, adding their descriptions and everything.
“Why wouldn’t I have kept them?”
“Because I don’t think this is something people do when they are just friends,” I answer.
“Were we ever just friends?”
“I don’t think so,” I whisper as I step closer to her, each step more confident than the last. I close the book, careful not to bend any part of the flower and set it to the side before closing the rest of the distance between us, our lips coming together, not in a frantic or desperate way, but in a way that is soft and sure of itself. I wrap my arms around her and deepen the kiss, my body pressing hers against the wall. Her lips part for me and my tongue tangles with hers, the tension starting to build with more than just lust, but with everything we have held back. Our feelings and our desires are coming to the surface and neither of us are keeping them to ourselves anymore.
I smile against her lips because I can’t help myself.
“Why are you smiling?” she whispers.
“Because I never thought I would ever be lucky enough to kiss you. And you’ve been pining after me all these years.”
She tips her head back and laughs. “I have not,” she tries to deny.
I tilt my head towards the opened books on the bed. “Those would suggest otherwise, sweetheart.”
Rolling her eyes, she says, “Like you haven’t been pining for me too?”
“Too? So you admit it?” She swats my arm. “Fine. If you don’t already know, yes.”
“Yes, what?” she asks, a sly grin ever present on her lips. She is forever a tease.
“Yes.” This time I look her in the eye because I don’t want her to misunderstand anything I’m going to say. “I’ve been pining for you since the day I met you, Skylar. Since the day I gave you that snowdrop. Even more so when I gave you that daisy.” I point to one of the books open with the daisy taped toit. My face is inches from hers until I move it closer, brushing against her cheek. “I really wanted to kiss you when I gave it to you. I almost did…”
“Why didn’t you?” Her voice is quiet again, breathless.
“I was scared you wouldn’t want to kiss me so I didn’t.”
“I wanted to.”
“Do you want to now?” The rising of her chest and the heat in her cheeks gives me my answer, but I want to hear her say it anyway.
“Yes.”
And so I do. I kiss her the way she wants to be kissed. In all the ways she deserves to be. In all the soft, sweet ways, but in all the passionate ways too. All the ways that show her how much my heart has ached for her over time, how much it is full of love for her now and always will be.
Before we carefully pack away the books and finally make it outside to skate, we go through the sketch books and the memories—and indulge in a few more make-out sessions. The only source of light now is the lamppost near our parking spot, but Skylar pulls out three old camping lanterns from the bag she left in the snow.
“Stole these from Hudson’s house the last time I was there. It was a miracle I got all three of them out the window and onto his front porch without him noticing.”
“It’s a miracle he hasn’t noticed they’re gone.” Hudson maynot act like a sentimental man, but I know what these lanterns mean to him, considering he used them to propose to Avery.
My thoughts must show on my face—or Sky is good at reading me—because she looks at me with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I plan to sneak them back in tomorrow. Or put them in the back of his truck at Sunday brunch. He won’t remember they weren’t there.”
