Page 36 of Paint the Town, Dove
“You’re peeking!” Ryden accused, coming up behind my chair.
“Nuh-uh.” I was.
He groaned, “C’mon, Scar,” then my vision darkened.
The weight of his hands covered my eyes.
The feel of his skin wrapped around my temples like silk ribbon.
Even though he didn’t mean to, [who ever could],the touch was tender. If tender was a word that someone made of sand could even feel.
I closed my eyes.
“You still peeking?” he asked. His breath was closer to my ear now.
I shook my head, held my breath.
“Good.” And then his footsteps faded until they didn’t, and then there was a scratch, a crinkle of paper, an oomph! The kitchen table squeaked.
“Okay,” he said, “Open.”
I couldn’t haveprepared myself for what was in front of me.
“What is all this?” I asked, carefully leaning over a giant black box filled with RED –
Red roses (hand picked by the florist on fifth).
Red crayons (‘more to play with, more to melt.’ He laughed at his own joke).
Red candies (Swedish berries and cinnamon hearts. I hated cinnamon hearts but Ilovedliked him).
A red blanket (because you’re always cold).
If only he knew the half of it.
“How did you afford all this?”[Why did you do this?]
“Pocket money from running Corban’s empties to the beer store.”
“You spent your pocket money on me?”
He lifted his shoulders nonchalantly. “What else would I spend it on?”
As if it were the most natural thing in the world. To make me happy, simply because he wanted to.
The thought made me shudder. The thought made me weak.
No.
The thought made me whole.
“Ryden,” I swallowed, extracting a small pouch from the bottom of the box. “What could be left?”
“You’ll see,” he smiled, dimples peeking in like dents.
I pulled apart the velvet string, opening the pouch. “Is this a –
“Guitar pick,” he interrupted, pulling the kitchen chair next to me. One of the legs wobbled, and he gave a jovial ‘whoops’ before clearing his throat. “Maybe we can both be rock stars together.”
