Page 100 of The Weight Of Falling
“Or,Let’s keep pretending... Forever?” Tess adds.
My heart cinches. At the look on my face, they both go quiet. The teasing fades.
“Is that what you want, Kenzie?” Tess asks softly. “Forever with Joel?”
After a moment, I nod. There’s a tightness in my chest, and I can’t tell if it’s happiness or terror. Maybe a bit of both.
“Then consider us your team,” Tess says. “Bench, cheer squad, and cleanup crew.”
“We’ve got your back,” Sofia adds. “All the way.”
40
Turbo sprawls under the patio table, one ear inside out, keeping an eye on the squirrels in my yard. A breeze carries a hint of pine and the deck is warm under my feet, the boards giving off that faint, baked-wood smell I love. I’ve got my sketchbook open, my pencil tapping while I chase a drawing that doesn’t want to behave.
Inside, Joel is napping on my couch. His shoot ran late, and he fell asleep in the middle of the romcom we put on. I left the TV low, tucked a throw over him, and watched his jaw unclench before I slipped out here.
For the past week, it’s been a relief to shut the door on my overanxious, hyperaware, people-pleasing brain and simply exist as a woman in the presence of the man she loves.
I lose track of time the way I always do when I’m sketching. The first click makes me think of a sprinkler starting up. The second one doesn’t.
I glance over my shoulder.
Joel stands just inside the open screen, camera in hand, hair slightly disheveled. “Don’t mind me.” His voice is still hoarse from sleep.
I smile up at him as Turbo thumps his tail. “How long have you been up?”
“Not long.” He steps onto the deck. The camera looks effortless in his hands.
“I’m not camera-ready,” I warn. I’m wearing leggings and an oversized sweater, my hair is in a messy topknot.
He gives me that almost-smile I feel in my knees. “You’re Kenzie-ready. That’s enough.”
My sweater slips off my shoulder, just enough for the cool air to kiss my skin.
Click.
Joel’s knuckles brush the line of my jaw. “Keep sketching.”
I drop my gaze, grip the pencil tighter, and the world narrows to paper, graphite, contour, and texture. Joel moves around me in a slow circle. My hair slips forward, and I tuck it behind my ear.Click. I blow a fine dusting of graphite off the page.Click. Turbo sighs and I smile without meaning to.Click.
“Look at me,” he says huskily.
I do. I forget the camera. I forget the version of me I’ve carried since I was fifteen and decidedsweetwas the safest place to stand.
“What do you see?” I ask.
He sits beside me and sets the camera on the patio table.
“This is what I see,” he says. “You think shy means small. It doesn’t. It means quiet. You think kind means soft. It does, but it also means fierce. You are beautiful, sensual, and vibrant.”
I can’t speak. There’s a warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with recognition.
“Let me show you,” he adds.
He scrolls back to the first frame. It’s me at the table, looking into the distance, my lips parted, one shoulder bare, a secret smile curving my lips. The woman he captured looks like me and also like someone I’m still becoming. Maybe that’s the point. Joel didn’t invent her. He simply showed me where to look.
“This feels like looking in a mirror I can trust,” I say softly.
