by Camden Leigh
I brush away the hair tickling my cheek. My heart flips in my chest making me nauseous. Like I’m hanging upside down on a Ferris wheel after eating way too much fair food. How can I say no to this man? How can I walk away from happiness? Maybe his son is just a test, a hiccup in my life that’s meant to bring Quinn and me closer instead of rip us apart.
I step out of Quinn’s reach and look out toward the boardwalk leading to Fire Swamp. “Ever since I left home, I’ve been making all my decisions to defy my parents. I can’t seem to let go of proving myself and they aren’t even in my life, which means I’ve been wasting my efforts on ghosts, forgetting about the present. Ignoring everything I already have and everyone right in front of me because I was living for the future, something that hasn’t even happened.” I run my fingers over the screen then turn toward him. “Lilian gets on to me because I think everything should go according to the chart I drew after I left home—a neat little line in a graph that no matter what, always advanced onward and upward. No flaws. No kinks. No hiccups.”
Quinn shakes his head. “But nothing works out that perfectly.”
“It does if you don’t let distractions get in the way.” I smooth his vest and trace the buttons going down the front. “But in walks a blue-eyed, six-foot-plus distraction who saved me from a turkey. That distraction managed to hold my attention and convince me to see potential, not only for him existing in my life, but for me existing in his.”
Quinn flattens his hands over mine.
“I keep telling myself I should leave because I’ll only be a distraction pulling your attention away from someone who needs it more than me.”
“I have plenty of attention to go around.”
“I know, that’s one of the reasons I find you so amazing.” I smile. “If you had given up on me, I would’ve stayed on a straight-line path. I never would’ve found the skip in my heartbeat. I never would’ve strayed from my stupid graph.” I shrug and drop my gaze to his hands over mine. “I never would’ve fallen in love.”
“What are you saying?” He squeezes my fingers and brings my hand to his lips to give it a tender kiss.
“I guess I’m saying I don’t know where to go when I leave because my heart is here . . . with you.”
He grins. It stretches wider then grows big and toothy. “Never have I ever loved you more.”
I laugh. “False.”
“What?!”
“Are you saying I guessed wrong?” I tease.
“Of course!”
“Guess I should kiss you then.” I push up to my tiptoes and drape my arms over his shoulders. “We’ll figure this out, right?”
“I won’t disappoint you.” His arms ring around my waist and draw me closer.
“And your son?”
“I’ll try my best not to disappoint him either.”
I lean into him and his lips slowly take over mine. Pressing against me like a warm hug. His tongues grazes mine turning the warmth inside me into tingles, and the tingles into a slow burning heat. Like a cozy fire on a winter night. All the parts that make a home are present in his kiss. In him. I pull away slowly, hearing a murmur of voices in the background.
“Please gather near the stage for toasts,” the DJ’s voice echoes through the speakers. A tinkle of silverware against glasses follows.
“Mmmmm,” Quinn pulls me tight and sighs against my neck. “That would be my cue. I had to make something up the other night because I left my cheat sheet in my room.”
“You didn’t do the speech you wrote?”
“Not yet, but I’m pretty sure I have it memorized now.” He kisses me then threads his fingers through my hand. “Promise me you’ll save me all your dances tonight, okay?”
“I’ll have to check my dance card,” I tease.
We walk hand in hand off the porch, around the house and through the crowd. I feel eyes on us the entire way. Three days ago I might have dropped my chin and wanted to be the fly on the wall Mrs. Covington asked me to be, four weeks ago, I would never have imagined me walking hand in hand with anyone, but today, I can’t imagine my hand, my heart, or my soul not grasping Quinn’s hand, heart, and soul.
Quinn leaves me standing next to Kat and Wes to take the stage. He rolls his sleeves to his elbows. Ellie and Dean move front and center. I pass them each a crystal champagne flute in the exact shade of indigo selected during our very first meeting together. I clink glasses with her and give her a hug.
“Good evening,” Quinn starts. “As you all know, we’re here to celebrate Ellie and Dean’s new life together.”
Applause breaks out, a few hoots from the younger crowd and yeehaws from Ellie’s sister and friends.
“So I’d like to say a few words about a successful relationship.” Quinn’s grip tightens around the mic. “The secret is—well, I don’t know. I’m not the one getting married.”
Right on cue, the crowd laughs.
“So instead, I’ll share the secret to keeping Ellie happy—a variation on her favorite passage.” He clears his throat and lifts his chin. “Love is patient. Love is kind. So when Ellie obsesses over what color to paint your bedroom, practice patience. And being kind is handing over the credit card when she pulls out eighty shades of indigo.”
More laughter.
“Love does not envy; it does not boast. Unless she’s feverish, coughing germs and hugging a trash can. Then envy those who are out on dinner dates and boast to whoever calls to check up on her about your rising stock in pharmaceuticals.”
Kat holds up a glass for Quinn, he takes it and holds it out as he continues. “Love rejoices with the truth. Believe in, support, and hold each other when things get tough, because they will get tough.” That’s the mother lode of all truths. “And remember to trust each other, because love trusts. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. Don’t question your faith in each other.” The words he’d written and I’d read a thousand times, resonate within me. Memorizing them had been easy. Believing them wasn’t. Until now. “Because if he loves you, he’ll be patient. He’ll hold his hand out and wait for you to fall into it. He’ll wait so he’s the one to catch you. He’ll protect you. Because love never fails.”
Quinn pulls the microphone from his lips and grabs his champagne. Pointing at Ellie with his glass, he says, “Ellie and Dean, I wish you many days blessed with patience, kindness, honor, trust, and above all else, love.” He holds his drink up and everyone clinks glasses with their neighbor, sending a tinkling like bells through the trees.
Ellie and Dean share an intimate kiss. While the lights shine on them, applause breaks out. The DJ requests for them to take center court for their first dance. Graceful as an angel, Ellie floats through an intricate dance, happiness lighting her step and her face.
“Do I finally get to dance with my beautiful date?” Quinn whisks me around.
I throw my arm around his neck to steady the thrill. His eyes lock on mine.
“I think I can accommodate?” I tease, using words he’d spoken to me not long ago.
“You, Ms. Cassidy Beck, have made me a very fortunate and happy man.” He takes my hands in his, and though his sister and Dean haven’t finished their dance, rocks me in a slow, intimate circle. “I don’t doubt we’ll hit some major bumps, but we can figure everything out together. Just promise you’ll talk to me before jumping to conclusions.”
“I promise to try.” I nuzzle my nose against his chin, eyes closed and happy.
“I suppose there’s a lot to celebrate tonight,” he says.
“Yes, Ellie and Dean. You and Kat. And you have a son. That’s pretty great. Right?”
Quinn kisses my forehead. “And I have you.”
Pulled against him, I hear his heartbeat, the hiccups, the highlights. The jagged little path leading my heart to his that is anything but straight and perfect. “It’s crazy, this guy once told me we’d work because we’re broken in the most screwed-up perfect way.”
“Smart guy. Better hold on to him.” His lips smooth across my ch
eek toward my ear and ease against my neck as if they’ve found a home. “I think we may be fixing the broken parts.”
Tremors vibrate my chest. I don’t ever want to stop feeling them. They’re proof I’m alive. They’re proof I’m in love. “So what are we if not broken?” I tuck my hand under my chin and peer at him.
The wild mixture of blues in his eyes has quieted. He searches mine and smooths his thumb over my lips before kissing me on the forehead. His mouth slip into a warm smile. “A beautiful, crazy wreck.”
Epilogue
“Are you sure your cousin got the directions right?” I skim the page ripped out of a notebook with chicken scratch scrawled across it. “This is worse than driving to the plantation.”
“She got it right. I scouted it out yesterday.”
“You didn’t tell me that.” I glance at Quinn. “Why?”
“In case she got it wrong.”
I fold my hands and toss him a smug grin.
He writes off the conversation by nabbing the directions out of my hand and skimming them.
“So tell me about the site.” I change the subject.
He smiles. “I think you’ll like it.”
I hope Lucy was right about the clients being the bomb. I look around. Trees everywhere. Big, huge live oaks dripping with the South’s infamous Spanish moss.
I’ve gotten used to the eerie beauty around here. The trees have become a favorite of mine to paint. A favorite for tourists to buy.
Just last month, Quinn and I sold an entire series of our work to some big-city millionaire with ties to the Lowcountry. He happened across our shop and didn’t hesitate, just plopped down his credit card. He wanted to split the series and hang Quinn’s photographs in his yacht and my paintings in his home in Italy. He even paid extra for us to do the installations ourselves. Of course Quinn fought hard for him to leave the photos with the paintings. That was the magic of the series, my artistic translation of his nighttime vigils to the oaks. But the client wouldn’t budge. Even Quinn couldn’t argue it when the guy swayed his reluctance by doubling the asking price.
“I can’t believe we’ve been commissioned.” I do a happy dance in my seat. “I’m nervous and excited all at once. Where are we going to put our new pieces?” When we rented a space along the Battery, we didn’t take into account the square footage he’d need for his darkroom or the space I’d need to paint. We’d had to cut the gallery in half to accommodate us both. And really, with rent so steep, we had no other choice but to make due. “What about floating pieces, back to back. Suspended from the rafters.”
“Sounds cool.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” I smile.
He turns down a gravel drive, winds through the trees and parks near a huge fallen pine.
He grabs my hand and pulls me to him. “You’re happy.”
“Very.” I press my lips to his.
“Come on, the spot is around that clump of trees.”
I slide across the bench seat and land beside him. The smell of wet pine, soft bark and just . . . the South, washes into my lungs. I inhale deeply. It’s everything I associate with my new life. With Quinn and his son, Hayes, and the giggles that erupt when they pull pranks on me during hikes.
I exhale contently as he wraps his arms around my waist and tucks his hands in my back pockets. His tongue swipes across my lips, instantly bringing me closer to him. I jump up and he catches me. Our gentle kisses grow stronger.
I groan. “I want to use you in so many different ways right now, but we have clients and what if they drive up or worse, are watching us.” I plop my feet down on the ground and drag my finger over his prickly chin. “More of that later.”
“Can’t wait.” He pinches my ass, then grabs my hand to lead me through the thick vegetation.
We follow a skinny trail wrapping like a ribbon through the trees. Birds call and the cicadas, I swear, have multiplied since leaving the main road. We maneuver through a narrow passage between two rocks. Quinn comes to a standstill. I move to his side.
And gasp.
I step in front of him, crane my neck back and study the darkening sky above the treetops. Right here in the middle of the woods is the most intimate clearing. A romantic ruin. Beautiful possibilities for painting, for engagement photo sessions. For so much. It’s the jackpot of locations.
When I come back to earth, I realize I missed the most obvious oddity. Candles everywhere. Votives hang from an oak to the left. A blanket adorned with pillows, mason jars holding more candles, and a picnic basket, sit beneath.
“What… what is this?” I step closer to the setup but am distracted by the line of candles leading away from it.
Little flames of hope outline the entire space and sit atop mossy ruins. A sun-bleached chimney, half eaten by time and the elements, sits alone and floats against a background of shadows. A fire blazes within it and smoke curls out the top, just like a fairytale.
Quinn dangles an envelope in front of me. I open it, a grin on my face, and read: Warm kisses as gentle as a summer’s breeze . . . touched my lips, painted my skin. Grazed my heart. I thank my lucky stars that someone as perfect as you, blessed my soul.
Quinn wraps his arm around my waist and brushes a kiss over my cheek. “Happy Anniversary.”
The words he’d written wash over my heart and bathe it in a warm, brilliant, fuzzy light. I could’ve spoken those same words . . .not so eloquently, but everything he said, is exactly how he makes me feel. I don’t know if he’ll ever realize how deeply I love him.
“That’s beautiful, Quinn.” I nuzzle closer to him. “But it’s not our anniversary.”
“Birthday then?”
I shake my head. “I think love has you all screwed up in there.” I tap his temple, then slip my hand down his cheek to his chin, enjoying the transition from smooth to stubble.
“But it is the anniversary of our gallery opening.”
I peer around again, amazed at such a celebration for something that was unsuccessful. If you didn’t count the Covington posse who came out to support us, we had three visitors. Three. And two of them just happened to be walking by. That left us with tons of uneaten food, an obvious need for a marketing plan, and making a desperate call to a plumber when Hayes stuffed the toilet with party napkins to make “rainbow soup.”
“You want to remember that? It was awful.”
“I want to remember our failures because it makes our successes, no matter how small, shine.”
I smile, turn and jump up to hug him. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you, Quinn. You’re amazing.”
“And . . .”
“There’s more?”
He sets me on my feet, pulls me toward the blanket, and gestures for me to sit. I drop to my knees and lean into my hands. What else could there possibly be? I’m so happy. So settled. This is so perfect and it’s with him. Because of him. He squats beside me and waves his hand over the blank space.
“Think of this as your canvas.”
“Huh?” I squint through the growing dark.
He pulls out a tube of papers from the basket, unrolls it, and sets a candle in the center. “This is ours, Cassie. All ours.”
“We aren’t meeting clients?”
He shakes his head.
“No commissioned work?”
He taps the ground.
I look at the paper . . . the plans for a house. “You bought this?”
“For us.”
A smile works its way across my face. I can’t stop it. I can’t stop imagining what we could do here. The possibilities are endless and for once, I have no idea which route to take. I’m always so sure of how I want things to end, but Quinn, he changed that want. I love not knowing. I love discovering with him, and this will be a huge freaking undertaking.
“You designed a studio.” I follow the outline of the architectural rendering. A stone facade, a porthole window above a grand doorway. A long, covered porch spanning the entire building. With two swings
. I trace their outlines. “No rocking chairs?”
“Swings. One for us. One for Hayes.” He unrolls another sheet. “There’s room for a studio on the second floor and a darkroom in the basement. Here’s our bedroom. And this room is for Hayes when he visits.”
I roll forward and pitch myself against him. He falls back on the pillows. “I love you, Quinn Covington.”
“You’re growing on me, too.” He rolls me over and hovers above me.
“Come here, you.” I grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him against me. Kiss him hard. Kiss him fully. I give over to him everything in my power.
His hands track under my shirt, across my stomach. His fingers comb along my ribs, following them to the center of my chest. I untuck his shirt, fumble with the buttons, and when I can’t release them, pull. Hard. A button pops off and he stops kissing me.
“Down, girl.” He leans up and pulls his shirt over his head.
“No problem,” I say. I grab his waistband, undo his zipper, and shove his shorts down over his rear.
I crawl to my knees and push him back until he’s settled on the blanket. His boxers give easily as I tug them down and slip between his knees. I start to lower, but he’s watching me so intently, I pause.
“What is it?” I ask.
“You’re beautiful. I don’t tell you enough, but you’re so fucking beautiful.”
“Because I’m between your legs.”
“Because you’re you. Because you’re mine. But, yeah, I think you’re quite a sight between my legs, too.” He reaches for my hand but I push him away.
I rest my fingers on either side of his throbbing cock. “Right now, Mr. Covington, you’re quite a sight.”
I bend closer, drag my hair across his abs, seduce his skin with my breath, and tease his cock with my lips. He moans when I take him deep. Curls his fingers in my hair. I work him slowly, like I do my masterpieces. With precision and attention to details. I love the way his breath stutters when I flick my tongue just below the ridge crowning his tip. The way he tremors when he gets close to release. The way he pulls me in and wants to hold me forever against him.
He thrusts deep into my mouth, but pulls out quickly. He leans his head back, bites his lip, and I smile, seductively, because I did that. I move up to straddle his hips, remove my shirt and unfasten my bra. I brush my fingers over his hardened nipple, then lower to take his lips into my mouth.
