Letting You In

by Nora Flite

  Leah smiled, a small burst of happiness that made my heart pump. “Yes, actually. Much better. I seriously think she was just on edge and stressed about the stuff going on with Greg. It sucks to think it took something so horrible to bring her and I back together, but I'll take it.”

  “Tragedy can do that,” I said. It can also do the opposite. “You slept at her place last night, not your car, I hope.”

  With pink cheeks, she gave her car a soft tap on the hood. “I did, on the couch like I used to. Please don't think too much about me crashing in my car, okay? It was really only for two nights, it wasn't that bad.”

  “Sorry, I just—you could have stayed with me, I would have let you sleep here at my apartment without question.”

  Leah chewed at the side of her lip, glancing off to the side at nothing. “Come on, that's a lot to ask out of someone so quickly. The last thing I wanted was to make things worse by putting any burden on you, Deacon.”

  Curling my fingers around the back of her neck, I tangled them in her thick hair, guiding her the short distance forward so I could kiss her softly. She tasted like mint, I couldn't get enough of it. Focus, focus, I reminded myself. Pulling back, my nose rubbing hers, my voice was raspy. “Leah, you're not a burden. We're dating, or did you forget that?”

  “No,” she whispered, watching me through her dark lashes. “Of course I didn't. But it's really been such a short time, we can't pretend it hasn't.”

  “I can pretend whatever I like.” My words tickled her cheek, the grin I flashed mischievous. “Pretty sure I'm allowed that, actually. There's no time limit here for me, I don't need you to meet some quota before I'm willing to help you.”

  “That's not true,” she mumbled. “There is a time limit, you said it yourself before. I just bought a car, I'm down to scrap money, and I didn't get that intern job. Deacon, you're worried about me having to leave because I can't afford to stay... how much more of a time limit can there be?”

  So much of her stress comes from thinking she's failing, that she's not worth caring about. I can't take it anymore.

  My sudden smile must have confused her, she furrowed her brows, leaning slightly away. Not dissuaded, I gripped her forearms tightly, sliding my fingers into hers like a lock and key.

  “Leah, come with me, I need to show you something, I'm not waiting any longer.”

  ****

  If I'd had my way, I would have covered her eyes, made a huge show of everything. Instead, able to tell the poor girl was getting nervous, we paused inside my room just in front of the door to my patio. “Are you ready?”

  “I have no idea,” she said, rubbing the outside of one arm.

  Grinning firmly, I turned the knob, pushing it open to reveal the stack of canvases I'd arranged outside. I had placed an easel near them, a few leaves from the encroaching Fall decorating the supporting frame. Even though I had given her left-over supplies from my gallery before, I'd bought her a whole collection of brand new brushes, paints, their bottles shining in the midday sun.

  “Do you like it?” I asked, bustling with excitement over my surprise.

  “I don't understand.” Unable to look away from the display, Leah stepped out onto the patio, inching towards the easel. “What is all this, Deacon?”

  Following her, enjoying her stunned eyes, I laughed lightly. “It's for you, isn't that obvious?”

  “No,” she said, “none of this is obvious. Why, why give me all of this?”

  “Well,” I answered coyly, folding my arms behind my back. “How else are you going to get all the paintings done for your new gallery?”

  Leah turned, staring at me in absolute shock.

  “I suppose you could try to put together a gallery without any paint at all, but pure white canvas may be a bit--” I didn't finish my sarcastic comment, she'd jumped into my arms, stolen my air with a hard kiss that made everything, every bit of waiting to give her the news, worth it.

  “How!” She gasped, grabbing my face, her thumbs brushing my skin. “How did you—a gallery? That's...”

  Unable to stop smiling, I wrapped my arms around her middle, laughing. “I took the painting you made me to the people who run mine, told them you were a new, up and coming artist with lots of skill and potential.”

  “I—they believed that?”

  “Of course!” I lifted my eyebrows. “Why wouldn't they believe me?”

  “I'm not any of those things, not really!”

  “Tsk,” I clicked my tongue. “I wouldn't have vouched for you if I didn't think so. And, honestly, as much as I give myself credit here, they wouldn't have gone for it if the piece you had done hadn't impressed them.” Watching her closely, I witnessed her open jaw become a smile, but before I could enjoy that, it twisted to a frown. Tears boiled over, escaping down to her jawline in rivulets. “Leah! What's wrong, what is it?”

  Sniffling, she scrubbed at her eyes, her cheeks, then laughed. “Nothing, sorry, I'm just—this is amazing, I don't know how to handle it. A gallery? I'm going to have my work in a gallery? That was my dream, Deacon, for so long... I wasn't expecting it to come true, I never once really thought it could.”

  Inside of me, I felt a strong glow, a blossom of glorious energy that demanded to keep growing. Unsure what else to do with that sensation, I tucked her head to the crook of my neck and laughed with her. I'm unsure how long it lasted, that moment of boundless joy that was so contagious. We kept infecting each other until our laughs became giggles, then gasps of helpless air.

  I really couldn't have even guessed, I only wanted it to stretch on forever. I wanted more, more of...

  More of her, I want more of her.

  Eventually, as my hands stroked her hair, her limbs wrapped around my middle, Leah began to untangle us both. Leaning back, a half-step gave her enough room to smile up at me, brown eyes still glistening like rain puddles. “I honestly don't know how to thank you, Deacon. This is more than I deserve.”

  “It isn't,” I chided her, trying to keep from pulling her back to me. “But, you can thank me by doing what I know you will anyway.”

  “What's that?”

  “Painting wonderful things.” Chuckling, I dusted myself off casually, glancing at the sky. “The show is in two weeks, think you can get it done in time?”

  Leah took on a thoughtful look, fingers linking together at her waist. “Two weeks? Yeah, I think I can do that, but...”

  “But?” I coaxed her, smiling instantly as her own began to form at the corners again.

  “But, I might need to stay pretty late a few nights to do it.”

  Taking her chin gently in my hand, I stepped close, my shadow covering her while I gave in to my hunger for another taste of her lips. “Stay as late as you need to.”

  And I meant it.

  ****

  So it began, the first time I witnessed Leah painting, but certainly not the last. She was beautiful to watch, graceful, poised, each stroke seeming to be accidental until I saw the picture forming. Watching what she was capable of, it flooded me with a mix of emotions, a gamete of reactions that often ran opposed to each other.

  I was proud, extremely proud of her. There was nothing else like it, wishing for someone to do their best, then actually seeing it happen. The first night, I sat there on the patio and watched in silence, encouraging her initially when she seemed too shy to start.

  By the end, hours later as my neck was stiff and she seemed on the verge of exhaustion, my feelings had started to crawl in a direction I didn't like.

  How is it possible for her to be so good? Was I ever like this, before I took lessons? Am I even as good as she is, now? Real talent, this is real talent in front of me.

  Jealousy was not something I was used to.

  My knees creaked when as I stood, approaching her with an inherent, quiet respectfulness. “Leah, you should take a break.”

  “Hmm?” She asked, staring at me like I had just appeared out of the blue. “Oh. Uh, alright, I guess we should eat somet
hing.”

  Staring at her, the paint smudge on her hands, the bristling of disbelief made me falter. “You'd keep going, I mean, if I hadn't stopped you, you'd just paint until you fell over. Wouldn't you?”

  “What are you talking about?” Leah gave me a doubtful squint, setting her brush down, rubbing her palms on a rag. “Of course I'd stop before that, give me some credit.”

  I'm not sure I believe her.

  The days continued like that, Leah swamped in her work, me observing with increasing unease. I was astounded by her determination, she was crushing my expectations into dust. Still, when she painted, there was a wall that came up that kept me from feeling like we were even in the same reality.

  I wondered if she noticed me watching her, if she felt my eyes while I studied her strokes.

  She'd started sleeping over the second week, a gesture I was grateful for. In those moments, wrapped in my blankets, our bodies warming each other in our private bubble, it was almost rejuvenating. I forgot my insecurities, for what else could I call them?

  Linked together, my arms across her shoulder, hand drifting to the curve of her hip, I listened to the sound of her unconscious breathing and tried to let myself find comfort in it. My mind was alive, though, cruel in how it kept me from sleeping.

  When we're awake, she doesn't really see me now, when we sleep, I can't let myself give in completely to do the same.

  This was a side of me I was frightened of, it brought back the memories of another woman, someone who had also just as easily ignored me when she was caught up in her work.

  Tight shoulders, shut eyes, blonde hair tickling her collar bone...

  Stop thinking about Bethany.

  But I couldn't. This situation was too similar, even down to the disparity in our skills. Bethany had always been talented at singing, she worshiped music, loved it more than anything.

  She loved it more than she loved me, so stop thinking about that, this isn't the same, it isn't.

  Recalling how Leah had looked at me when I pulled her away from her art, that confused, uncertain glint in her eyes that indicated she had been surprised to even see me... it cut away at the part of me I wanted to keep buried forever.

  Could the girl I was letting myself fall for faster than a skydive, actually resent me for not working as hard, for not being as good, as she herself was?

  She won't leave you like Bethany did, she's not the same.

  Lying there, focusing absently on the elegant length of Leah's neck, how her hair vibrated when I breathed, I wondered if I was wrong after all.

  Chapter 23.

  The scent of pancakes drew me from sleep, my arm sliding over the blankets beside me in search for the familiar body of Leah. Not finding her, I cracked my eyes, shrugging the mantel of slumber off so I could understand what was wrong.

  In my room, I found no sign of her. Shirtless, in only my boxers, I slid to the floor and moved towards where my intuition assumed she would be. Already working, how can she get up so early? Opening the patio, the only thing that greeted me was the early, crisp air in the wake of a cloudy sky. November was making itself known, but I wasn't prepared to give it the time.

  Shutting the door, confused by not finding Leah painting away, I inhaled the sweet scent of someone cooking again. No, she can't be, can she? Tugging a shirt over my head, then the jeans from the night before, I hopped down the stairs in search of my missing bed-mate.

  Leaning into the kitchen, my eyes fixed on the surprising, but welcome, sight before me. At the stove, Leah was flipping another fresh pancake onto a small stack beside her. Carlo was hovering over the girl, anxious as he watched her skills. “Right, that's better, that one isn't too brown.”

  “He likes them light, like this?”

  “Yes, exactly, much better Leah.” Carlo grinned, sensing me when I stepped closer. Glancing over his shoulder, he gave a delighted shout. “And look, he rises from the grave!”

  “Deacon!” Leah beamed, turning so I could spot the smudges of batter on her apron. It reminded me of the paint stains she'd been sporting these past days.

  “What is all this?” I asked, the smell of food making my stomach clench and rumble.

  Carlo placed a hand on the middle of my spine, guiding me to the small table he and I owned. We only had two chairs, but now there was also a pile of couch cushions to substitute a third. “Shh, it's just a little treat Leah and I decided to cook up for you.”

  “Leah and you, both of you?” I questioned, arching an eyebrow in amusement. “Since when do you make me breakfast, Carlo?”

  “You caught me, it was her idea,” he sighed, shrugging like the jig was up. “I only jumped in to help when she started producing blackened char instead of breakfast.”

  With obvious embarrassment, Leah set a plate of fluffy pancakes in front of me, a bottle of syrup soon joining it. After the comment about burning things, I couldn't help lifting the circular treats, searching for any hint of charcoal. “But these look fine to me!”

  Heavily, Carlo slammed another plate down beside me, dropping onto the cushions as he did so. “That's because I helped her remake them.” Gripping the syrup, he poured a torrent of sweetness over the darker pancakes before him.

  “Those don't look so bad,” I said, baffled by the situation. He shoveled in a sticky mouthful, chewing while looking pointedly from me, to Leah as she sat across from us both. There, on her dish, were two severely blackened discs I would have hesitated to identify as edible. “Oh, Leah, no, you don't need to eat those!”

  “I don't want to waste them,” she said with a smile, swirling viscous caramel over the depressing mess. Carlo and I looked on, marveling at her when Leah shoved a forkful into her mouth. Instantly, she winced, clearly not enjoying the taste.

  Shaking my head, I lifted my plate, sliding one of my own pancakes onto her stack. “There's more than enough, let me share.”

  “But I was trying to make those for you,” she argued, sinking down in her chair.

  “Just eat it.” Carlo smirked, eyeing us as he waved his fork. “Deacon will fall into a pit of despair if you don't accept his generosity.”

  Narrowing a look at him, I kept a straight face. “Is that what you tell yourself when you eat the food I buy every week?”

  “Ouch,” he mumbled through a full mouth. “And here I thought you liked sharing.”

  “Sharing isn't taking everything I have, and never giving anything back.”

  “Touche, thanks for educating me.”

  I couldn't help my smile, Carlo's antics were always a good mood cleanser. Drenching my pancakes in syrup, I took a big bite, fully aware of how Leah was watching for my reaction. “These are really good!” I couldn't have faked it, they really were delicious. “Thanks for making me breakfast, but you really, really didn't need to.”

  “I did,” she said firmly. “But, I also just wanted to do it.”

  “Well,” Carlo commented, waving his utensil above his head, “I for one am grateful you decided to do it. I haven't had pancakes in forever.”

  “Me either,” I agreed.

  “Honestly, neither have I,” Leah said, her smile thoughtful. Something about her eyes, how they glazed, made me think she had to be remembering something. I didn't want to pry, so instead I dug into the food, fork clanking on the plate.

  When we were done eating, Carlo demanded he wash the dishes, despite Leah's insistence she do them. In the end, he won, taking her apron and tying it on, pushing her from the kitchen as she pouted. I helped as well, gripping her wrist, taking her upstairs.

  We hadn't made it all the way to the second floor before I pushed her against the wall, tasting the cloyingly sweet flavor on her lips. “You didn't need to make me breakfast, I mean that.”

  “I needed to do something,” she whispered, looking up at me with a mild grin. “How else could I thank you for everything you've done for me?”

  The ideas I had were not appropriate to say, instead I nibbled her jaw, my blood heat
ing from her raw gasp. “We should get cleaned up, all I can taste is pancakes.”

  “Is that so bad?”

  “I'd much rather taste you,” I confided, teasing her, thrilling at the bloom of red from her face to her chest. Together, we made it to the top of the stairs, our arms tangled as we indulged in a longer kiss. “Do you want to shower first,” I asked, “or should I?”

  Leah's eyes were warm, sparkling with a wicked promise. “Can't we do it together?”

  Inside, I felt a flush of confusion, my desire battling my guilt. Carlo's words were in my brain, his comment on how he had heard us that first night. Knowing he was so near, that he might catch us, it sent me into a spiral. She must have seen my frown, sensed my wariness. “We don't have to,” she muttered quickly.

  “It's just—I don't know if it would be... right, to do that.”

  The way she stared at me made me feel worse than before, yet her lips came back to mine, kissing both corners of my nervous grimace. “It's alright, don't worry. I'll just go first then. But you,” she whispered, standing tall to nip my earlobe, shooting a tremor down my spine, “owe me. Later. Got it?”

  “Of course,” I breathed out, my voice muddled with passion. I regretted my decision not to follow her into the bathroom, even more so when she winked at me before shutting the door. Inhaling deeply, I rubbed my sweaty palms over my skull and neck, laughing in frustration.

  The things I let bother me, how ridiculous. If anything, now I could use a shower, a nice cold one.

  Listening to the sound of the water turn on, knowing Leah was in there, liquid dripping off her skin, I forced myself to walk into my room. The floor was disorganized, I kicked a few of my things out of the way. Maybe I should clean up, that'll take my mind off of her.

  Bending down, I began gathering items, tossing them in my hamper. Through the walls, I could hear the rattling of the shower, tapping away relentlessly. It almost blocked out the sound of the cell phone that began to buzz.