by Elsa Nickle
And she couldn’t paint one stroke on the prepped canvas.
Perhaps it was because she was handling paint while wearing the nicest dress she owned. She had a smock on, but still.
More likely, it was all these painful thoughts. Mixed up in her disappointment and sadness was worry. Worry about Ethan and how he was doing. Was he still feeling abandoned by his brothers? Was he alone somewhere, hurting? Was he halfway back to California? Or were the Wyles patching things up, like she hoped? Just because his stars were not aligned with hers didn’t mean she stopped caring about him.
In fact, she cared about him a lot. He had made her feel valued, talented, interesting. Thinking about the possibility that she would never see him again hollowed out her insides.
Laurel closed her eyes and tried to breathe normally. If she let her lungs and diaphragm do what they wanted, she would definitely start crying.
She felt terrible, and she couldn’t paint.
Maybe this was a sign.
Maybe Laurel wasn’t supposed to be an artist. Maybe she wasn’t as good as she thought, and this was the universe’s way of saying, Hey kid, it’s time to quit. Your mom and your college friends were right—art’s not practical. If you made your deadline and got accepted to ECAA, it would be a waste of your time and money. You don’t really have what it takes anyway. You should give up now and save yourself the heartache.
After all, she didn’t want to end up like her father.
Laurel probably stared at that primed canvas for an hour. The paints on her palette were in danger of drying out, but her eyes were not in that same danger. Tears threatened to spill every minute. Her heart strained against the pressure.
Girls like Laurel didn’t get what they wanted. Poor girls didn’t get to be successful artists. Pathetic liars didn’t get to date handsome men who were too good for them.
Laurel couldn’t be an artist, and she couldn’t have the guy.
And there she was, thinking about Ethan again. Laurel couldn’t stand it anymore. She took out her phone. No messages from Ethan, obviously. But oh, how she wanted to text him. Instead she flipped to her photos.
The pictures she’d taken of the Wyle brothers before the wedding now filled her with a bittersweet cocktail of emotions. She wanted to go back to that moment, when Ethan was looking at her like he might actually want her in his life, and everything seemed exciting and right. The brothers had looked so happy—that joy and contentment on their faces couldn’t be faked. But an hour later, everything had twisted one hundred and eighty degrees. They had to be able to get back to that happiness again, right? She hoped so, for Ethan’s sake.
She was barely aware of what she was doing. Before she knew it, Laurel had sketched out a portrait of the Wyle men on her waiting canvas. She never painted animals or people, never. She’d been told she wasn’t good at it, that she should stick to still life. But if she wasn’t destined to be a great artist, who cared anymore? How could it matter? It’s not like anyone would ever see this canvas.
Painting a human face was not like painting a sunrise, but the longer she worked, the more she wondered if they were really that different after all. She always saw the sunrise in Ethan’s face.
At first, Laurel made dozens of missteps and mistakes, but then she started to see things in terms of feeling and light and shadow, and she lost herself in the painting. Time had no meaning—she couldn’t say how long she stood working, surrounded by nothing but hunger and dust—but when she was done, she stood back and gasped.
Laurel could paint people.
She’d used unexpected colors and brushstrokes, but she had done it. The Wyle brothers were there on the canvas, buzzing with energy and laughter. And there was something loose and lively about the painting style that spoke straight to the joy of the moment. Maybe this was a form of beginners luck.
Possibly other people wouldn’t be as impressed … art was always subjective. But Laurel was shocked at how much she loved this painting.
It was her first portrait in almost a decade.
And it might be her last.
Her heart seized up again, breath hitching to keep her emotions firmly on the inside.
She stared at Ethan’s freshly painted likeness, unmoving but somehow so full of life. Laurel had been right; he was the perfect subject. His expression was unfathomable—he looked happy, peaceful, wistful.
She missed that face.
It was ridiculous. She hadn’t fallen this hard for anyone since her first crush in elementary school, and she’d loved little Eric Snyder in her childish way for over two years. There was no chance this was going to last that long, right? If she never spoke to Ethan or heard from him again, this madness would have to end. She’d just have to lose herself in whatever boring, full-time job she could get. Or push away thoughts of him by getting a new crush in some far away city. Or when those things proved unsuccessful, she could get a lobotomy.
Okay—she was done, starting now. No more pining after Ethan. She would train her thoughts. She would school her emotions. She would be as stoic as a … what was stoic? A potato was stoic. Laurel would be as stoic as a potato.
Suddenly, a loud knock pounded at the shop door. Laurel jolted so hard that she almost fell over. Her heart went from heartache-broken to possibly actually broken from fright in less than a second. Her first instinct was a weird one—she immediately turned her recent painting, easel and all, to the wall. Although she loved it, she wasn’t ready to share it with whoever that was at the door.
The knock sounded again, and she briefly wondered if she should hide. Nobody had ever tried to come into this boarded-up store before, not even by mistake. Maybe it was a drunk, or maybe it was—
“Laurel, are you in there?”
Holy smokes, it was Ethan. And Laurel was not feeling very stoic about it.
He wasn’t driving back to Santa Barbara, and he wasn’t with his brothers. He was here. He had come to see her late at night, seeking her out at her studio. Did this mean—she didn’t even want to think it. She couldn’t allow herself to hope. She might jinx the situation.
Laurel ran to the door and threw it open. Even though she knew who was on the other side, her eyes still popped when she saw him. “Oh, wow, are you okay?”
He had changed into jeans and a navy sweatshirt, but he was also wearing the most tortured expression Laurel had ever seen. Expressive face, indeed.
Ethan ran a wild hand through his hair. “No, actually. I’m not okay. Can we talk?”
“Yes.” Laurel stepped aside and gestured. “Come in.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ethan strode forward and stopped once he got all the way inside.
“How did you know I was here?” She softly shut the door behind him.
Ethan closed his eyes. “I didn’t know, I just hoped. I had to get out of the house, and I was driving around feeling worse and worse, and I came here without thinking, really. I can see you’re busy, but … there’s nobody else I can talk to.”
His words sounded pathetic to him, but when he dared a glance at her, she only looked sad, her face pinched in concern. “I didn’t know. Ethan, I’m so—”
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I said to make you run away so quickly back at the wedding, but I swear I wasn’t mad at you. I was being such a jerk when all you were trying to do was make me feel better. Please, Laurel, forgive me.”
She shook her head. “Really, it was nothing. I was just …” She sighed, looking up for a moment as if the right words were written in the rafters of the studio. “I’m just glad you’re here now.” She took a step closer to him. “I take it things didn’t go well with your brothers.”
He grimaced and shook his head. “You could say that.”
Another step closer. “So, what happened?”
There was an ache in his head, a pounding that matched his anger. Too much stress and regret and sorrow. He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t even know where to begin.” He put his hand down,
clenching and unclenching it, wishing he could hit something. “It’s not even that they lied about the wedding or that they didn’t invite me to the first one. It’s that they don’t need me anymore. They don’t even want me here. They were so mad after my parents died. They begged me to come back and help, but I couldn’t. It tore me up inside, but what was I supposed to do?” They had expected too much from him. They had wanted him to throw out everything he had worked so hard for.
He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nose, held it a moment, and let the air flow shakily out of his mouth. He felt her embrace him, and he relaxed under her arms. Her touch was soft and warm and all that he needed in that moment. He shifted to return her hug. His breathing began to calm. It felt good to hold her and to be held. They didn’t let each other go for a good, long while.
Laurel looked up at him with her big brown eyes. “So, do you want to leave?”
He didn’t, not really. And he especially didn’t want to leave her. “No, I guess not. But how do I fix what’s wrong between me and my brothers when we’ve all made such big mistakes with each other?”
“You keep using that word: fix. And I’m definitely not an expert in relationships—I mean, you are talking to a girl who was lying to her mother on a daily basis—so take what I’m about to say with a grain of salt.”
Ethan gave a weak smile.
“But, I do know a little about mistakes. In my drawings and paintings, I make mistakes all the time. Messing up is pretty much a given. And I don’t know if I’m going to explain this right, but—the mistakes aren’t just some unfortunate thing that you have to cover up, they are the art.”
Ethan didn’t quite understand. “What do you mean?”
He followed her gaze as she scanned the small room, her eye landing on one of her sunset landscapes. The painting was mostly sky and clouds, with the tiniest bit of horizon showing at the bottom. She grabbed Ethan’s hand and dragged him over to it.
“You see this one? When I first began this painting, I turned away while holding my brush and accidentally made a mark here.” She pointed to the horizon on the very bottom of the canvas. “I would never have thought to put the horizon there if not for a mistake. It was the foundation for the whole structure of the painting.”
She dragged him to a canvas leaning against the opposite wall featuring a detailed cottonwood tree. “For this one, I had to scratch around and try lines and shapes that may have been wrong, or they may have been right. You can’t really know the way to go until you see the mistakes. And you can paint over the lines you don’t like, or you can build on them. You have a lot of options. But mistakes are part of the process. You can’t have art without them.”
Ethan looked hard at the painting and then at Laurel. “This is beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She brushed the compliment aside, and he wondered if she knew how talented she really was. She took a deep breath and bit the edge of her lip as if nervous for whatever she was going to say next. “Mistakes are a part of relationships too. Nobody’s perfect, so we’re all bound to mess up from time to time. That doesn’t mean you just quit.” She cast her eyes down, and when she looked back up, her eyes were brimming with tears.
He rushed over to her. “Are you all right?” It was a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t all right, she was crying.
She waved a hand away. “I just …” She sniffled. “My mom and I got in this huge fight. I finally told her the truth about how she makes me feel, and how you and I aren’t really dating, and how I wish we were but you only want to go home—” Her eyes went wide when she realized what she had admitted.
He hated seeing her sad, but knowing that she really wanted to be with him? The words were like the strongest of painkillers. They took away all the anger and hurt his brothers had left him with and filled him with her sunshine.
He took a step closer. “Really?” She couldn’t meet his eyes.
“I mean …” She wrapped her arms around her waist as if giving herself a hug.
She had the smallest drop of paint on her cheek, and, without thinking, he reached up and wiped it off with his thumb.
Her eyes fluttered. Ethan lifted her chin to look her in the eyes. “Yes, I want to leave Bisbee, but I most definitely do not want to leave you.”
Ethan leaned closer to her. Her eyes lowered to his mouth. When she slowly brought her gaze back to meet his, there was a shift in them. A longing.
His body inched toward her as if being pulled by some unseen force. He wanted to reach up and tangle his hands in those golden curls. To taste her lips, her skin. She shifted closer, getting nearer still. The smell of sweet strawberries and sunshine wafted in the air around him. It was intoxicating. Slowly, he inched his head closer until their lips were only a hairsbreadth away. He heard her breathing deepen, felt the warmth of it mix with his. The skin of his lips grazed hers. The touch ignited his entire body, lighting up every urge he had been pushing down since they had met. He lifted his hand to her cheek.
When their lips touched, it was like a summer storm. All lightning and warmth and the sun breaking through dark clouds. He put his other hand on the small of her back and pulled her in closer still. Her fingers combed through his hair as their kiss deepened. She tasted of mint and sugar, and when she gave the slightest moan, he nearly broke.
They were left forehead to forehead, breathing heavily. Ethan had never felt this way toward any woman before. It felt like the beginning of something amazing.
Suddenly, she pulled back.
“What’s wrong?”
Laurel caught her breath. “I think I’m getting paint all over you.”
His voice was raspy. “I couldn’t care less about getting paint on my clothes.” He started to pull Laurel back to him.
The sound of Laurel’s phone ringing from her art bag stopped them. She quickly went over to her bag that had been discarded by her easel and dug around for her phone.
“Ugh.” She rubbed her eyes. “It’s my mom. She’s waiting up.”
“That’s disappointing.” There was still fire in his chest.
She laughed. “To you and me both.”
“Are you ok? Do you want me to come with you?” he offered, knowing that there really wasn’t anything he could do but wishing he could.
“No, thank you. I’ll be alright. Life’s all about fixing mistakes, right?” She gave a weak smile.
“Then let me walk you out.” He kept his arm around her, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do. When they got there, he opened her door and helped her in.
“Call me if you need anything, okay?”
She answered with a weak smile and a nod.
He straightened up and shut her door. He couldn’t help but smile as he tasted the strawberry chapstick that still lingered on his lips. Thoughts of his brothers, of his clinic, of his reality kept trying to pry themselves into his mind, but he wanted to let the feeling of Laurel’s warmth last a little longer. He walked past his car and down the dark streets. Just ahead, there was an abandoned store. The sign over the door was too faded to read and hung a little askew.
A few shops down, he came to the art gallery he had noticed the night he and Laurel had met for the movie. The sign advertising for local artists was still in the corner of the window. His eyes scanned the other artists displayed, and while he recognized that art was subjective, there was no denying that Laurel was better than all of them combined. The way she mixed color and light and was somehow able to trap so much emotion in one single image wasn’t something that could be taught.
Maybe it was because she had helped him out so much that night, maybe it was because he wanted her to see her art how he saw it, but Ethan took a quick picture of the sign. His fingers hovered over the phone’s miniature keyboard. Would he be crossing some sort of line if he sent the picture to Laurel? No. It was a simple invitation for her to take that next step, no matter how frightened she might be. She was good enough; she just needed a
little nudge in the right direction.
He typed in her number, attached the picture, and sent it.
Take a leap. He texted next. I’ll catch you if you fall.
He reread the message once and then twice before he erased the last line. He knew she wouldn’t fall, and he didn’t want it to sound as though he didn’t believe in her.
Take a leap of faith. You’re good enough. I believe in you. He pushed send.
He waited a few minutes for her response even though he knew she most likely wouldn’t answer because she was driving. Shoving his phone in his back pocket, he took a deep breath and came to a decision. He had asked her to be brave and take a leap of faith. Now he would have to do the same. It was time to face his brothers.
He walked back to his car and climbed in, using Laurel’s words, her glow and her warmth, to buoy him up and give him courage. It wasn’t until he was on the highway that he realized what he had done. His heart sank as reality set in.
He was leaving.
It wasn’t fair or right to lead her on, no matter how much he wished that they could be together. By the end of the drive, he felt sick to his stomach. How was he going to make this right without breaking her heart?
As he pulled around and parked behind the house, he saw Preston running out of the kitchen, a deep scowl on his face and towels in his hands.
Ethan quickly climbed out of his car and ran over. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“That mama cow, the one with the twins? She’s in labor.”
A loud braying came from the field beyond the barn, and they both turned toward the sound.
Dillon opened the kitchen door and strode toward the barn. “I swear the cows wait until I’m home to have an emergency. It never happens during business hours when there’s no chance I’ll have to put my arm inside a cow and—” His gaze stopped on Ethan with a sort of hopeful desperation. “Although now that we’ve got a vet here …”
