Food, water, and art.
Perhaps that trio will give a little hope and some sustenance.
This is number four on the list, but with an addendum. Something extra, because that’s what the list is doing, it seems—helping me, and maybe others too.
In small ways, but those can be the ways that matter most.
Minutes later, we’ve corralled the empty spray-paint cans and are hurrying back across the creaking floorboards to the vine-covered window where we crept inside earlier this afternoon. Jesse slips out first, taking the backpack with him.
Once he’s on the ground, he lifts his arms to help me down.
With my leg swung over the windowsill, I take a beat to drink him in. With paint smeared on his sexy forearms and that look of anticipation on his face as he reaches up to catch me, he is . . . beautiful. So beautiful it rips at the door of my heart again, tugging it open even wider, making me suspect this organ in my chest is what the list is really about.
Claire didn’t leave me just individual missions. She left a bigger, underlying challenge.
It’s about being brave enough to open up to the world, to let it all in—the good and the bad, the things that are going to hurt like hell, and the things that are heavenly and sweet and healing. If I want the beauty, I’ll have to risk the pain.
But that’s okay. Maybe I’m strong enough to handle it all. Claire thought I was, and who knew me better?
No one. Maybe not even myself.
With a final glance back at the mural, that ten-foot tall manifestation of my previously untapped potential, I draw my other leg over the sill, brace my hands against the wood, and jump.
14
Jesse
Inside my apartment, I am buzzed.
My bones hum with desire.
My throat is dry.
Anticipation is killing me and turning me on at the same damn time.
Especially when Ruby unhooks the front of her overall shorts, tugs off her tank, then slides down the strap of her bra.
Nibbling on her lip.
Giving me a shy, but eager smile.
Ready.
So damn ready.
Just like I am.
After all these years.
Years.
Hell, that’s what this is.
Years in the making.
Since she stretched out on my car during college.
Since we picked cherries that summer.