He laughed. As she drove away, her mind raced in a hundred different ridiculously happy directions. “Call Serena,” she said through her Bluetooth. Serena answered on the second ring.
“Hey, sis. What’s up?”
“Guess where I am?” Chloe said far too giddily.
“Driving…?”
“Yes. To work from Justin’s house!”
Serena squealed. “On a school night? Aren’t you a naughty girl.”
“Yes, and I promised him I’d stay tonight, too!”
“It’s about frigging time. Better watch out, sis. You know what they say—once you bite the forbidden fruit, there’s no going back.”
“Hm. Biting his fruit. Now, there’s a game I haven’t played.”
They both laughed, and as Chloe shared her joy and her butterflies with her sister, she realized she hadn’t climbed back into the conservative skin she’d once found so perfect and safe. The skin that had become a little too confining since coming together with Justin.
But she hadn’t shed it completely.
Justin was helping her develop a new, different layer—a better one that wasn’t driven by hiding from the past, but rather looking forward to a future.
Chapter Sixteen
MUSIC BLARED IN Justin’s studio late Tuesday afternoon. He was totally in the zone. He brushed his thumb over the stone, wiping dust from the cheekbone of the face he was carving. His mind trickled back to making love with Chloe that morning, when he’d touched her cheek and she’d looked at him like he was everything she could ever want. He’d been spoiled having her in his bed the last few nights. He’d loved every sensual, fun moment of it. But while he wanted her there every night, he had a feeling Chloe needed time to get used to them. As much as he hated it, he was giving her space by not making plans to see her tonight or tomorrow night. His memories of having her in his bed were going to have to hold him over for a few days. He thought about how sexy and adorable she’d looked sitting in the middle of his bed wearing only his T-shirt Sunday night after they’d thoroughly ravaged each other, when they’d gone through pictures she’d taken over the weekend.
He hadn’t realized she’d taken so many pictures on Saturday when they’d first gone to the rescue. She’d captured shots of his mother’s and Preacher’s hands when they were sitting by the bonfire and his grandfather’s hands as he’d pet Snowflake—before they’d even realized he needed pictures of their hands, as if the decision of what to make for the suicide-awareness rally had been fated to be. She had taken dozens of shots of Justin with Shadow and with his family members. But his favorite was a selfie of him and Chloe with Shadow in her lap. He’d thought he’d romanticized how happy she’d seemed that night, but the pictures had confirmed his memory. She’d taken more beautiful pictures on Sunday at Gavin’s house and in Harborside. She had the most amazing eye, capturing people when they were lost in thought and from angles he’d never even think to try. Through her eyes, he’d seen his family and friends differently than ever before. Hell, he saw himself differently through her eyes.
He knew she was seeing him differently, too, as evident in how comfortable she was in his house and in his arms. She was sharing more of herself with him. While the pictures had printed, she told him about when she’d began scrapbooking and why. And later, as she’d answered posts on her book club forum, she’d told him about how the club had come to be and how much she enjoyed it. She even told him about the book they were reading. He’d enjoyed hearing about all of it. He wanted to know everything there was to know about her.
He took off his goggles, and as he set down his tool, his eyes drifted to the inspiration board Chloe had made for him using the pictures she’d printed. The board itself was a work of art. She’d shown up last night with supplies. She covered a large canvas with burlap. Then she wrapped it with twine, creating crisscrosses. She hung pictures of his family members from the twine, securing them in place with tiny clothespins. Beneath each picture she’d hung another photo of only their hands. She’d added embellishments around each of the photos, like a tiny image of a mother with her arms around several children next to Reba’s, and an old man waving a cane beside Mike’s, the perfect curmudgeon. Around Preacher’s picture she’d put several