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the room and lays her back on the couch, pulling the blanket up to her chin. He leans in and brushes his lips against hers ever so softly. There were so many things she could have said, so many ways to interpret what he'd done, but Abby saw what was written in his art. They have a connection that's only supposed to exist in fairytales. Jack is beaming when he stands up.

Looking down at her, he says, "Rest, Abby. I'll paint for a little bit and then go to sleep in a little while."

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

ABBY

I watch Jack climb a ladder and paint. My eyes feel like there are anvils attached to the lashes. I can't keep them open, but I love watching Jack paint. The way he works is hypnotic. The last thing I remember is watching him toss his shirt on the floor and climb up the ladder. He defines the light and dark parts of my billowing curls. They fade into wind, trailing softly behind me. I was so happy when he showed me the painting. I had no idea what he was doing. It combines his idealism with reality. It was me on that canvas, but it wasn't. It was hopeful, but it wasn't. There was pain, but there was purpose. It was the most alluring, evocative thing I've ever seen. It literally left me breathless. I'd want to keep the painting for us, but depriving the world of Jack's talent would be a sin. That painting is everything to Jack. It's his heart and mind on canvas.

I fall into a dreamless sleep of exhaustion. When I wake up, the early morning sunlight is streaming into the room through the slats in the blinds. It shines on the floor where Jack was sleeping. Rubbing my eyes, I sit up and look for him. He's on the ladder, shirtless, with paintbrushes in the back pockets of his jeans. There's one behind his ear. He has a streak of paint over his temple. I smile and pull the blankets around me as I sit and watch him.

Eventually, Jack turns and notices I'm awake. "Good morning, lover."

I smile and try not to blush. "Did you sleep?" I look down at his blankets, which appear way too neat and wrinkle-free.

"A little. Besides, painting makes me feel better. It's cathartic." He turns back to the painting and adds shadows to the violets that swirl up my body. The little punches of color flow behind me like a long gown. He did so much last night. It's even more stunning today.

"Jack, that is so beautiful. So perfect."

"I'm glad you like it. It'll be ours. We can put it in the cottage after it dries." He's so sweet. He assumed that I wouldn't want anyone to see it.

"It's not going in the cottage."

Jack turns and looks down at me. "Where do you want it, my love?" The expression on his face tells me that he has no idea.

"In your gallery, to sell. I can't keep something like this to myself. It would be horrible. You have to show this to people."

Jack climbs off the ladder as I speak. His lips twist into a surprised smile. "You are so sweet, but you don't have to do that for me. I know how you feel about - "

"It's too spectacular to hide just because I feel shy. Besides, you conveniently hid one of my nipples behind a flower." I smirk at him. "If anyone is staring at my boobs in this painting, they have issues. It's about life."

"Breasts are a part of life." He grins, teasing.

"One of your favorite parts, am I right?" I joke. Jack gives me a wicked look. Then he glances at his hands, which are covered in paint. "Don't even think about it." I try to untangle myself from the blankets, but Jack grabs me just as I stand up. He wraps his paint-covered arms around me and squeezes tight. I yelp and try to wriggle free, but Jack tosses me to the floor. I fall onto his bedding and he straddles me, pinning me in place. He takes his hand and slowly strokes both sides of my face. I scream and kick, laughing the whole time.

"There, now you match your painting."

"You suck!" I giggle. "I'm going to beat you up as soon as you get off of me."

Jack laughs and suddenly stands. He puts his hands out at his sides and taunts me. "Come on, Abby. Bring it. Attack!"

I