Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
28
No Last Word (Miles)
Benson helps me load poster-sized placards into my SUV one by one, side-eyeing me hard every time I grumble.
“What is it you always say, sir? Time spent second-guessing is wasted time.”
“Why did I ever think this would work? If revamping her grandmother’s garden, dispatching bees from Seattle, and a whole damn boat didn’t seal the deal, then how will some amateur paintings do me any good?” I ask.
Benson just looks at me and smiles, his old eyes twinkling. “Somehow, I’ve got a feeling this is closer to what Miss Landers prefers. Speaking straight from the heart usually goes a lot further than any lavish gifts.”
“That makes no sense.”
He chuckles, lifting the last card into the trunk. “In case you haven’t realized it yet, Mr. Cromwell, love isn’t logical. If you’re still expecting a consistent rhyme and a reason, well, you haven’t figured it out.”
Damn him, he’s gone full philosopher, but he’s right.
“Do you think this will work? Don’t lie to me.”
“I think you’ll know for certain, one way or the other, when it’s finished.”
“That’s what worries me,” I say.
“If it doesn’t work, will you just give up?”
My jaw tightens. “You know I can’t. Not when she’s a five-minute walk away, Benson.”
“Then good luck, sir.”
A few minutes later, with Benson in the passenger seat this time, I pull up in front of the inn, grab the placards from the trunk, and head for her front door.
I rap my knuckles against the cold wood and wait.
The knock echoes through the whole house and my entire soul.
A dog barks in the distance ahead of footsteps.
Then Jenn cracks the door open.
She’s more beautiful than ever. Her auburn hair is messed up like she’s just been outside in the wind, spilling down her neck and framing those green stars for eyes that lock on to mine.
She’s not happy to see me.
Her face falls and her mouth twists as she says, “Miles—”
I put my finger in front of my mouth.
“I know. We can’t keep doing this and I’m not supposed to speak to you. Since I’m a sucker for punishment, I hope you’ll give me five minutes. Five minutes is all I’m asking, Jenn.”
She frowns, folding her arms in front of her chest with a wary look.
She hasn’t sent me packing into exile yet.
I’ll take it.
I have the placards under my arm, arranged in order, and I hold the first one up.
It’s a scene I painted days ago, the silhouette of a man reaching for a woman in a lush summer garden. The woman turns away, her face ghostly pale.
Between them, there’s a wall of jagged words shaped like barbed wire, an entire thesaurus of synonyms for hurt, heartbreak, anger, and confusion.
“You decided we shouldn’t speak to each other. Since I’ll always respect your wishes, I had to find another way to say this. Here it is,” I tell her.
The man can’t reach through the barbed wire fence of words to his lady.
She inhales slowly and turns her head. Probably hoping I don’t see her hiding a sad laugh.
I let the first placard fall to the ground at my feet.
Number two shows the silhouette of a beautiful woman flanked by two hulking black and white dogs. They’re all standing just inside the very same doorway I’m looking into right now.
The man has one hand on each side of the doorframe. He’s peering down at her and she’s staring up at him, magnetic lines of attraction pulling them together in tiny black hearts only the dogs can see.
The caption reads, Until I met you...
Once I’m sure she’s read it, I drop it.
The next painting has my misshapen silhouette. I’m sitting at my desk, surrounded by piles of reports and half-finished paintings.
This was my life. This was all I had, it reads.
I let go. On to the next.
Then along came you.
Our silhouettes are calmer, humanlike shadows with neat lines and soft neutrals. We’re sitting together in Lottie’s garden, just the way I remembered it when the old woman was still in her prime.
Jenn nods like she’s urging me onward, so I drop the placard.
Life finally made sense like I never knew it could.
Her silhouette stands against the railing on the deck of my yacht. I’m behind her with my arms locked around her waist.
Yes, it’s almost that goofy-ass pose from Titanic, but with her, it isn’t silly at all.
I let go, revealing the next scene.
Life was worth its weight in gold.
Two orange silhouettes are twisted together like twin flames, locked in an intimate kiss lit by an orange sunset over the warm red ocean.
Again, I release it, and it clatters to the ground.
You became my logic.
My treasure.
My only true love.
The scene shows me sitting at the desk in my home office. She’s in my lap. The ceiling above blurs into a night sky lit by a thousand little pinprick stars shaped like tiny blue-white hearts.