Page 84 of If You Were Mine (After We Fall 3)
“Please let me help you outfit this kitchen,” I called out. “And maybe put some pictures up. Or I’ll give you a painting. But all these white walls are so sterile. It’s creepy.”
“I’d love a painting.” He came out of his bedroom with a bag over his shoulder. “And speaking of that, did you send the application today for the July art fair?”
I blushed as I shook my head, my gaze dropping to the floor.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m scared.”
“We talked about this. And the deadline is in two days.”
I met his disapproving glare. “I know.”
He grabbed me by the hand. “Come on.”
Tugging me along like an obstinate child, he stuck me in the car, drove to my house, pulled me out again, and hustled me inside. “Get your laptop.”
I dragged my feet, but I went into the spare bedroom I used as an office and unplugged it, bringing it to the living room where he stood waiting.
He pointed at the couch. “Sit. Open it.”
I did as he asked, biting my lip when I saw the online application still up on the screen. The Submit button taunted me.
“Do it.” Theo stood over me. His height and broad chest were intimidating.
My stomach churned. This was it. Once I hit that button, my artwork in the form of five attached images—would be out there for people to judge. I would be out there for people to judge. What if I wasn’t good enough? “I don’t think I’m ready.”
“You are.”
“No, really. I’m a good teacher, but—”
“Claire.”
I looked up at him helplessly, searching for sympathy in his brown eyes, but finding only defiance. “You don’t understand. You’re asking me to send my naked heart and soul, myself, out there in the cold, dark woods where wolves will be prowling.”
“Claire.”
“Maybe bears. And I’m naked.”
“Oh, Jesus. Listen to me.” He sat down next to me on the couch. “You are good enough. Say it.”
“I’m good enough.” But I didn’t believe it.
“This is what I want.”
“This is what I want,” I repeated, and it was. “I just wish it wasn’t so scary.”
“I understand. I’ve felt naked and scared before too—like when I drove eight hours through a blizzard to ask you for another chance.”
I swallowed. My throat was so dry.
“But I did it. And it felt good. Even if you’d said no, at least I would have known that I’d tried. Walking away would have been the easier thing to do, but I didn’t want to wonder what if for the rest of my life. And you don’t either.”
“No,” I admitted. My finger hovered over the mousepad.
“Do it,” he urged. “Jump.”
I held my breath. Counted to three. And hit the button.
