Page 13 of Painted Truths

We talk about everything from the mundane, like the unseasonably cold weather of this past weekend and favourite foods, to deeper topics like religion and family.

At some point, Henry’s arm winds itself around the back of the seat behind me, his fingertips resting lightly on my sleeved shoulder. Despite being fully covered, I can’t help the eruption of goosebumps from head to toe when he begins drawing light circles along my arm so softly that I’m not even sure he’s aware he’s doing it.

And so, I’m utterly unable to help the dimpled smile from breaking across my face, Henry jumping on it with a smile of his own.

“What’s so funny, little Miss Peaches?”

I can’t stop a hugely unladylike snort from escaping between my upturned lips.

The thought that Mum would surely be horrified if she heard me tries its utmost to enter my conscious mind, but this me—the new me—shuts it out as quickly as it rears its repressed ugly head.

“I’m sorry. It was your hand—”

“Oh, are you ticklish? I didn’t even realise I was doing it.”

Henry moves his hand back to rest on the seat behind me and instantly my body misses his touch. Sliding closer to him along the bench, in a move I know Jo would be proud of, I reach back to pull his arm closer around me, my eyes once again finding and holding his.

My voice is low and doesn’t sound like my own when I speak. “I didn’t say you had to stop.”

His eyes glitter in the semi-darkness as they rove along every contour of my face before he tugs me closer to drop a lingering kiss atop my brow. When he pulls back, he waits for a beat, then shakes his head as though he’s confused before slipping back into our conversation—all the while skimming his fingers along my arm and collarbone.

He’s empathetic to my strict upbringing, though I don’t go into it in any great detail, and once we realise that we’ve both suffered a significant loss at a young age, we bond over the deaths of my sister and his mother.

Before I know it, almost two hours have passed in the blink of an eye.

During that time, I come to discover that Henry works for his family, his favourite pastime is painting still lifes, which he claims he’s “not half bad at”—and his all-time favourite TV show is 12 Monkeys. Although I’ve never heard of it, he makes me promise I will source it and give it a shot.

“A science-fiction love story tragedy, right?”

He looks at me, scepticism blazing from his eyes as I try to contain my giggles. “I’m telling you, Peach. You’ll love it. Trust me, okay?”

My face promptly loses all hints of tomfoolery and sarcasm. “Okay, Henry. I trust you.”

His nostrils flare as his jaw tightens at my simple, genuine words; however, as the fire has begun to die, I unwittingly choose that moment to shiver. It’s gotten a lot cooler since we first walked up here.

Henry pulls me into a standing position until I’m flush against his body.

“I’ve got to go let the guys know I’m leaving, and then I’ll get my guy to bring the car around.”

Brushing his knuckles across my cheekbone, he continues. “Got to make sure my Peaches gets home safe and sound! Maybe then I’ll have earned your real name.”

He raises his brow as I laugh softly. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Warmth fills my belly as I realise that he could have taken things further here if he wanted to. After all, I lost my mind and morals to the passion swirling between us earlier.

Instead, he wants to ensure my safe journey home after spending time getting to know me.

I nod my head solemnly once. Then, leaning up onto my tiptoes, I wrap my arms around his waist and nuzzle into his hard chest. He folds me into his body like we were made to fit each other, and for long minutes, we stand motionless. Henry’s head is resting on mine, which is pressed against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as we drink in each other’s bodies. Each other’s souls.

If ever there was a moment in time I wished I could bottle up and keep for always, this would be it.

The trance is broken by the sound of feet thumping on the stairs.

“What the fuck are you doing up here, Henry? Cade is on a murderous rampage you’ve fucked with ‘boys’ night’—his words, not mine.”

Henry’s body stiffens ever so slightly as I move my head away from the safety of his broad chest and peer around his body to see another darkly handsome man.

His face appears to have been chiselled from marble; it’s all smooth lines and perfect shadows. With a jaw covered by an almost full dark beard, I can’t help but think it looks a little out of character with his features. Almost like he’s trying to hide his true self behind his facial hair, though that could be the romance reader in me talking.