Page 102 of Will to Run

5:17. Your first Amberheart sunrise. Your first light. How lucky am I that I’ve watched you rise like the sun since you’ve been here.

Jaxon.

I smile at the memory because I had no idea how much symbolism that sunrise would hold, and how it would become my next chapter moment. This purple-gray was the first color the sky turned that morning, and it’s the color I look forward to each sunrise I see. I wonder if his smirk today was because he knew this was sitting on my doorstep.

It was too late to open the paint on Saturday night, but on Sunday, I spend most of the day painting, and the way the purple-gray sky fits in the paintings is beautiful.

The following day, I am lost in my room, and when I go to leave my house to grab dinner, there is another package at my door. Smiling, I shake my head. What was he doing?

I look at the timestamp.

2:18 a.m.

This time, I don’t hesitate to open the bag. What is he remembering at three in the morning? The color I pull out is a tawny tan. Dropping the paint, I can’t wait to read the note.

Remember that time I protected you from cougar murder sounds? I’d do it again in a heartbeat, but I promise you’ll get used to the sound if you stay.

I hold it to my heart remembering how safe I felt in his arms. How wildly inappropriate it was to be next to another man like that so soon, but safe just the same. And when Tripp was at my back door, I wanted Jaxon here for the same reason.

I remember when he kissed me the first time, and how that night opened my eyes to the version of myself that had been missing, something I could never repay him for. I think about picking up my phone to say thank you, but I don’t.

The third day, I expect something, but not at eight in the morning. When I go to treat myself to a coffee, the package is already sitting here. Grabbing it, I decide to forgo the coffee and race back upstairs to see the color.

4:38 p.m.

My mind races with what could have happened at 4:38, but we spent so much time together from midday to evening that it could literally be anything. The color is a deep pinky-purple, and it is stunning, but it is the note that gets me.

This is a favorite memory I have with you, Del. I took you to a place sacred to me. Beautiful flowers surrounded us, but none of them compared to you. There are so many more spots I want to take you, Tatroe. So many more colors for you to see.

I think about how each of the things he introduced me to created such special memories, but I can’t perseverate on them for too long. I’m furiously painting with only a few days until my Friday show, but I’m stopping on Wednesday to let everything dry. It feels like I have slipped into a bit of a mad genius state. Or, let’s be honest, I’m more like an unhinged raccoon. I’m not eating properly, just raiding my kitchen once or twice a day. Nor am I keeping a stable sleep schedule, just going on cycles of sleep and wake. I’m laser-focused and have pretty much cut off the outside world… except for my daily package delivery.

When I go down on Tuesday afternoon, it’s there, and I don’t even get it back to my apartment before I’m looking.

7:15 p.m.

Without even hypothesizing what it could be, I grab the paint. It’s gold. A deep, shimmery gold, one that I don’t have, even with my iridescents. What color is this memory?

Sunrise with you is my favorite, but sunset is just as stunning. The golden hour sun would always give your face the most beautiful warmth. The sun looks great on you anywhere, Del, but when you have the Tetons in the background, you don’t get much better than that. You would miss that view almost as much as I would miss you.

I texted him yesterday, and he just hearted the message; today, he does the same.

Is this his ploy to get me to call him? It doesn’t matter; I can’t right now. With a beaming face, I return to my paint cave and keep going.

Wednesday is my final painting day, and I only have the morning to do it. The canvases need a full forty-eight hours to dry, so I have to be done by then. Not to mention, Rose has to photograph the stragglers for the online store. Right around noon, I put down my brush and collapse on the bed.

I’m done.

To celebrate, I’m going to touch some grass, so I'll take a shower, change my clothes, and get ready to stroll the strip. Before I do that, I have to get my package. Sitting there, making my stomach flutter, is my surprise.

6:49 p.m.

I look in the box and pull out a deep chocolate brown with a note wrapped around it.

It’s the color of Sir Magnum Biggs as you know him. Well, you know him both ways, but this is so you remember the migration. How awe-inspiring it was to witness. I know I told you that you could come out for migration week and the sunrise, but I don’t want that. Della. Sir Magnum Biggs doesn’t want that either. There are so many things out here that will take your breath away if you give them a chance to.

Closing my eyes, I laugh out loud at the note. It’s the perfect double entendre because I loved both the migration and Sir Magnum Biggs himself.

I head to the ranch hoping to see him, but apparently, he took an overnight camp group out when one of the leads couldn’t. So that means that someone else is in on this, dropping things off at my apartment. I know more people than just him want me to stay, but this is a physical representation of it, and that hits deep.