Page 104 of Will to Run

She turns with a soft laugh, and her eyes sparkle at me. God, I miss that sparkle.

“Jaxon.” Her dimple pops out as she says my name. “Thank you for the paints this week. I tried calling…”

Glossing over her thanks, I bring her attention to the room around her.

“This is amazing, Della,” I say, not taking my eyes off her.

“It’s remarkable,” she replies, scanning. “This is something I never thought I’d do in a million years.”

“Now look at you. Famous Amberheart artist.”

“Part of this is you, Jaxon,” she says.

Shaking my head, I refuse the accolade. “No, Della Tatroe from Chicago, you made this happen. And I am so damn proud.” Her gaze clings to mine while my eyes bounce between hers. We’re locked in a heavy moment that feels like everything depends on what’s said next. A month ago, I would have kissed her.

She inhales as if she’s going to say something, but someone comes up to her and starts talking, asking about a painting. Smiling, she goes with the patron and squeezes my arm as she walks away.

I’m disappointed our time was cut short, but I obviously get it. Watching her stand in front of another painting talking about it, I retreat to the corner where my family has gathered and talk to Hazel.

“How do you think the last week has gone?” she asks. “Think we achieved our goal?”

“She’s reached out to thank me and not to tell me to stop dropping off gifts and creeping around Millstone, so that’s good,” I laugh.

“Jax, I didn’t know you were such a romantic, but what you’re doing is really sweet. A gesture like that would even work on me. I might even apologize for hypothetically putting sugar in the gas tank…”

“Did you and Molly seriously do that? To who? You know that can seriously screw up a fuel injection…”

“This is pretty crazy stuff here, though?” She cuts me off before I can spiral about automotives.

“It truly is. I’ve seen the paintings, well, some of them, as she’s gone along, but to see them all together in one space like this is… it’s extraordinary. She’s extraordinary,” I say. Glancing around, I take in the ones I had the privilege of seeing early and all the ones that I’ve seen for the first time tonight.

“She did this in such a short time, too. God, I hope she signs on to do the live painting. It would be so good for business,” Hazel says.

“I hope she signs on so she can stay,” I reply.

My sister gives me a knowing look. “That, too.”

I do some more laps, talk up the paintings to people. and keep tabs on everywhere she goes. As we’re nearing the end, I check my watch with thirty minutes left. I want to leave a little early because when she says goodbye to the last person, she needs to take the moment to celebrate herself. There’s a lot for her and me to discuss, but for the same reason I wanted to keep space this past week, I want her to love tonight as her achievement, not be wondering how she should talk to me.

Playing my cards right, next time she’s in the middle of a group, I touch her back and bring my lips to the shell of her ear.

“I’m going to take off, but I hope you are as proud of yourself as I am. This is incredible, and I’m so glad I got to be in your orbit for it. You are amazing, Del.”

She pulls back and opens her mouth to speak, but her attention is taken again when someone in the group asks her a question. Looking back at me, I wink at her, then back away, knowing she’ll be at my house within the hour anyway.

51

DELLA

This evening is a night I will never forget. Everything exceeded expectations: the turnout, the love, and my ability to produce all those pieces. It’s one of the most surreal moments of my life. To know that so many people came out to support me blows my mind.

The hope for tonight was to sell a couple of paintings, but the goal was for me to find myself again, to tap into parts of me that died with my mom. And I achieved both.

When the last person leaves, Rose locks the doors, and while she does some paperwork, I take a lap to soak it in. There are red dots on most of the painting’s tags, showing how many people enjoyed my work. I am already teary by the time I make it over to Love’s First Light. Part of me hoped this one wouldn’t sell so that I could take it with me. After everything I’ve painted, it remains my favorite.

While tracing my eyes over the different parts of the painting, Rose appears behind me with a bottle of something.

“What’s this?” I say, feeling like I’m tap-dancing on top of the world.