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Nervous anticipation courses through me. What could he possibly have up here that he wants to show me? I can't even...can't even begin to imagine what it could be.
I close my eyes and let his hands guide me forward a few steps.
He walks around me, stops behind me as his arms settle around my waist and his mouth caresses the shell of my ear. "Open."
I gasp the moment my eyes take in the room. It's an...art gallery?
The entire room is open and wide, the walls a slate color, the ground stained concrete. An impressively large skylight, made up of several rectangular shaped windows surrounded by exposed wood, lets in the late golden afternoon light.
It's...beautiful.
I don't notice right away, mostly because I'm too enamored by the space itself, but there are at least a dozen black and white pictures in frames gracing the walls. A few tall, white tables, the kind you stand at, are placed around the room and everything seems so sophisticated.
Kyle grabs my hand, leads me towards the first picture. It's of a sandy beach, a single palm tree dropping into the frame. It looks awfully familiar, but I'm pretty sure all beaches end up looking the same after you've sat on as many as I have over the years.
The next one is of a bull elk, his large antlers sporting an ungodly number of points, moss hanging out of his closed mouth. I chuckle at the surly expression on its face.
It's not until I get to the third image that it dawns on me who took all these photos.
I'm in the next picture wearing the black and white polka dot one-piece I bought for vacation in Florida last year. I have on Mom's big, floppy, straw-colored hat and my hands are pulling it down over both sides of my face, a big grin exposed as waves crash along the shore in the background. My blond hair is wavy and messy from the seawater, but I look...
Oh my god.
I look so happy and alive.
Tears prick my eyes when I realize this is how he sees me.
Kyle doesn't say anything as he walks over to the next photo, his head shyly angled at the ground. My fingers find his chin and I force his eyes up to meet mine. "These are so beautiful. I love them."
The next image is Matt in sunglasses, his arm dangling out the side of his Jeep, giving Kyle an unimpressed smirk. I find myself laughing as I move onto the adjoining photo. Mrs. Henderson sitting in a rocking chair on her front porch, Tiny curled up on her lap.
Each photo is more beautiful than the last and my heart is swelling to an uninhabitable size in my chest.
Before I know it, we're at the last photo.
It's another one of me. From a few years ago. My eyes are closed, my head titled back as huge snowflakes dance all around me. There was a freak snowstorm in early July the year Kyle graduated. I remember knocking on the front door, ready to destroy Matt in a snowball fight. But he was sick, so Kyle graciously offered to stand in. Halfway through, when I realized Kyle has good aim, I decided to abandon the snowball fight and enjoy the cold afternoon lazily playing in the snow instead. Kyle stayed outside with me for a while, and even though neither of us said much, it was the first time I remember thinking he wasn't so terrible.
I lift a hand to my cheek, feel the hot tears dousing my skin, shake my head in disbelief. "I don't know what to say."
"Tell me your honest opinion," he says quietly as he finds my hand, his thumb rubs soothing circles across my clammy skin.
"I had no idea you were so talented," I whisper. "These are all so, so, so wonderful."
Kyle's arms find my waist again, his body envelopes mine as he holds me against his chest. "This is just for show. I'm not selling these images. But this space...I bought it with a loan from the bank. There's a coffee shop going in downstairs, which should help pay for the expenses. It's under construction right now."
"You'll be selling hot chocolate, right?" I laugh as I wipe the remaining tears from my face.
His hands find my cheeks and he leans down, kisses my lips softly. "Of course. I expect to see you here a lot."
"I...I had no idea that you...you were doing all of this," I shamefully admit. "You taught me to drive, and you had so many other, more important things you could have been doing."
Kyle shakes his head. "I didn't have the money then. I was still waiting to hear."
"But..." I struggle to find the right words to tell him how amazing and talented and special he is.
"You're overwhelmed, right?" he clarifies. "Not freaked out?"
"Not freaked out at all," I cry.
