“I hate talking about me, because my answers are always weird, but I’ve only ever dreamed of being safe and happy. It wasn’t until I got the call from Mayor Osten about the mural and Jagger said something about me and Abby making our dreams come true that I even realized I’d never had bigger dreams, and started thinking about it.”
“Now’s your chance, baby. Dream, and dream big. There’s no one to stand in your way.” He took her hand. “Together we’ll make sure every last dream comes true, and I’m going to enjoy watching you soar.”
Her gaze softened, and she looked at him the way she sometimes looked at Scrappy, with her heart on her sleeve. “Hearing you say that counts as a dream come true. I never thought I’d be in a relationship like this. I don’t need big dreams. I need this, being with you and Scrappy, having friends and family and the chance to do something artistic that I’ll enjoy.”
“That’s a great start.” He leaned in and kissed her. “But you’ve got a long life ahead of you, and I have a feeling you’ve got many more dreams coming your way, ones that you have yet to discover. So keep thinking. What happens next with the mural?”
“I’m going to sketch my ideas, and then I’ll meet with them again in a few weeks, when I have something to show them. Which reminds me, I want to show you something. I got a text from Grant today about doing a tattoo for him.”
“Seriously? Grant never mentioned it to me.”
“Yeah. I guess Jules gave him my number. He wants to get a pixie holding a lantern tattooed on his shoulder. I want to show you the design and see what you think.”
She unzipped her backpack, and as she took out a sketchbook, he saw Ava’s letter, still unopened. He wanted to ask about it, but she was plowing through changes and was on the cusp of a great opportunity. He had faith that she’d know when she was ready.
She opened the sketchbook, and he leaned closer, catching glimpses of incredible drawings as she turned the pages.
“Slow down, babe. I want to see these.”
“They aren’t very good. They’re mostly just ideas I was playing with.” She turned the page to a sketch of Scrappy sleeping on Brant’s chest.
“Whoa. When did you do that?” He took the sketchbook to get a closer look. The details were flawless, from the scruff on Brant’s cheeks and the chest hair that was growing over his attempt at a tattoo, to Scrappy’s furry face and crooked mouth with two little teeth poking out. Brant had one hand on Scrappy’s back, and she’d even drawn the scar on his index finger where he’d gotten stitches when he was a kid.
“Last week, when we had dinner with Abby and Aiden and then we got down and dirty on the couch, and you promptly fell asleep afterward.”
He laughed. “As I recall, I put forth a tremendous amount of effort to give you three orgasms that night.”
“Excuses, excuses.” She leaned against him. “I like that picture. It’s a good memory, and Scrappy was happy sleeping on you.”
“I like the memory of what came after, when we finally made it to the bedroom.” She’d gone down on him, and that had led to another wild romp. He turned the page and found a drawing of Joni wearing her scuba mask and tutu. “Babe, did you do this from memory?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Amazing.” The next page had a drawing of a building that looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it. The front was open, and the inside looked like her work area at Wicked Ink, with a long table, a reclinable chair, counter space, and pictures on the walls. “What’s this?”
“Nothing. Turn the page.”
“Not yet. It doesn’t look like nothing.” He looked at the drawing again and recognized the slanted roof. “Is this the Daily News stand?”
“Mm-hm.” She reached over to turn the page again, but he moved the pad out of her reach.
“Babe, are you thinking about opening a tattoo shop? Because I think that’s a great idea.”
“No, not really. I was just playing around.”
The detail in the drawing made him think otherwise. “Maybe you should. The newsstand has been closed for a while. You could probably get a good deal renting it. There’s only one tattoo shop on the island, and it’s in Chaffee. I bet you’d make a killing.”
“Or I wouldn’t and I’d be broke.”
“Didn’t we just talk about dreaming big?”
“How about I worry about one big life choice at a time? Or rather, two. My pushy boyfriend and the mural. Now, please turn the page.”
He turned the page and found the drawing for Grant. The pixie looked just like Jules, complete with her signature water-fountain hairdo. She was standing on her tiptoes, bent at the waist, holding a lantern in one hand and shielding her eyes with the other as she gazed into the distance. Her skirt was made of flower petals, and she had gorgeous wings with swirling designs on them. There were four lightning bugs around the lantern, their tiny black bodies illuminated in gold.
“Holy shit, angel. Grant is going to go nuts over this.”
“Do you think so?”
“I know so. Grant convinced me to decorate my boat with a pixie theme for the holiday flotilla last year, and he and Jules made a pixie that looked just like this. This is incredible.” He put his arm around her, pulling her closer. “When do I get my tattoo?”
“I think we need to put you under general anesthesia for that.”
He laughed and kissed her. “Then maybe you can get the tattoo for me.”
Her eyes turned seductive. “Maybe I already have.”
“Oh, really?” He slid his hand up her leg, sending Scrappy scrambling to the grass, and kissed her neck. “I’ve kissed every speck of ink on your body, and I don’t remember seeing a new tattoo. But you’ve been gone for hours. I think a full-body inspection is in order.”
She smacked his hand, giggling. “Anyone can see us out here.”
“I’m your body inspector. I’ll tell them I have a badge.”
“A tinfoil badge?”
He took her down to her back, kissing the giggles out of her, until she went soft beneath him. And then he kissed her longer because she was his, and he was hers, and nothing was better than that. She came away breathless and beautiful.
“You are not inspecting my body out here.” That seductive glimmer returned, and she whispered, “Perhaps we should move this inspection indoors.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CAIT SAT ON the floor of the breakfast nook in Brant’s cottage sketching and stealing glances at him in his boxer briefs as he made pancakes. This had become her favorite time and place to sketch, with the early-morning sun streaming through the bay window, a cool breeze coming in through the open patio door, and her man singing into a spatula, swinging his butt and thrusting his hips to music streaming from his phone. Brant had the sexiest moves. “Rock Your Body” by Justin Timberlake came on, and he looked over, catching her staring, but she no longer looked away. They’d been together for more than a month, and she’d moved way past that embarrassment.
“Like what you see?”
“I can take it or leave it,” she teased.