“Whoa.” Lennon choked on her margarita, but I ignored her, focusing instead on why Wes was so significant to me.

“The other guys were just placeholders. They were there to distract me from what, or whom, I’ve always wanted. Now that I have him, I’m stunned at how much he is, at how much he means to me. I was certain that if I gave in just once, I’d recover quickly, but now I see that I can’t recover from someone like Wes in my life. He’s stained my heart.” I sucked in a slow breath feeling relief at speaking the truth I’d never even admitted to myself.

“You’ve always wanted that guy?” Lennon asked dumbfounded.

“You need to leave,” Kensie deadpanned to Lennon, making me laugh.

“No please, don’t banish me from wedding planning purgatory.” Lennon threw her hand over her forehead.

“Continue, Capri.” Kensie nodded back to me.

“I know that I’m more me with Wes than I am with anyone else. I know that under that goofy personality is a sweet and thoughtful guy. I know he makes me laugh and challenges me to be a stronger person.”

“Wow. This is real,” Lennon whispered, and Kensie nodded with a wistful smile on her face.

“See, this is real for you, and you’ve never had real before. Don’t doubt that he isn’t feeling the same exact way,” Kensie reassured me.

“You’re so smart.” I leaned back into her.

“Just make sure you buy him some new sheets.” Lennon scrunched her nose up at me.

I reached for Kensie’s glass, swiping the lime from it, and chucked it at Lennon’s head. “You bitch.”

“I love you, too.” She winked at me, and I smiled back. I did. I loved these girls.

The pencil scraped against the paper leaving a thick line on its trail and a dusting of lead scattered around the white surface. It had been years since I’d sketched. I’d moved on from it to watercolor shortly after August moved out of the house. So much was changing around me then, but I felt completely still. I thought a change in art medium would satisfy the rumbling within me.

What I hadn’t anticipated when I purchased my first set of watercolors was how the unease would only be satisfied by trying to capture trembling in my heart within the water brushed across the page. Picasso said, “The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls.” There hadn’t been anything cleansing in my art. When I painted, I simply blew the dust onto a new surface. For me, it was a carefully crafted stream meant to tangle me up and hold me under.

My talk with the girls tonight and messages with Wes had me craving a bit of nostalgia. I needed to let my insides out into an art form that gave me freedom before my mind became a trap. As soon as I arrived home, I pulled out an old sketchbook and a set of charcoal pencils from the bottom drawer of my nightstand.

A soft smile tugged at my lips when I started shading in the simple heart I’d drawn. I even added a three-dimensional touch with a feminine, feathered arrow piercing through the center of it.

I pulled out a thinner leaded pencil and was just about to start on the letters when he burst through my door. I jumped, sending the pencil into the air, and my sketchbook falling from my lap.

“Holy crap, Wes!” I shouted, gripping my hands over my chest. “You scared me to death. How’d you get in here?” He wore the same beanie he had on at Tommy’s the other night with his usual jeans and tee, so hot.

“August gave me his key. Told me your folks were out for another two days.” He waggled his eyebrows at me carrying a white paper sack in one hand and a tray of cups in the other.

“Wait, is that In-N-Out?” I took the bag from his hands as he slid down to sit beside me on my bed.

“It is. Thought I’d woo my lady with a late night snack,” he turned, pulling out one of the cups, “and a milkshake.”

“I’m feeling very wooed right now,” I told him, digging into the bag and pulling out a cheeseburger.

“Whatcha got there?” he asked reaching for my sketchbook. With a full mouth, I batted his hand away. The jerked movement sent a glob of sauce falling onto my shirt.

“Crap,” I mumbled while reaching into the bag for napkins.

“You should probably consider nixing the white.” Wes laughed before shoving a handful of fries into his mouth. He pulled my sketchbook onto his lap and began flipping the pages. I tried to yank it from him, but he grabbed my hand and held it firmly in his. The more I tried to wriggle it free, the tighter his grasp got. In a fit of giggles, I finally gave up and accepted my immediate embarrassment.

“This is a really cute heart, C.” Wes grinned at me and let my hand go.

“I was messing around,” I said reaching for the book again, but he pulled it out of my reach and leaned across the room to grab the pencil I’d sent flying.

“What are you doing?” I asked trying to peer over his shoulder, but he turned and blocked my view.

“Mind your own business,” he grumbled, making me laugh. I left him to it and dove back into my burger.

A few minutes later, he tossed the book, along with the pencil, into my lap. Then he stuck his hand into the bag and took out his own cheeseburger.

“It’s just like your tattoo,” I said brushing my fingertips across the sketch of a marlin Wes had doodled onto the corner of the paper. He just nodded at me with a full mouth.

I tapped my pencil against the pad and scanned my room. What could I add to this? The marlin was obviously a part of Wes, so what was something that represented me? After pondering for too long, and becoming frustrated that I couldn’t think up what to draw, I doodled out the Chevy emblem in the bottom right corner.

When I handed the book back to Wes, he smiled proudly and quickly got to work on his next addition. “You ever gonna move out, C?” he asked while he sketched.

“Yeah.” I rested my head against the mattress behind me. “Soon, I think.”

“How come you never wanted to live in the dorms with your girls?” Wes asked, handing me the sketchbook back. I smiled when I saw he’d sketched the crystal ornament he’d given me for Christmas.

“I didn’t want to leave my parents.” I put the pencil to paper and started my next doodle.

“After the accident with Ella?” he asked stretching his arms above his head.

“No, well, yes and no. I didn’t stay for them. I stayed for me.” I finished the shading on the guitar and passed the book to Wes.

His head fell against the mattress when he smiled at me. “Perfect,” he whispered and leaned in to touch his lips softly and briefly to mine. Then he quickly turned around to shield me from his next drawing. “Why did you stay then?”

“It was safe here. So much was shifting and changing. As much as I wanted to go, I couldn’t do it. My parents knew about my colorblindness, so I’ve always felt like I could hide here. I wasn’t ready to step out.”

“Now?”

“Now, I feel, I don’t know. I feel like the road in front of me has been lit up. When I look ahead in my life, it isn’t shadowed like it used to be.”

Wes turned and handed me the sketchbook, with just enough of a smile for his dimples to begin to show. “That’s awesome, C.”

My heart expanded, and I smiled back. Wes seemed to always make me feel special. I opened the sketchbook that he’d handed to me and turned to the page we were working on. “My mermaid,” I whispered, amazed that he had captured the same beauty in it that he had painted on me that day.

I looked at Wes, who pursed his lips deepening the dimples. “C’mere.” His voice grated against my skin. He took my hands and pulled me into his lap. He leaned in and ran his nose down mine breathing me in. I held my breath absorbing his touch. “I missed you today,” he whispered his words against my lips.