He has no fucking clue how much bigger my secrets are than that fucking sex club. There’s a hell of a lot that I have to come back from with Faith and at some point, I’ll have to decide if I spill it all, fast and hard, or in pieces.
Chris has just leaned back in his seat, when the music changes and an old seventies song, “Sara Smile,” begins to play, a soft, easy, sexy tune. Chris sets his beer on the small table in between us, and stands, walking to Sara and taking her hand. “I need to borrow my wife for a moment,” he says, but he’s not looking at us when he speaks. He’s looking at her. And she’s not looking at us, but at him.
Chris pulls her to her feet and leads her inside the gallery, the words to the song filling the air:
When I feel cold, you warm me
And when I feel I can’t go on, you come and hold me
It’s you and me forever
Sara, smile
Faith stands up and I catch her hand. “Where are you going?”
“Bathroom,” she says, but she won’t look at me.
“Faith.”
“I need a minute, Nick.”
She tugs against me and I release her but I don’t want to. I watch her walk back into the gallery and I know this woman in ways I should not yet be able to know her. Chris and Sara have this way of radiating love. You feel it. You almost believe in happily ever after. And then she suddenly feels like we’re nothing but sex and goodbye. I’m on my feet in an instant, pursuing her, following a sign to the bathroom. I spy Faith just before she is about to round a hallway and the minute she looks around that corner, she flattens on the wall, as if burned.
I’m in front of her in a few long strides, my hands on her waist. Her eyes pop open in shock and I lean around the corner to find Chris kissing Sara and it’s one hell of a kiss. Intense. Passionate. I refocus on Faith, and I cup her face. “We’re whatever we decide to be, Faith.” And I kiss her, just as passionately as Chris is kissing Sara. I kiss her my way. I kiss her and let her taste my words: We’re whatever we decide to be. And when I tear my lips from hers, I say, “Instead of a hard limit, we have a new hard rule: Possibilities, Faith. We have them. Say it.”
“New hard rule,” she whispers. “Possibilities.”
“Let’s go back and wait on them until we can say goodbye and get out of here.”
She nods. “Yes. Please.”
And with her hand in mine, I lead her toward the patio but footsteps sound behind us and Faith and I turn to find Chris and Sara returning. “You’re leaving,” Sara says, seeming to read our body language, her focus on Faith. “You have my email and phone number, right?”
“Yes,” Faith says. “And I’m excited about being a part of the gallery. Oh and happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” she says. “I actually wanted you to come here tonight to give you a gift, Faith.”
“Me?” Faith asks. “I don’t understand.”
Chris reaches into the pocket of his jeans and produces a check. “I negotiated your price for the showing last weekend, as promised, Faith. You now get twenty thousand a painting and accept no less, or I will personally come kick your ass.” He looks at me. “Twenty thousand. Don’t let her get screwed.” He hands Faith the check. “Sixty thousand. You sold three paintings.”
Faith starts to tremble and my arm goes to her waist, my hips pressed to hers. Her hand shakes as she accepts the check and looks at it. “I think…I…I’m going to cry and I don’t cry.”
“Don’t cry,” Chris says. “Celebrate.”
Faith looks up at him. “I’m going to have to hug you,” she says, taking a step toward him and then grabbing Sara instead.
Sara laughs and hugs her. “Best birthday gift ever,” she says, and when Faith releases her, she adds, “You can hug Chris, too.”
Faith laughs through tears. “No. No I…thank you, Chris. And thank you, Sara.”
Chris grabs her and hugs her, giving me a look over his shoulder that is filled with admiration I see but Faith would dismiss. “She’s talented,” Chris says. “Take care of her and her gift.”
I nod and damn, I want to take care of this woman.
We say our goodbyes and cross the gallery to exit to the street. We’re a few steps away from the door when Faith turns to me and holds up the check. “I can’t believe this just happened.”
“It didn’t just happen,” I say. “You started painting at age five.”
“I know but, it feels…I don’t know what I feel. But now the winery—”
I cup her face. “Do not make this about the winery. That is your money. That is your first big success.”
“But Nick—”
I kiss her. “No buts. We’ll deal with the winery. This is for you. Okay?”
“Yes. Okay.”
“Good. Now. Let’s go home.”
“Your home.”
“My home,” I say. “That is far better with you in it.” I turn her toward the car, and she’s still trembling. And the depth of her emotional response affects me. Everything about Faith affects me.
Thirty minutes later, Faith and I are standing by my bed, her shoes kicked off, and she is finally coming down from her high, her body calming. “I’m completely wiped out,” she says. “I think you are going to wish I was someone else tonight.”
I cup her head and pull her to me. “What did you say?” I don’t give her time to reply. “That came from someplace I’d most likely name as Macom. I’m not him. And we are more than the sum of how many times we manage to fuck each other. And for the record. To repeat what I’ve already said. I don’t want anyone else.”
Her lashes lower. “I think that was possibly the most perfect thing you could say to me right now.”
In that moment, I remember her comment about Macom competing with her and I decide Faith thinks her success comes with punishment. A problem I need to fix. For now, I kiss her, a soft brush of lips over lips before I turn her around and unzip her dress, dragging it down her shoulders. Her bra is next. Then her hose, but I leave the panties and as much as it kills me, I hold up the blanket and urge her to climb under. She turns around and faces me, pressing herself against me. “You feel good, sweetheart, but you’ll feel better when you’re rested. Climb into bed. I’ll be right there after I make sure I’ve locked up.”
“You, Nick, are nothing I expected.”
“You, Faith, are nothing I expected.”