A Day in a Life

Chapter Eighteen

Saige

I ’M IN THE middle of my super-steamy hot date. I set down the book I’m reading. I think I’ve read the same sentence twenty times. I still don’t know what it says.

My mind keeps wandering to Handsome Man.

His smile. His feather touch. His brown eyes. His unruly hair. I nearly reached out to smooth it down. What was I thinking?

I ponder his invitation to go for a walk as friends. I appreciate the clarification now. He was letting me know nothing amorous would be part of our friendly walk. I assume, because that’s what I want to believe.

I dunk my head into the hot bathwater, running my hands through my freshly conditioned hair.

He loved my name. He doesn’t know what that means to me. Everything. Absolutely everything.

The steamy water envelops my body, forming a cradle of warmth. My safe haven. The lights are dim, soft music plays in the background, and a few candles dot the room. It’s my favorite part of the day.

Handsome Man wanted nothing to do with Brook. If he was only looking for a hook-up, he would’ve taken her up on her offer. She’s beautiful, funny, and loyal. She’s not scared to strike up a relationship with a new man.

Unlike me. My body language alone says NOPE.

I grab a washcloth and run it over my sweaty face. The mirror is fogged, and I can see the steam in the air.

This is me. The steamiest my life gets.

Why can’t I get Handsome Man’s face out of my mind? I don’t even know his name. I wonder what it is. Something masculine like Knox, or Alexander, or Julian, or Andre. Maybe Gabriel. Or Joshua. How about Zane? Or Zachary. After running the names through my head a few times, I decide he’s a Knox. That’s who he’ll be in my heart forevermore.

Because I’ll never see Knox again. He’ll only be a might-have-been. That’s okay. I don’t even know the man. For all I know, he yells and has a temper. Maybe he’s lazy and never cleans up after himself. Maybe he likes to spend his weekends watching sports in his underwear, eating chips, and burping loudly.

No. Not my Knox. He’s perfect. That smile of his, it said it all.

My fingers itch to paint the vision of his face embedded in my mind. I don’t normally do faces. Knox makes me want to stay up all night, getting his face just right.

I couldn’t paint for about a year after arriving in Key West. I was mourning the loss of so many things. My life. My baby. My family. Everything I once knew.

The urge came back organically. I let it happen. Once I started painting again, I couldn’t stop. It brought me peace and comfort. It’s my artistic outlet, my way of letting loose. I paint at my pace, without anyone hounding me to finish. Funny thing is, I paint faster now than ever before.

Because it’s mine again.