“Nope. No acting talents.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” Jace leaned his head to the side and narrowed his eyes playfully. “Ryla has to get it from somewhere.”
“Not from me,” I protested as my gaze shifted left above the fireplace, eyeing the oil painting my father had commissioned after my mom died.
Following my gaze, Jace nodded to the portrait. “That must be your momma.”
I nodded wistfully as I took in my mother, her features so like mine, the beautiful coloring of her eyes was spot-on. My father’s eyes were serious, and laser focused; almost too hyper realistic. “That’s a painting of a family photograph we had taken when I was nine years old. My father had it commissioned to be painted after she died.”
Jace shifted, seemingly a little uncomfortable, at odds with his typical easygoing posture. Keeping his gaze on the painting, he asked out of the corner of his mouth, “You ever get the sensation of bein’ . . . watched?”
Pausing a beat, he shifted his eyes to me and smirked, making me laugh.
“I know. Why are his eyes like that? No one told me that it had been commissioned, so one day, I was minding my own business, came in the library here, and bam!” I shuddered, recalling that day. “I was so scared, I rarely came in here again. And I’d loved sitting and reading in here for hours, even if it wasn’t the same after my mom died.”
Jace nodded thoughtfully. “I think I can fix that.”
I didn’t have any time to respond before Jace jumped up and pulled a leather chair over to the fireplace. After a quick test to make sure it could hold his weight, Jace hopped up, balancing nimbly on the arms of the chair, and reached for the painting.
I stood immediately. “What are you doing? Jace? Be careful!” My voice was anxious as I watched him balance precariously and jiggle the frame, then eventually pull it from the wall.
I sucked in a breath, speechless. I didn’t actually think he’d be able to remove it. “I would have guessed it’d have been bolted to the wall.”
Jace smirked down at me. “Mind giving me a hand? This weighs more than I thought.”
“Then you shouldn’t have pulled it off the wall!” I reached up and grabbed the corner closest to me.
“Too late now. Hold that left side.” I gripped the frame’s bottom left edge as he maneuvered the painting down to the ground, doing an impressive squat all while balancing on the arms of the chair. Once we got it on the floor, we propped it against the chair and stood back.
My father’s eyes were still disturbing, but not as bad as when it wasn’t hanging above you.
“Ryla looks so much like you,” Jace murmured. “When you brought me in here on the tour this afternoon, I had to do a double take before I figured out that must have been you.”
I looked forlornly at that little girl with a wide smile and hope in her heart. “Let’s hope history doesn’t repeat itself.”
Suddenly, I felt pressure on my hand. Looking down, I saw that Jace was holding it. Our hands turned as if of their own accord, mine settling into his larger grip. I felt another squeeze and moved my attention to his face. His hazel eyes were warm and reassuring, a kind of radiance in their depth.
“It won’t.”
His grip felt different than it had this afternoon. Yes, it was still warm and strong, and yes, my core still throbbed, reminding me that I hadn’t taken care of myself in a few weeks. But I also felt centered. Grounded. Like nothing was going to happen to me so long as I kept holding his hand.
“Well,” Jace finally said, not letting go, “where to?”
I balked. “Jace, we can’t move this.”
“Sure, we can.”
“But—”
“Does your father drop by a lot?” Jace interrupted me, dropping my hand and moving toward the portrait. He waggled his eyebrows. “Does he drop in unannounced to check the status of his creepy painting?”
“No,” I huffed out, a smile playing at my lips. “Yesterday was the first I’ve seen him here since we moved in and I’m guessing it will be the last time he’ll drop by unannounced.”
Jace nodded, then bent at the knees and picked up the painting, walking it toward the door. “Perfect. Then there’s no harm in moving it. Besides, I’ve always been a fan of asking for forgiveness rather than permission.”
Anxiety gnawed in my gut as I watched him walk away, but then felt it shift to something different. Something that felt awfully like anticipation as I took in the bare wood paneling above the mantel. It looked so empty. Like the last day of school when your locker was all cleared out. It was an ending, but also a beginning. The closing of one chapter just before you started a new one.
“Jace?”
