Chapter Thirty-eight

REMINGTON'S POV

It had been easy in the end. I’d thought about it for a while, knowing that if Matthew was going to make a life here with me, then he would need somewhere to paint. Somewhere that was his, a place to call his own.

We’d been ignoring the fact that he was now walking, his knee mostly healed and no longer in need of constant care. He had moved from the spare room into mine, on the basis that it was easier for me to care for him. It was a feeble excuse, and neither of us believed it. I’d wanted him there, lying next to me, always.

The previous five weeks had flown by, and now, in week six, we’d reached a point where we both knew our time and excuses were nearly up.

We never discussed what would happen after he was fully healed, but I suppose we didn’t need to. There was no mistaking the bond we’d developed. Things had only strengthened between us, and any fears I had that this was all too fast, or a mistake, were long gone.

Matthew was my man. He was meant for me, and I was going to do my best to prove to him how much I wanted him in my life.

I straightened the stack of sketch pads and took a few steps back, watching him as he circled his new space. The room was small, but it was flanked on two sides by large iron-framed windows, a wall of glass perfect for displaying his paintings, and the rolling countryside appearing like an alternate universe outside.

I’d had the idea after talking to Sean. I had thought back to weeks earlier as I’d watched Matthew working in the sunroom in the cottage. He’d started some new series that seemed to spill life into the canvas, nature fusing with the threads and bringing the paintings alive.

It was exactly what he’d done with me. Forging a new me from the emptiness that was left. And in doing so, he had fused his soul with mine. I felt it when I listened to his heart beating against my chest at night. When I held his hand and felt his pulse in sync with my own. The way his breath seemed to give me life.

Matthew was angelic, and I never wanted to let him go. But I wanted him to stay not just for me, but for himself. That was why I’d set this plan into motion.

Sean had helped me set up two standing easels, one vintage H-frame easel I’d found at an estate sale, and the other one belonged to Matthew which I’d collected in secret from his friend Connor in Dublin.

There was a shelving unit against the wall, with glass covered doors, suited to holding pretty dishes or glasses. But instead, I’d filled it with shallow wicker boxes for paints, vases stacked with paintbrushes, and a vast array of mixing mediums and texture pastes.

Near the back, I’d gotten a rack built. It was a simple structure, several large bands of timber nailed into a frame to hold a stack of stretched canvases, in varying sizes.

I could picture Matthew in here working on his masterpieces, then coming back to the cottage in the evening and making it his home.

Because that’s what he would make my house. A home. It was a building, a place I lived, but it never felt like home. Not until my Matthew had stepped through the door and brought the light with him.

“Matthew? Do you like it?”

He glanced back at me, shell-shocked. “What have you done?”

I smiled and reached for his hand. “Do you like it? It’s for you. I wanted you to have somewhere special. Because your art matters, and you matter to me.”

He stood there, eyes already welling with unshed tears, and I caught my breath.

“I thought you wanted me to move out?” he mumbled, still fighting back the tears.

“Oh, sweetheart. No. It’s the opposite. I want you to stay.”

He walked around, touching all the surfaces gently. He gazed outside, then circled around again before stopping in front of the large easel I’d bought especially for him.

“This is amazing. I... I don't know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. I wanted you to have somewhere to paint. Somewhere that was your space.” It was a gesture that was loaded with meaning. “I want you to stay with me. Letting you go would be the biggest mistake. Nothing about our relationship has been conventional, so why start now? Stay with me. Don’t leave.”

A sob escaped, quickly followed by a laugh, and Matthew flung himself into my arms. “I don’t want to leave you. Ever.”

“Good. I have no intention of letting you go, sweetheart. Now, there’s something else for you on the shelf.”

He let go of me and wandered over to the unit, spotting the small wrapped parcel on the middle shelf. I watched as he unwrapped it and lifted the small brass thimble out, the sound of his gasp audible in the airy room.

Tears streaked down his cheeks. “It’s the tiny antique paint pot from our very first date.”

“It is. I’ve had it all this time.”

“I can’t believe you did this for me, Remi.”

I closed the distance between us and wrapped him into my arms.

“I’d do anything for you, Matthew. Anything.”

*****

A/N: The next chapter will be the epilogue! Thank you so much for sticking with me this far. Your support for this book means so much to me <3