Page 30 of Balancing Act (Soulmate #1)

ELEVEN

BETH

Staring at the canvas taped to the wall, Beth stood in her studio and felt nothing . The soft light filtering through the large windows—a pale November sun fighting to break through thick clouds—cast a faint glow over her half-finished brain dump of a painting, if she could even call it that.

The colors she’d been layering for days were dull, lifeless—drained of meaning the moment she touched them to the canvas. She had been at this for hours but, if she was being honest with herself, most of that time had been spent standing there, willing the painting to happen.

Her studio, once her sanctuary, felt oppressive today. The familiar smell of oils, turpentine, and fresh canvas, usually so comforting, now only added to her frustration. She glanced at the muted green on her palette. It had seemed promising earlier, but now even that felt flat, uninspired.

Her brushes were scattered across the worktable, untouched for the last hour.

Beth picked one up, dipped the bristles into the green, and moved toward the canvas.

But she stopped short, the brush hovering midair, her hand frozen.

The stroke she wanted to make dissolved before it reached the canvas, leaving her in the same place she’d been for days—stuck.

This isn’t working.

She set the brush down with a frustrated sigh and wiped her hands on her apron. Her mind wasn’t in it today, and she knew exactly why.

It had been almost two weeks since she and Jamie had spoken at the café.

Since Jamie had thrown up her walls so fast Beth hadn’t even had time to process it.

She’d tried to talk to Jamie after picking up Lily later that day, but Jamie had been distant.

Polite, sure, but distant. It had become the new theme of all their interactions, leaving Beth with a hollow feeling she couldn’t shake.

Beth tugged at the loose bun she’d tied her hair into and rubbed her temples. Maybe she could force herself to paint through the frustration, but what was the point? Her thoughts were so tangled, her mind swirling in that same frustrating loop of Jamie, Sarah, Jamie, Sarah . She couldn’t focus.

She tossed the paint-stained rag onto the table and shrugged out of her apron.

She needed air. Without another thought, she grabbed her cardigan, stepped out of the studio, and let the cold November breeze hit her as she made her way down the path toward the dock.

Today, there was a welcome break from the rain, the air sharp with the smell of pine and cedar.

The Pacific Northwest had that distinct bite this time of year—brisk, damp, and earthy.

She settled into the worn Adirondack chair at the end of the dock and pulled a joint from her pocket. With a practiced flick of her lighter, she lit it, the familiar scent of weed curling up around her in the chill air.

She took a long, slow drag from the joint, holding the smoke in her lungs until the familiar warmth spread through her chest. As she exhaled, the smoke curled into the air, disappearing like her scattered thoughts.

The water stretched out before her, dark ripples soft in the fading light.

The cold of the dock seeped through her jeans, grounding her even as her mind drifted.

Jamie. Sarah. Jamie. Sarah. Round and round, her mind spun. She took another long pull, letting the smoke warm her from the inside.

Beth sank deeper into the chair, her body heavy, warm, and relaxed.

The buzzing in her head started to quiet, her swirling thoughts slowing like they were wading through syrup.

The distant sound of birds and the occasional lap of water against the dock faded into the background as she let herself think—really think.

Jamie.

Her eyes drifted shut, and the name washed over her like a wave.

Every time she thought about Jamie, there was that tug in her chest, deep and unsettling but also steady.

Jamie was like an anchor, pulling her back to shore even when her mind drifted.

Beth couldn’t stop replaying moments with her—Jamie’s laugh, the crinkle in her eyes when she smiled, the way her presence seemed to light up whatever room she was in.

I could love her.

The thought was soft but firm, settling into her like a truth she’d always known but had only now allowed herself to think. It spread through her, filling spaces she hadn’t realized were empty. Beth took another slow drag from the joint.

But then, like a shadow at the edge of her mind, Sarah slipped in.

Sarah.

Sarah was familiar. There was comfort in how they knew each other—how they could finish each other’s sentences, how their shared history was woven into every glance, every inside joke.

There was a kind of ease there that Beth knew she could slip back into like a well-worn sweater.

But comfort wasn’t the same as joy, was it?

With Sarah, she felt steady, sure, but it was a quiet sort of love—safe and predictable.

Could we even make it work?

It was a question she kept asking herself but could never quite find the answer to.

A part of her wanted to believe it was possible—that the years they’d spent apart had somehow given them the space to grow, change, and come back stronger.

After all, they had shared so much. Lily, a life, a home.

Sarah knew her better than almost anyone—all the parts of her—and still, Sarah’s love for her was unwavering.

Beth had always been the one between the two of them to waver.

But could I really be happy?

That question nagged at her, twisting in her gut. she sighed, tipping her head back and watching the sky shift from gray to darker gray as the clouds thickened.

What if I’m wrong? she wondered, thinking about Jamie again. The unknown. The risk.

With Jamie, the future was uncertain, uncharted, but it was also thrilling.

Every time she was around her, Beth felt that spark of possibility; that sense of newness was exciting.

With Jamie, she felt alive. Her heart never raced with Sarah the way it did with Jamie.

The pull toward Jamie was different—sharp, and electric, like standing at the edge of something terrifyingly beautiful, not knowing whether you’d sink or swim.

The buzz from the weed settled into a mellow hum, and for the first time in days, her mind felt clear enough to cut through the noise.

What do I really want?

She asked herself the question with a kind of quiet honesty that she hadn’t allowed herself before, and as she did, she knew. The pull toward Jamie couldn’t be ignored. It wasn’t a fleeting feeling. It was real. The possibility of more than what she’d had before.

For the first time, she let herself imagine it fully.

No fear, no guilt, just the truth. If she could have what she truly wanted, the one thing that made her feel alive, it wouldn’t be Sarah.

It would be Jamie. Every part of her knew it now, with a certainty that left her breathless.

The risk didn’t scare her anymore; the only thing that terrified her was the thought of letting Jamie slip away.

Her heart thudded softly against her ribs as the clarity hit her. She didn’t know what would come of it, didn’t know if Jamie would ever let her in fully, but the pull toward her was real. The thought of not pursuing Jamie felt like denying herself something essential like air or water.

The last of the joint burned low, and Beth stubbed it out. She didn’t have all the answers, but she finally felt like she was seeing the path more clearly.

Her phone screen illuminated and, glancing down, she saw Jamie’s name, which was accompanied by an involuntary tug in her chest.

Jamie 6:15 PM

Hey, Lily left her tablet at the gym again. I can drop it off if that’s okay with you.

Beth took a deep breath, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Her heart fluttered with anticipation, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she typed her reply.

Beth 6:16 PM

That would be great. Let me know when you’re on your way over.

She hit send and stared at the phone for a moment longer, her decision settling in. Jamie was coming over.

Beth stood, her limbs heavy from the high but her mind clearer than it had been in days. As she walked back toward her studio, a sense of excitement buzzed through her—a quiet clarity that she hadn’t felt in weeks. Maybe it was Jamie. Maybe it was knowing what she wanted.

Back in the studio, she slipped the apron over her head, feeling a familiar pull toward the canvas. She picked up the brush she’d abandoned earlier, this time without hesitation. Her fingers dipped into a vibrant shade of yellow first, one she hadn’t used in weeks.

The color spread in wide strokes across the canvas, bold and confident.

Next, she layered on shades of violet and teal and every color Jamie had made her see since that night in September.

She didn’t overthink it this time. The doubt, the hesitation that had plagued her before—it was gone.

She let it flow. Layers, texture, depth—the painting came alive beneath her hands.

With each stroke, her mind returned to Jamie.

The warmth of her laugh, her quiet confidence.

How she made her feel alive. The energy of those feelings spilled onto the canvas.

She didn’t feel stuck anymore. She didn’t feel torn between two versions of herself, two possible futures. She felt here. Painting. Creating.

Living.

Jamie 8:12 PM

Wrapping up at the gym. On my way now.

Her heart raced as set the brush down, wiping her hands on her apron. She wasn’t sure what would happen when Jamie arrived, but she felt ready for whatever was coming next.