Page 82 of Redemption

I grin. She’s good at this.

I lost my composure, and my fierce pet has come to my defense.

How could I ever deserve this woman?

“Come on.” James finally speaks up again. “Let’s have that cuppa. Now, mum.”

He gently grasps our mother’s shoulder and turns her away from me.

“Dad,” he calls back over his shoulder as they head for the stairs. “I’m sure there’s a bottle of whisky somewhere in the kitchen.”

The promise of alcohol moves him like nothing else. My father gives me one final contemptuous sneer. Then he turns and walks away, too.

I turn to my woman, my miracle, and trace the curve of her amethyst curl that fascinates me endlessly.

“Thank you,” I say. I don’t have the words to express the depth of my gratitude, my admiration.

She waves off my thanks. “You’re welcome. They deserved it. Now, we need to get the hell out of here. Do you have your own car?”

I nod and trail her into the bedroom to pack. Wherever Abigail goes, I’ll follow.

22

ABIGAIL

“It’s so beautiful,” I gush, spinning in a circle to take in the stunning, historic city of York. “I can’t believe you grew up here. It’s magical.”

Dane is staring at me, not the imposing, centuries-old Minster. I’ve been studying the intricately carved masonry, and my fingers itch for my paintbrush. I’m not sure when I’ll have the opportunity to express this scene on my canvas, so I’m doing my best to commit it to memory.

“Yes,” he says softly. “I suppose it is a bit magical.”

“A bit?” I tease. “There are medieval buildings lining every cobbled street. It doesn’t seem real. It’s like we’ve stepped back into another time.”

His mouth tips in a lopsided smile that makes my heart flutter. “Is it?”

He gestures at the man who’s painted in purple from head-to-toe, trying his best to remain stationary on a bike.

I’ve seen better human statues, and I can’t suppress a giggle. Dane isn’t remotely impressed by the man.

I decide to include the street performer in my painting. The juxtaposition with the historic Minster is whimsical, charming. I’ll try to capture Dane’s expression of pure bafflement, too.

I loop my arm through his, steering us away from the spectacle. “You just don’t understand art.”

“That’s not art.”

“You have to open your mind,” I urge, but I’m only half-serious. Bantering with him is fun. “Anything can be art.”

He scoffs. “Now you’re just making up meaningless platitudes. There is no comparison between your work that that purple man.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” I shrug.

He pauses and urges me to face him. One dexterous hand brushes my hair back from my cheek. “There’s only one beautiful thing I see here.”

I flush with pleasure and cut my gaze away, flustered.

He cups my jaw, urging me to tip my head back so that I have no choice but to look up at him.

“You are the most stunning, remarkable woman I’ve ever met,” he says solemnly. “The way you defended me in front of my parents…” He trails off for a moment and traces the shape of my lips with his thumb. “I can never express what that means to me. How proud I am to call youmine.”