Near & Far by Nicole Williams Page A

did care about those things, especially when they came from someone I loved and admired.
    “It’s been a good night,” I replied, experiencing such an intense urge to kiss him I couldn’t ignore it. So I didn’t. Lifting up onto my tiptoes, I pressed my mouth to his until I felt it: the instant my whole body melted into him and I could no longer tell what part was Jesse and what part was me. I wasn’t losing myself to him; I was finding myself in him. “And now it’s a great night.”
    “Mm-hmm,” Jesse hummed, smiling with his eyes still closed.
    The bouncer shifted behind Jesse, reminding me of where we were, or rather, what side of the curtains we were on. “What are you doing out here?” I asked Jesse.
    Jesse rubbed the back of his neck and looked to be searching for the right words. “Um . . . I wasn’t exactly on the V.I.P. list.”
    “What?!” I made a face as I let out a mini shriek. “You’re the only person I actually want to see, and they didn’t put you on the V.I.P. list? Are you kidding me?”
    Jesse still looked like he was trying to choose his words carefully. “No?”
    The anger I felt had nothing to do with him and everything to do with whoever’s fault it was that Jesse’s name hadn’t been put on that list. “Why didn’t you tell someone?”
    Jesse indicated at the monster-sized bouncer. “I tried telling Kong, but I don’t think he speaks. He just throws down the pain.”
    I sent a glare “Kong’s” way, grabbed Jesse’s arm, and marched through the curtains. When Kong stepped forward, I gave him a do-it-I-dare-you look. The only thing he did was step back and look away.
    “God, Jesse, I’m so sorry. How long have you been waiting out there?”
    He lifted a shoulder as he scanned the pictures. “Not long.”
    “Can not long be quantified?”
    His gaze locked on one picture before guiding us toward it. I’d seen a lot of that picture already. “I don’t know. An hour? Maybe two? It wasn’t that long.”
    “An hour? Or two?” I was back to a mini shriek. “Why didn’t you just bust through and come find me?”
    Jesse stopped in front of the painting with a thoughtful expression. “I didn’t want to make a scene. Tonight’s all about you. Plus you’ve got a little too much faith in me if you think I could have gotten past Godzilla with tree stumps for arms.”
    I laughed and squeezed his hand. No one could shift my moods like Jesse. Anger one second, laughter the next.
    He took a few steps closer, leaning in until it looked like he was studying each individual brush stroke. After a few minutes, he stepped back a few feet and took in the painting as a whole. His forehead was lined, his eyes curious, and his mouth flat, giving away nothing.
    Dozens of people had inspected the same picture, and not once had my heart pounded the way it was then. Transparency was tough with anybody, but if a stranger saw into the depths of me and didn’t like what they saw, brushing it off was easier. When someone I cared about, someone I cared about more than myself, saw into those same depths, their conclusion was everything .
    Jesse knew the good, bad, and the ugly of me. He had for a while, and he’d never once turned his back and walked away. That felt different though. Those had been words, stories I’d told him, flashes in time I’d given him a front row seat to. He’d never seen the good, bad, and the ugly on canvas in paint form. I couldn’t exactly tell you how it was different, but it was.
    Right when the anxiety felt like it was about to rip me in half, Jesse’s mouth lifted in a familiar way and his hand dropped from mine only to wind around my middle. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, sweeping a kiss into my temple.
    I choked on a laugh as a tear escaped my eye. “Which one?” I studied the picture with him.
    His mouth moved from my temple to my ear. “Both of you.”
    Just like that, the anxiety was gone, chased away by the all-encompassing acceptance