Chaos and Control(38)

“No.”

I hop up on the tailgate next to him. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Give me a second,” he says, holding up a finger.

I nod even though he doesn’t look up and swing my feet back and forth. It’s a beautiful day. A blue sky holds the occasional puffy white cloud, and the sun warms my head and shoulders. I try to give Preston some privacy, but my eyes can’t resist watching the muscles of his forearm as he jots in that notebook. His large hand wraps around the pencil, his grip so delicate.

After a couple of minutes, he closes the notebook with the pencil tucked inside. Preston looks up, but sunglasses cover the eyes I want to see. All I see is my own distorted face in the reflective surface.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

I think of Bennie and her lies and my phone call this morning, but I decide not to divulge this information. Though I’m not sure of my poker face skills, I decide to keep it to myself.

“Nope.”

“You ready?” he asks, standing and putting his notebook in his back pocket.

“Sure. Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Preston closes the tailgate and shoots past me to open my door. I laugh and climb into the truck. When the engine roars to life, we are off. I’m too lost in my own thoughts to make conversation, but Preston seems okay with this. I break out of my head long enough to recognize Franklin University when we pull onto Wildcat Drive.

“You’re taking me to F U?”

“Yep.”

“Want to build a career? Eff you! Want to get a degree? Eff you!” I sing.

Preston chuckles. “Yeah, that wasn’t exactly the best advertising campaign.”

We drive past the historic main buildings and pull into an empty lot. Preston parks the truck and runs around to my side. I let him open my door because it seems really important for him to do so. He nods toward a modern-looking building. The sleek new structure stands out among the old architecture and red brick buildings. I follow Preston toward the open entrance hall.

“So, how was Coffee Call last night?”

Preston keeps his eyes on the ground. “It was good. There were only three people who shared their work. But it was good. I didn’t recognize them. I think they came in from Franklin.”

“That’s probably true,” I say, kicking a pebble. “I can’t imagine Crowley locals are into that kind of thing. I take it you didn’t share your work?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Isn’t the building going to be locked? It’s summer.”

“We’re not going inside.”

In the center of the building is a courtyard. There are metal and stone sculptures throughout the space, along with a few plants and benches. A calming silence surrounds us as Preston leads me to a dark corner and takes a seat on a bench.

“Is this where you take me down into the basement and kill me, Preston? Seems kind of formulaic, don’t you think?”

He chuckles. “I’m not going to kill you, Wren. Too messy.” He holds up his hands and makes a disgusted face.

“I’m just saying you, of all people, probably have gloves, cleaning products, and the kind of attention to detail that would stump a veteran CSI team.”

“I’m not sure I like your implication. But this is what I wanted to show you.” He throws out his hand, gesturing to a sculpture of two trees.

“Whoa.” I step closer and see that two human bodies form the realistic-looking plaster trees—one of them displays a nude male, the other, a female. They seem to be entwined with their legs turning into roots and their arms twisting up into limbs and branches. It is beautifully erotic and somehow reminds me of Adam and Eve, the original sinners. Etched into the base of the design, bold lettering composes several lines of handwritten text.

Two lovers dropped, seedlings on a breeze Separated by soil

Sprung up from Earth, they meet again

Their limbs do uncoil

Reach toward the sky, sun’s rays embrace Forever etched in bark

Pulpy flesh beneath splintered fingers Each leave their mark

Two lovers dropped, roots grown into one Share a common heart

If one should fall, expose bloody rings The other will depart

I turn toward Preston. His eyes aren’t on the words or the human forms carved into trees, they are on me. His shoulders are tense, the corded muscles of his neck strained. He waits for me to react, and when my mind catches up, I do.

“Is that yours?” I ask. He nods and looks away.

“It was part of a collaborative art project that the professor decided to make a permanent installment here in the sculpture garden.”

I’m so honored that he shared this with me, that he’s letting me have a tiny peek inside his world. It only makes me want more. I step between his parted knees and rake my fingers through his hair. I place my other hand on his neck, trying to calm his furious pulse. I can see how vulnerable he feels in this moment. He’s put himself out there, laying his words and talent in my hands, and now waits.

“It’s beautiful.”

He grins up at me, his shoulders relaxing. That smile is my whole world. There is nothing else but the curve of his lips and the crinkles in the corners of his eyes. My thumb slides over the scruff on his jaw.

“You didn’t shave.”