Burned(50)

With one last tight squeeze, Collin steps back and smiles down at me. “Don’t be mad, but I have one other surprise. Although, after what you just told me, you might not like it very much.”
Before I can tell him that I don’t need anything else from him, he grasps my shoulders and turns me around to face the backyard.
When I see the set-up at the back of his property line, my hand flies to my mouth and I let out a gasp.
There in the grass is a large sheet of blank hemp paper, held down by rocks at each corner and a few scattered through the middle. Next to the paper is the largest bucket of gunpowder I’ve ever seen.
“Watching you work on one of your designs was always the most amazing thing to witness,” he speaks softly behind me. “You’d get this fierce look of concentration on your face and everything else around you would disappear. Considering my current profession and the way I was so obsessed with fire back then, you would think lighting the fuse and watching the explosion would have been the best part. You had so much talent, Finnley. It should never, ever have been stifled.”
I look back over my shoulder at him and he uses his thumb to wipe away my tears. “Will you make something for me? I want a new Finnley Morgan original to hang in my living room.”
I shake my head at him and turn back around to face him. “What am I going to do with you, Collin McDaniels? You make me want things I haven’t thought about in years. You make me dream things I never thought possible.”
He shrugs and uses the tips of his fingers to brush my bangs out of my eyes. “It’s never too late to live your dreams. You just have to want them enough to make them come true.”
Collin takes my hand and pulls me to the edge of his yard, lifting the top off of the gunpowder and sliding the bucket closer to me before silently moving away to give me time to myself. I can feel him watching me from the other side of the yard as an image immediately takes hold in my mind and I can picture exactly what I need to do to make it come to life.
Slipping off my shoes, I sink down into the soft grass and dip my hand into the bucket, letting the soft black powder coat my hands and slide through my fingers. Dipping my fingers back inside, I bring out a handful of powder and begin sprinkling it all over the paper, working quickly as I allow the image in my mind to take shape. Art must truly be instinctual, as I feel every single trick I used seventeen years ago come back to me while I run my palms and my fingers through the black powder on the paper so fast that my hands are a blur of movement.
I have no idea how much time has lapsed and I’m too caught up in my vision to care. I move the powder around until the design is exactly how I pictured it in my mind. When I finally finish, I stand up to admire my work, wiping a bead of sweat off my brow with the back of my wrist, careful not to get black powder all over my face.
I’m almost overcome with excitement and pride as I look down at the paper. I sense Collin’s presence and a spark of desire shoots through me when I feel the heat of his body. Collin being directly responsible for the release of the creative juices I’ve kept bottled up for so long is almost enough to make me want to forget about finishing the project and just take him inside the house and strip hip naked.
He hands me a towel and I slowly wipe as much of the powder off of my hands as I can.
“You ready?” he asks as he holds a lighter up in front of him.
It’s possible that he’s more excited about this than I am and I can’t help but smile at his exuberance. I think he might have been lying before when he said watching me work was the best part. He’s like a toddler right now, bouncing back and forth on his feet waiting for me to give him the okay.
I nod my head and laugh at him. “Yep. Let’s do this.”