“On the contrary,” I whispered into the darkness, “I should find you rather weak and broken if you were not moved by what goes on here.”

His hand cupped my cheek, warm and tender, finger tracing along my temple and through my loose hair. He leaned his forehead onto mine, then as soon as my eyes fluttered closed, his lips searched over my face with butterfly softness until he found his mark and kissed me. Really and truly kissed me, man to woman, as I sensed he’d restrained himself from doing all this time.

There was no more restraint.

35

This is what I think art is and what I demand of it: that it pull everyone in, that it show one person another’s most intimate thoughts and feelings, that it throw open the window of the soul.

~Felix Mendelssohn

Music. A symphony. Color and light exploded through every cell of Mitchell Turner’s body, prisming vibrant color through the gray, dried-up mud of his life. Good heavens, she kissed exactly as she played—like she meant it.

He thought this small taste of her would placate him, but instead he could not get enough. Like a little sip of some sweet, flavorful concoction, he now wanted a deep gulp, hours spent hearing her voice, being surprised by her, studying the little nuances of her expressions. Tasting her lips.

He released her, keeping her face close so he could study her intelligent eyes snapping with life in the dark. How unusual she was. He was accustomed to patients at Hurstwell who walked about with hard, brittle shells he had to burrow through without destroying their unusually delicate centers. She was the opposite—a core of strength bolstering her from the inside, and a softness, a distinct femininity on the outside when interacting with others. He’d never seen the like and never would again.

Which made the next part even harder.

He leaned back and looked down at her, that sweet, strong profile barely visible in the tunnel, wondering what it would be to vanish with her in the night and never return to Hurstwell. Temptation ebbed and flowed with her glowing face so near, looking up at him. He lifted one hand, running the back of his finger along her cheek, down her poised neck, indulging in the softness of her red waves of hair over her shoulder just for a moment. His sigh was deep and shuddering. “I shall miss you.”

She caught her breath. Blinked. “You’re leaving?”

He shook his head. “I’m the one who belongs here. The one who’s broken, and quite beyond repair. I will not tie you down.” He leaned his forehead against hers again, drinking in her scent. Savoring and remembering. “You have a whole world to light. A life ahead of you.”

“Mitchell.”