Hope.
Something that’s not dark and broken.
I move onto the next painting. Black and purple also stand out from the canvas, and unthinking, I touch the lock of hair that hangs over my shoulder, the color matching so closely I can’t help but shiver.
Did he paint these for me?
Shaking my head, I move along, trying to forget the thoughts that take hold of me. It can’t be for me. There’s no way I could’ve had an effect on Julian Elliot in a few days.
But then again, he’s certainly done something to me. My mind has been focused on him night and day. Long after I leave work, he’s there, constantly on my mind. I replay our conversations like a teenage girl with a crush on the popular boy in school. And each time I do, that foreign fluttering starts up in my stomach.
It’s stupid.
I’m grown up.
I’m an adult.
Then why does he make me feel like I’m losing all control of my feelings?Chapter 12JulianBy the time I hang up, Nea is near the doorway. I make my way toward her, wanting nothing more than to go back to the moment we had, but it’s long passed. The moment I reach her, she turns to me.
“I love all your work,” she tells me earnestly. “You’re so talented, I can’t believe you’re not doing this annually, monthly, something!” Her gaze darts around behind me, taking in the entrance, but I know she’s been particularly moved by the canvasses I painted while she was under my roof.
“As you said earlier, some people take the utterances of fools to heart,” I tell her. Even though she doesn’t know my past, not really, when she said that, it was almost as if she had reached inside me and found my most inherent fears.
“You?” Her shock is clear. Her mouth open, forming a perfect O that has my mind wandering to places it really shouldn’t. But then again, like Eli told me a few nights ago, if I don’t take a chance, I’ll never know if this was something more. I keep pushing people away for fear of getting hurt, but what if the one person I do send packing is the one who can accept me at my worst?
And Nea has certainly seen that.
“Being an artist, a creative, isn’t easy.” I place the fingertips of my left hand on the small of her back and lead her out into the garden. “You put your soul into your work, you leave it bare for people to pick and prod at. Deep down, you know they’re going to break it apart because not everyone can see your pain and sorrow.”
“Is that what your work is? Pain and sorrow?” Her question is pure innocence, and when I look at her, I see her genuine interest. Nothing like Shay. She’s the complete opposite of my ex-wife.
“All art is pain and sorrow.” My response is true. Putting parts of you out for the world to see is difficult. It’s the scariest thing to do because those are the parts of you nobody sees, not even your closest friends or partners. It’s as if you’re flaying your soul and laying it out for everyone to stomp on.
“And does that mean once it’s been painted, created, put out for the world to peruse, it’s healed?” Nea questions, her gaze locked on my face. She looks at me, taking in every inch of my expression, and I know she sees more than anyone else does. Something about this girl is so unique, so precious, it’s as if she herself is an art piece that needs to be protected.
“Not always.” I shrug. “Sometimes, it’s more a form of analysis than healing. Not every admission heals the pain that’s held in the soul.”
“That makes my heart hurt,” she tells me.
The sentiment tightens my chest, and once more, I find her inches from me. I lean in, thinking she’s going to step back or slap me, but she doesn’t, so I take a chance and press my lips to hers.
Heat sears me. The way her mouth molds to mine has every inch of my body responding with need. Nea places her hands on my chest, and I think my chance has passed, but she doesn’t push; she pulls me closer. I want nothing more than to climb into her body and get lost in the sweet warmth I’ve fantasized about since she walked into my house.
A soft whimper escapes her mouth, and I steal it with my own. My tongue darts out, wanting to deepen the connection with her, and she allows me by opening herself to my exploration. Our tongues dance and meld, twisting around each other, and I’m drunk off the flavor of her.
When I finally break the kiss, I step back and take her in. Her body is so much smaller than mine, her cheeks are flushed with a rosy hue, and her eyes are wide, glassy, and filled with need. And I know that feeling matches my own.