Page 334 of His Virgin Romance Series

MILES

After the first time that Gabby and I slept together, I started feeling different. I didn’t know quite what it was; I just started seeing everything differently. Nothing had changed really, but somehow everything felt different. It was shortly after that I realized what it was.

Love changed the lens through which you viewed the world. The things that used to bother and upset me had less room in my mind. It wasn’t that I stopped caring about them, it was just that I spent less energy being sad and frustrated and bitter about everything. Being in love was like being in a world of your own, where nothing could touch you and the things that annoyed you didn’t annoy you for very long. Because all you had to do was call her or come home to her and everything was better. Just like that.

The last few weeks had been nothing but blissful. We had a great relationship and an easy friendship. We had even started working together. Gabby would work on her music in the living room, and I would paint. Sometimes we wouldn’t talk for hours. It would just be the two of us wrapped up in our own little worlds, but there was still a connection that existed, tied together by our love of creating.

After we wrapped things up, we would end up on the couch together, and we would discuss our work. Gabby always second-guessed her compositions, but she didn’t need to. Her work was always flawless, and I continuously told her so. She did the same for me, and it gave me the confidence I needed to push through with my work even when I thought it was pointless.

“Do you paint to make money?” Gabby asked me one day. “Or do you paint because you love it?”

“Well… I love it.”

“Then that’s all that matters,” Gabby said, giving me a kiss on the forehead.

Domestic bliss turned out to be much more than I had ever thought it would be. I felt lighter, more fulfilled, and incredibly happy. Being with Gabby made me want to be a better human being… on all fronts and for the first time I started thinking about my contribution to the problems I had with my parents as opposed to blaming them completely for everything.

That morning I made a special breakfast for Gabby because she had finals today and I knew she was nervous. She had composed a special melody in preparation and she had spent a long time fine-tuning it. Sometimes, after we had had sex, she would leave me in bed and go into the living room so that she could play the melody over from her computer and make notes on what to change the next day when she was back in the music room on campus.

I liked to lie in bed and listen silently. Sometimes it was like she was composing the soundtrack to my life. I had just finished setting the table when Gabby emerged in jeans and a white blouse. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders, and she looked nervous but ready.

“Oh my God,” she said, looking at the spread on the table. “I can’t believe you made breakfast.”

I had made waffles, eggs, sausages, crispy bacon, and orange juice. I had also bought an assortment of fruits, and I had arranged them together on one plate in a colorful display that I had placed next to the maple syrup and a small bunch of flowers I had picked early that morning.

“I wanted to send you off properly,” I said. “Today is a big day, and you’re going to do amazing.”

Gabby sighed and sat down. “You think?”

“I’ve heard your composition enough times now to know how good it is,” I said. “Trust me… you’re going to blow them away.”

Gabby nodded. “I’m nervous…”

“Nerves are a good thing,” I said. “Just channel them into your music, and you’ll be fine.”

Gabby nodded and leaned in to give me a kiss. “I wish you could be there.”

“Really?”

“Well… I’d be a little more nervous, but I think the moral support would be nice.”

“I can try to be there—”

“Don’t be silly,” Gabby said immediately. “I know you’re busy. You have to be at the station. I was just thinking out loud, that’s all.”

She glanced to the side and noticed that the paintings I had collected from my parents’ house had finally been unearthed from the brown paper they had been wrapped in. Gabby went over and looked through them.

“Not my best work.” I smiled.

“Are you kidding?” she asked. “It’s beautiful… you must have been really young when you did these.”

“With that first painting, I was probably eight or nine, and the last two paintings were probably when I was around twelve or thirteen.”

“We should display these somewhere.”

“What?” I laughed.

“I’m serious.” Gabby nodded. “These paintings are the evolution of your artistry… they deserve to be displayed on our walls.”

---