Page 31 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
“...And it doesn’t make it any less beautiful.” I complete for him, only to have him looking at my face for a second longer than necessary. The corner of his mouth lifts in amusement before nodding.
“I like that.”
Thankful of not having put makeup on, I place my hands on my cheeks and push my hair away from my face. Though, the rain keeps pouring and I have to wake up from the daze we are in.
“We’re going to get a cold if we stay here.”
The thunder’s violent strike fractures the sky, its sound resonating through my very being, and I find myself instinctively drawn to Nathan. He watches the storm with evident pleasure, but I pull him closer by his forearms.
“I think the rain’s getting too strong.”
His arm casually drapes across my waist, and I freeze, overwhelmed by the sensation of his skin against mine. ‘Comfort’ is far too inadequate a word for what I feel as he shifts his gaze from the sky to meet mine with equal intensity.
“We can’t drive back like this. Much less me. I came here on my bike.” Nathan responds, caging me to his waist as he walks us away from the water. The waves have grown reckless, and it takes a bit more effort to pass through the water and the sand, grayness overtaking us. “Should we get in the car and wait there?”
“I have some pocket money and there’s a motel nearby.” I respond. “So, we can dry up and...I don’t know, the wind’s getting a little strong. I’m afraid of staying outdoors.” My reasoning seems like enough for me, because he grabs the dampened bag I had left on the sand.
“Lead us there.”
We run like children towards our destination. The lights blaring a path for us to follow as the afternoon turned grimy. The motel I had heard about is called ‘Augusto’, commonly visited by tourists and couples who wanted some delightful time alone in the water. It wasn’t the best place, walls a little too old, lights flickering at the storm, but it meant shelter.
So, Nathan pushes open the doors, water dripping from us both, likely soaking the brown carpet as we enter. The beachgoers we’d seen are crowded at the counter, requesting rooms. It is possibly the most action this motel has seen in years.
“Guess we have to wait.” He says.
Shivers go up and down my spine. The storm has grown louder, stealing a few screams and tears from the people asking for rooms. It’s peculiar; Havana is no stranger to storms, but never one of this magnitude.
Just our luck.
Hopefully, once we get a room, I get to call everyone else to see if they are fine.
?CHAPTER ELEVEN
NATHAN
“Feels like sun on my skin, so this is love...I know it is. I know it sounds super cliché but you make me feel some type of way.”- This Is What Falling in Love Feels Like by JVKE.
