Page 148 of Infatuated as They Come
“What happened?” she asked, eyes all big with concern. “Did he apologize or do I have to get him thrown out?”
Head shaking, I gave her a smile. “No, he said sorry. No need to kick him out.”
“You don’t have to tell me what you guys talked about. I just want to know if everything is okay between you two. If it’ll ever be okay…”
I traced my thumbs against the skin on her hands. “I think things will be better from here on out.”
She shook her head a little. “That sounds too good to be true.”
“No, baby, really. He said sorry and I forgive him, and I think things are gonna be different.”
“He apologized?” She gasped. “He actually said sorry?”
“Yeah, I was just as shocked too.”
“I can’t believe I missed it. I should have recorded it.”
I laughed lowly. “I’ll remember it for the both of us, don’t worry. Me and your dad are both too stubborn, but I have a feeling we’ll be alright.”
“I’m so happy to hear that,” she said, a smile stretching across her lips before her eyes lowered. “I heard what you said to that guy. That man from earlier, when you were talking about your paintings…”
“The whole thing?”
“The whole thing.”
“Ah.”
“You make me feel really beautiful,” she said.
“You are really beautiful.”
“No one thinks about me the way you do. No one’s ever given me their all. You do things no one else has ever done for me.”
I held her hand to my lips, kissing her soft skin before I nodded towards the wall. “You wanna see ‘em up close? I can tell you what they all mean. Some might be obvious, but still.”
“That’s okay. I wanna know.”
Fingers still locked with hers, I moved her to the first one. “So, the first one… That’s the dress you were wearing when we first kissed. It’s kind of aday that’s hard to forget. Probably one of my favorite memories ever…”
Her eyes widened. “You remember what dress I was wearing the day we first kissed?”
“It’s the sort of thing you never forget.” I moved her over to the next one. “I really like driving you around places. Feels good to have you sitting next to me. Remember what I said before? About how I used to drive by places and feel nothing, but now…” The next painting showed the scene I sometimes got when we were in my old, run down truck. The back of her head with the wind in her hair, her long strands flying around as she leaned on the window, a sea of green leaves in the background as we zoomed past trees, on our way to whatever cheap date we were about to go on. “And you didn’t even care that the truck you were in was on the brink of falling apart. You never care about stuff like that. Where we’re going or what we’re doing.”
“Well, every place feels really special with you,” she said softly.
I smiled at her words, guiding her to the next canvas. “Yeah, I feel the same way.”
“My flowers!” she said happily. “Your flowers. I love this one!”
“Flowers in a vase. It’s been done a million times before, but…”
I had painted her in bed, long hair flowing down her back with one hand outreached, fingers gently touching the petals of the flowers I got her. There had been many nights in her bedroom where I had her against my chest, wishing for time to slow down just that little bit as I watched the tips of her fingers brush against the flowers in her vase.
“But?” she asked.
“But I liked seeing the flowers I got you on your bedside table. I guess because I got to lay there and hold you and watch you fall asleep, and the whole time I kept thinking, I can’t wait to do this with you forever. Properly. Without having to sneak out and worry about… you know, everything. For a couple hours at night, I got to pretend like it didn’t matter where we both came from, and we were just… normal.”
“Those nights were really lovely,” she whispered.
