Page 36 of Built to Last
“Yeah, he does. It’s still early but I really like him Aria. He makes me feel… safe.”
Phillip follows me out to the workshop, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek before crossing over to his side of the room. It’s dangerously easy to imagine us doing this every day long after the set project ends. This corner of the room could become my own little art studio. I could work on my own projects and commissions while Phillip came and went for handyman jobs, working on his custom furniture in between. I’m filled with a deep longing for that simple yet beautiful future as I finish the last of my coffee and get to work.
Since the oil-based paint will be slow-drying, even though I’ve used turpenoid to thin it, my plan is to rotate through the set panels getting the basic colour done on all four before circling back to the first to add more detail.
The familiar routine of mixing up paint colours on my palette helps smooth the jagged edges of my nerves. While I’m finally looking forward to painting again, there’s still a large part of me that’s apprehensive. I can’t put my finger on why exactly. True, I may be a little rusty, but I won’t have forgotten all of my skills after a few months of disuse, and I have a plan to work from so it’s not like I need to worry about a lack of inspiration. Hand hovering over my selection of brushes I’m forced to acknowledge, even if just to myself, that I’m still afraid I’m not good enough.
Aria and Phillip’s reactions to my designs have done wonders for my confidence but I suppose it was foolish of me to hope I might conquer my insecurities overnight. I may have had a breakthrough with my own work yesterday but I still haven’t put brush to canvas yet, or in this case, wood. Well, there’s no time like the present to try and silence the omnipresent voice ofdoubt in the back of my mind. I take a deep breath, roll back my shoulders, pick up a brush, and start topaint.
Eventually carmine red and burnt orange flood the sky like the most beautiful of watercolours, signalling the end of the day. I drag my feet while packing up my stuff, nervous about showing Phillip the small collection of paintings stored under my bed. When I mentioned it earlier I thought I would at least have a few days to mentally prepare, but while we were still curled up on the sofa he brought up driving me home so he could see my work and I agreed. The orgasm high is one hundred percent to blame. Now it’s actually time for Phillip to take me home, the idea is much more daunting than it was a few hours ago.
“You don’t have to show me,” he tells me, obviously picking up on my nerves while I fidget in the seat next to him as we pull up outside my flat.
“No, I want to, I’m just… I didn’t expect to be this nervous, that’s all. Let’s get this over with.” Flinging the passenger door open with gusto, I launch myself from the car before I can change my mind.
“Now there’s a ringing endorsement,” Phillip jokes, following me to the front door.
“No more little quips out of that mouth please,” I warn as we walk up the stairs to the flat.
“I thought you liked my mouth,” he teases, voice dropping an octave. Blushing, I open the door, ignoring his antics and leading the way to my bedroom. I know what he’s doing—trying to keep the mood light so I’m not as freaked out. It’s kind of working.
“If this was all just an elaborate plan to get me back into your bedroom you didn’t need to try so hard.” He grins, making himself at home by kicking his boots off and settling on the edge of my bed, an expectant look on his face.
Pinning him with a flat stare I reply, “I despise you.”
His laughter floats after me while I rustle around under the bed, reaching for the paintings. When my fingers brush against the edge of a canvas my breath catches, chest tightening. I rock back onto my knees. This is really happening. A gentle caress down my spine startles me and I whip my head around to find Phillip crouched down beside me, eyes full of compassion.
“I am not him. I won’t make light of this,” he assures me firmly. With a nod I reach under the bed once more and pull out the first canvas.
“Take this one please.” Phillip accepts the largest canvas and walks over to the wall opposite my bed, leaning it against the closed bathroom door. Busying myself I wrestle three more smaller canvases from the pile so I can avoid witnessing his immediate reaction just in case it’s bad. Peering at the paintings before me, I decide these are as good a bet as any of the other options lurking under there.
When I stand, Phillip is frozen staring at the largest piece in my collection, mouth agape. Is that good? What’s he thinking? Not quite ready to know just yet, I occupy myself with propping the other paintings up along the same wall. After swapping the middle image with the one on the far left I stop stalling and move to stand beside him.
“What do you think?” I ask, voice small.
“It’s stunning,” he breathes, eyes raking over every inch of the piece, making sure to take it all in. This one is a portrait with a vast array of orange hues that complement the sunset we just left behind. It took me weeks to complete. Flecks of gold leaf shimmer under the overhead light, glinting off the lilies surrounding the woman and adding to the mystical quality of the painting.
There were a lot of interested buyers when I first shared this one on social media but I never had the heart to let go of it. This piece is special. It reminds me of the kind of person I want to be,and I’ll keep it until I find the courage to become more like the woman in the painting.
“You mean that?” I search his features for signs of deception. Plenty of people think my work is good, and I am starting to believe in myself again too, but not all art is for everyone. It’s subjective. As long as he isn’t rude about it we’ll be ok, but I won’t be with someone who can’t appreciate my work at all, not again.
“Absolutely. When you’re ready to start sharing your art again, the world will be a more beautiful place because of it. I can’t speak on it from a technical standpoint, but I know what I like looking at and I don’t think I could ever get tired of looking at this.” He turns to look at me with a tenderness that makes my heart flutter, then quietly tells me, “She reminds me of you.”
He has no idea of the depth of compliment he just paid me, how much those softly spoken words mean. Throwing my arms around him so suddenly he almost stumbles, I bury my head in his shoulder to hide the tears that are gathering in my eyes.
“Thank you.” My shoulders shake with a relieved sob that I choke back. “Thank you for taking this seriously. And for not rushing me. Part of me was worried you’d see these and start pushing me before I’m ready.” Not that I don’t appreciate Aria and Bel’s encouragement, but sometimes it makes me feel like I won’t be enough for them unless I’m able to do more with my life. Logically I know that’s not the case but there’s still a voice in the back of my mind wondering how long before they get fed up of waiting for me to get my shit together.
For a split-second something that looks like guilt clouds Phillip’s eyes but it’s gone so fast I must have imagined it. He strokes my hair soothingly and tightens his other arm around me, hugging me even closer.
“I know you’ve been let down in the past but I will always look out for you, Rose. I might not get it right all the timebut I promise to do my best for you.” Phillip tilts my face up, looking directly into my glistening eyes as he speaks, and I see my raw emotions reflected in him. What he’s promising is way beyond casual but I can’t bring myself to care about the made-up timeline our relationship is supposed to be on. This is more than just dating and if Phillip is going to admit that so openly, then I want to do the same. I can be brave one more time tonight.
“I’ll do my best for you too.” A soft smile tugs at his lips and the look in his eyes makes all the stress of the evening worth it.
Phillip
Back home I sit brooding on the sofa, listening to the rain hammer down outside. Rose invited me to stay the night but I made up an excuse to leave, telling her I was worried I might have left the door out to the workshop unlocked. She was disappointed but didn’t doubt my word which only makes me feel worse about the lie. I couldn’t stay though. Not when I wasn’t being honest with her.
I planned to tell her about the art show this morning, but when she offered to show me her work I thought that would be a better time to bring it up, less out of the blue. Then she went and thanked me for not rushing her and I couldn’t make myself say the words. I run a hand through my hair in frustration.Am I rushing her if I bring up the art show?No. I won’t pressure her into participating, but Blake was right, she deserves to know about the opportunity. Plus, if I don’t bring it up soon they might find someone else, and I’d feel terrible for taking the chance at a gallery show away from her just because I couldn’t find the right time to tell her about it.
