Page 80 of Painting Her Fate

I can’t read anymore, the article making it sound unattached in the emotional sense. He will tell me his story whenever he is ready.

Should I tell him mine? Can I commit to someone like him and trust him enough with my story? How would he react? Would he leave me? Think

I’m disgusting?

Filling my tea, I sat myself at the easel, snagged a fresh clean canvas, and got to work, ready for a mindless distraction.

A knock at the door breaks me out of my musings on the piece I’m working on and glance down at the time stamped on my mobile. It’s nearing nine in the evening. Who could this be?

I’m hesitant as I walk to the door and peer through the peep hole, my lips turning up into a smile and my body instantly relaxing. I unlock the door and swing it open. There he is, a plastic bag filled with containers in one hand, and a bottle of red wine in the other. Did he know I was thinking about him?

“Alexander, what a lovely surprise.” He is in a plain gray shirt and dark jeans; delicious.

“Please tell me you have not eaten yet.” He held the items up, “I tried to call you a couple of times, your phone is off or muted. I wanted to see if you were up for going out to dinner –” He trails off.

“It just so happens I have not eaten since breakfast. Please, come in.” The smell of tomato sauce and bread as he walks by has my mouth watering. It smells good, but not as good as he is.

By the time I clean myself enough from the dozens of paint splotches, I make my way to the kitchen finding he has the plates and cutlery out, along with the two larger containers open, and a paper sleeve crammed full of bread.

“Ta-da! What do you think?” He waves a hand over the decadent feast he put on display. “I remembered what you said earlier, about liking food already completed.I am at your service, my lady.” The man winks, winks!

There is no way to contain my laughter, “You are too much.” He pops the cork on the bottle then grabs two stemmed glasses from the cupboard.

“Why have you not dug in? Hop to it before I eat it all.” I love this playful side of him. I do as he says and begin nibbling on the bread. He declares there is the choice of fresh eggplant or chicken parmigiana, cheese ravioli, and bread. Everything looks delicious and smells fantastic. I grab a little of everything, taking two slices of bread, because we Brits love our bread, and wonder what else he brought with him.

“What’s in the smaller box there?” I point to the one still inside the plastic bag.

He hands me my glass of wine and I thank him.

“That’s for later. Don’t be tempted to look, you will ruin the surprise.” He flashes a grin before filling his plate and helping me better fill my own.

We make the decision to have a dinner and cinema night wrapped in one, my tele being a great size to do just that. We make a makeshift plushy seating area on the floor at the coffee table and get comfortable.

I open my streaming service and scroll through different films to watch, settling on one of the newest comic renditions of superheroes and villains. Tom Hiddleston as Loki,yes please. But then there is Thor, too. Dear God, these men are sinful.

As I wait for him, I take a sip of the red wine. “This wine is excellent.” He sets his glass and plate on the table then takes his seat next to me.

“Yeah? I wasn’t sure if you were into red wine.”

“It’s perfect.” I take another sip, my taste buds tantalized. “Ready? I have yet to watch this film.”

He looks up at the screen to read the title, “That makes two of us. I’m usually too busy to go see it in theaters, I end up having to hear spoilers from

Ford before it’s out on DVD or streaming.”

“I can see Ford doing that just to get a rise out of you.” I grin and stab a ravioli popping the whole thing in my mouth and groaning in pleasure. “God, this is good.” I say around a mouth full then swallow, “you have excellent taste.”

One side of his lips tilt in a smirk, “I sure do,” he says, winking, making the inuendo obvious.

I walked right into that one.

With that, we tuck into our meal and start on the film.

When both of us are finished, it’s time for whatever is in that little box, the thing that has me most curious.I’d rather have him for dessert. Zander asked me to stay right where I was and not lift a finger in taking care of dinner. I pause the screen and wait for him to return, watching as he sets the containers in the fridge and dirty dishes in the sink. He’s back a moment later, bringing the small square container and the half bottle of wine. He tops off our glasses then sits sideways, mimicking my posture.

“What is it? What is it?” I ask eagerly and rub my hands together.

He chuckles, “Hold your horses, I’m getting there.” His smile is infectious. My dad uses that term when I get excited.

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