Page 17 of The Art of Loving You

Always.

Chapter Six

Although I had rung the hospital the second I had woken after a fitful sleep, I hadn’t quite believed the assurances that Jack was okay. Forgoing breakfast and a shower I raced across town. My heart was in my mouth as I pushed open the door to the ward with my elbow, still rubbing the squirt of antibacterial gel into my hands, the small cuts around my nervously bitten fingers stinging.

Angela was in the small office scribbling on some paper. When she noticed my arrival she hurried over to me.

‘Oh lovey.’ She scanned my face. ‘It doesn’t look like you got much rest. Jack’s going to be fine. Heisfine. He should be discharged later,’ she told me as we walked towards Jack’s bed.

‘Already? You don’t just want him gone because it’s almost the weekend?’

‘Honestly. We do try to free up beds for the weekend but we wouldn’t be sending him home unless he was ready.’

‘Hey you.’ I kissed Jack hello. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Good.’ He caught my expression. ‘Okay, perhaps not good, but a lot better. Really. The shock’s worn off and the pain is under control. Honest, Libs. Relax. You’re not getting rid of me any time soon.’

Relieved, I clutched his hand tightly.

‘Very true,’ Angela said. ‘I was just telling Libby that you should be able to leave today. You can take care of each other. Libby, it looks like you slept in those clothes.’ Angela nodded towards the creased shirt of Jack’s that I had, indeed, slept in.

‘At least she’s wearing clothes today,’ Jack said. ‘The first time I met her she was naked.’

Although I was mortified I couldn’t help laughing.

‘Tell me more.’ Angela crossed her arms.

‘It isn’t how it sounds,’ I said.

‘So you weren’t naked?’ Angela asked.

‘Well, technically …’

‘As bare as the day she was born.’ Jack had a wicked glint in his eye. He still looked pale, awful, but he was trying to cheer me up, remind me of a time I could never forget.

‘I definitely need to hear this,’ Angela said.

Jack gently squeezed my fingers in a can-I-tell-her? way and I stroked his thumb – yes, you can.

I had been modelling for life classes for about a month, saving up for a new camera. I’m not the bravest person but I knew from my own experience with photography that the amateur artists would be viewing me as a subject, nothing more. At least I had hoped that they would.

Jack had run in ten minutes late, white shirt blotchy with paint, brush in his hand.

‘Sorry I’m … Oh.’ He had skidded to a Tom and Jerry halt. Our eyes had met. Heat crept into my cheeks as the air between us fizzed. I had never experienced such an instant attraction before.

‘You’re … new?’ he asked. ‘Sorry, don’t let me distract you.’

He attempted a jog around the outskirts of the room but his foot caught on an easel causing a pot of water to crash to the floor.‘Sorry,’ he said as he mopped it up.

Laughter bubbled in my stomach and I fought to hold it in but when Jack took his place behind his own easel and our eyes met I was suddenly serious, hot. I diverted my gaze, staring at the floor, trying to think of everything but him as his brush swept paint across his canvas with a light touch, but it was impossible not to imagine his careful hands on me.

My body felt heavy, arms aching from holding the pose, the weight of Jack’s stare. I couldn’t stop checking whether he was looking at me, which was ridiculous because it’s what I was there for. Every time our eyes met he quickly looked away, acting like he hadn’t been looking at me – which was just as absurd.

About halfway through the class he packed up his things and with one final ‘sorry’ in my direction, he left.

I couldn’t get him out of my mind as I held my position, immune to the pins and needles which pricked at me to move. Had I imagined the connection between us? Had I repulsed him?

Afterwards, I had wrapped myself in a fluffy white towelling robe and headed to the loos to get dressed. He was waiting in the corridor, leaning against the wall.

---