I put my fingersover his lips stopping his next words. “Okay, so your argument is null andvoid. Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you to theRealladies. It will be fun.”
His smile finallybroke free. “You’re going to introduce me to theRealladies?”
“We’ll make a nightof it. Netflix and chill.”
“Relationshipgoals?”
I laughed. Icouldn’t help it. “Was that a pop culture reference?”
He shrugged,looking embarrassed, adorable and enamored all at once. “This gorgeous girl Iknow is teaching me all about hashtags. I can’t help it.”
“Wow, she soundsamazing.”
Ezra’s head dippedtoward mine. “Oh, she is.”
We kissed again.Nothing more than a PG, end of a Disney movie lip-lock, but it was perfect andmeaningful, and my skeptical heart grew three whole sizes.
A waiter appearedwith food for supper, which ended up being tonight’s special—crispy frog legswith lemon aioli, and sausage and pork belly cassoulet. We were like theromantic version ofFear Factor, onlyeverything was incredibly delicious and I would never be able to go back toeating Hot Pockets and cereal for supper again.
Ezra had ruined mefor all other menandfood thatwasn’t five stars.
Great. Iwaswasn’tsetting myself up for a lifetime of regretand disappointment. Not at all.
After dinner, Ezradisappeared into the kitchen or his office to get more work done and Imeandered over to my wall where my vision was beginning to take shape.
I ran my fingersover an unpainted section of white and smiled at what I knew it would become. Ihad heard once that art wasn’t supposed to be beautiful, it was supposed tomake you feel, make you think make you step outside of your own life and viewthe world with a bigger perspective.
Personally, Ithought art could be both. Beautiful and emotive. I liked beautiful things. Iliked drawing, painting, and creating them. But my definition of beauty wasalso broader than the societal norm. I didn’t pay attention to the flat beautyof a pretty face or perfect body.
Beauty was found inthe things that caught my eye, that made emotions flow. It was deeper than theskin, buried in the spirit, in the soul, in eyes that sparkled, or a mouth thattwisted in an interesting way. It was at that one moment of life when you kneweverything would be different, when you were finally forced to wake-up and payattention, or change something about yourself, or even let go of something youloved. Beauty was not just an opinion, it was a way of life. Something Iaspired to capture every time I picked up a brush.
I spread a generousamount of black and white on my palette and added a spot where I could mix thetwo colors to blend a neutral gray. Then I got to work.
Chapter Twenty-Two
My pouncing brushdanced over the wall, twisting together smoke from one end with smoke from theother. I added dark lines of black to give it depth and quick flicks of whiteto give it light. I intertwined wisps and tendrils until the entire wall fromfloor to ceiling was covered in smoke. There were large sections where whitewas the predominant color, and others where I’d went heavier with the black.But the overall story was smoke.
Stepping back, Isurveyed my work. It wasn’t finished. I had places to touch up and rough edgesto smooth, but it was getting there. Looking around the restaurant, I noticedfor the first time that everyone had left. Even the kitchen was dark and quiet.
I spun around,disbelieving that I’d painted my way through closing. Ezra sat at his usualtable, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his arms crossedover his chest. There was a laptop and papers spread out in front of him, buthe was staring at me, lost in thought.
“Don’t let meinterrupt you,” he said quietly, his voice rough and deeper than usual.
My mouth lifted inan embarrassed smile. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I must have been in thezone. Sorry, you probably want to go home for the night.”
He gazed at me, buthis eyes were unreadable from this distance. “Go back to it,” he said. “I havemore work to do anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
He ducked his chinin a succinct nod. “Absolutely.”
My progress hadinspired me to do more and I was anxious to start a new section, so I turnedback to the wall. Keeping the colors I’d been using, I talked to Ezra over myshoulder.
“So, tell me aboutBianca?” I asked, my voice only barely trembling with nerves.
“What do you mean?”
“The woman,” Iclarified. “Not the restaurant.”
