I quietly unzip my backpack, take out my sketchbook and pencil, and set it on my lap. Then I let myself draw. I’m not sure what I’m drawing, even as I start to move the pencil across the paper. It feels different, too, because maybe for the first time ever, I’m not sketching out of some need to manage my unsettled anxiety.
A few minutes later, the drawing is taking shape, and I can see what began as just a feeling in my heart. It’s his hand covering mine, his touch gentle, his thumb caressing along my skin with such love and care. It’s him telling meI’ve got you. It’s his reassurance and support.
I smile as I continue, slowly adding detail and texture and shading. And when I finish after another half hour or so, I take a moment to study it. It’s really not that impressive—the drawing itself. It’s simple at best. But that’s not the point anyway. The point is what I feel when I look at it and how it made me feel when I drew it.
I glance up across the room. Alex is awake now, though I don’t know how long he’s been lying there in bed, his face turned my direction, his expression soft as he watches me with half-lidded eyes. I hold his gaze for a few seconds, then set my sketchbook and pencil on the couch next to me, stand up, and cross back over toward the bed.
As I near, he lifts the comforter, inviting me to climb back into bed with him, and I do, eagerly.
“Good morning,” he murmurs against my lips. Then we kiss. And it’s slow and loving and this incredible mix of sensual and sexy.
When we part, I snuggle up into his arms, and he holds me, quietly rubbing my back. It’s perfect. I love it.
“Are you okay?” he asks after another few minutes. When I tilt my head back and look at him, he clarifies, “You were drawing. Don’t you usually do that when you’re not okay?”
“Oh, right.” I shake my head, then I close the distance between us and kiss him—that same slow, tender kiss. My hand settles on his chest. “I’m okay, actually. Usually, yeah, I sketch when I’m anxious. But now, I just, um, wanted to draw.”
His eyes shine as he looks at me, and his hand stops low on my back.
“That’s great,” he says softly.
We kiss again, and then I snuggle up against him more, my head in the crook of his shoulder.
“I mean, Iamnervous,” I say, “and I’m sure I’ll be more anxious later, but I’m also ready, I think.”
He hums, his cheek resting against the top of my head. Then, after a moment, he says, “Youareready. You’re going to be great. I just love this for you, and I’m so proud of you.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I duck my head even more. “Thank you.”
He huffs a small laugh and runs his hand up and down my back, his fingertips grazing teasingly along my skin. “Thisisan interesting choice of attire for a job interview, though. I thought you would’ve chosen something just slightly more formal.”
I roll my eyes and then push him away and sit up, resisting the urge to stick my tongue out at him too.
He’s grinning, and then he laughs again, like he knows what I’m thinking. “We should get up, yeah?”
I grin back. “Yeah.”
By eight o’clock, we’re both up, and I’m dressed in the nicest clothes I have—dark slacks and a light-gray dress shirt that thankfully didn’t get wrinkled while folded up in my backpack. I borrowed a pair of black loafers from Alex, and I’ve spent too many annoying minutes in the bathroom trying to get my hair to behave itself.
Alex has asked me at least twice already if I want to have a bite to eat before we leave. My answer’s been no both times. Even though I don’t feel overly anxious yet, as I told him earlier, my stomach isn’t really settled. At all. And I’m pretty sure if I have anything to eat right now, it’ll come right back up.
I exit the bathroom, giving up on getting my hair to do what I want. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, maybe sending a text or something. He looks up at me with a small smile, shoves his phone into his pocket, and pats the bed next to him.
“Almost time to leave. You know where you’re going?” he asks as I sit.
With a short nod, I lean against him, pull out my phone, andopen up my maps app. It’s already zoomed in on our location. “Her office is inside Urban Arts,” I explain, pointing to the screen. “It’s a small art gallery just a block over. She wants me to meet her there at eight thirty.”
Alex nods and rests his hand on my lower back. “Perfect. Any idea how long the meeting will last?”
“No fucking clue.”
He laughs, takes my phone out of my hand, and tosses it on the bed behind us. Then he pulls me in for a hug. And even though I thought I wasn’t really feeling anxious, some tension leaves me as I melt into him, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my forehead on his shoulder. He breathes a kiss on my cheek, and it’s so gentle and so soft that I can’t help but sigh.
“Remember that she already knows about your anxiety, and she already knows about your work experience and your skills. She just needs to meet you in person. That’s all,” he assures me. I nod but hold him a little tighter, and, just as I wanted, he kisses my cheek again. “And remember that this is as much about giving you the chance to make sure you’ll be comfortable with the job, too. That’s important as well—that you feel you’ll be able to work there and with her.”
I nod once more. Alex’s mom had explained that to me, too—that it would be okay if I decide the job Vera might or might not end up offering me isn’t what I’m looking for. Given all the details I know so far, I can’t see that being the case. But I’m allowed to turn it down if I think I won’t be comfortable in the position.
He keeps holding me for another few minutes. I can feel the confidence he has in me giving me strength, and I’m legit almost eager to actually get going. I straighten up.
