“Seems like a lot of effort to go to.”
“I also petted him, brushed his fur and bought him some toys. Well, the toys were secret, but I’m not sure how well he hid them from you.”
“I never noticed because I was too worried about him not eating. I wondered why he wasn’t as grumpy as he used to be.”
Noah takes my hand in his and gently squeezes, linking our fingers. “You said you’d give me an opportunity if I could win your cat over. I would’ve done anything for a chance with you.”
“You keep telling me that, and I’m not going to deny our chemistry is still amazing. But Noah, I need more than that to be sure it’s going to work out between us.”
“I know.” He puts the toasted bagels on two plates and pulls out a tub of whipped cream cheese—my favorite. It’s a new tub; he must’ve bought it earlier. “Let’s eat and talk. More coffee?”
I nod and grab another cup of coffee. Noah heads to the storage closet in the living room. He must’ve hidden something there while I was out. So much for thesecurelock.
I take a stool by the counter, spread cream cheese on a bagel and start eating. A few moments later Noah brings out a canvas and carries it sideways into the kitchen.
My eyebrows arch. “Are we having an art show?”
“I was going to show it to you yesterday, but then you decided to attack me.”
“I thought you were a burglar!”
“I was going to say something, but then I realized you were with another man.”
“I wasn’t.” I prop my elbow on the counter, then drop my chin in my hand. “And as much fun as it is to watch you get all jealous, it’s pretty gross to hear you talk about my cousin like we have something going on.”
He goes still for a moment before a gorgeous smile splits his face. “Thank you. I was going crazy inside.”
“Just inside?” I look down at myself. “My torso looks like somebody decided to open up a hickey farm.”
His index finger tips my chin up as he looks into my eyes. “When the only woman I’ve ever loved comes home like that… You should worry if Idon’treact.”
My pulse picks up at the stark intensity of his tone. A deeply buried sense of self-preservation says I should put up my shields—andfast—because too much honesty will leave me exposed. At the same time, if I can’t be honest with him, I can’t expect him to reciprocate. It’s scary as hell, but…
“I know,” I say softly. “And…I liked it. It made me feel like I mattered to you.”
“You matter. I was thinking about you when I made this.” He starts to fuss with the canvas. It’s a bit awkward to arrange it in my rather small kitchen. “Remember how I said I was manifesting my future with you? I don’t know if that stuff really works, but I wanted to be specific in case it does. And I wanted to put some effort into it rather than cutting up magazine photos or something. That’s boring.”
“What I remember is you putting your face on my vision board,” I say. “Don’t tell me you printed out our faces and put them over pictures.”
He shakes his head. “Oh, no. Better than that.” He finally gets the angle of the canvas right and whips the cover off. “Behold! The visionpainting!”
I steel myself not to say the first thing that pops into my head. It’s not an abstract or post-modernistic piece like I was forced to endure when my former clients went to galleries full of super-weird art you must love if you want to be considered cool. But I’m not a hundred percent sure what itiseither. It’s an oil painting, that much is clear…but there are so many random objects on the canvas, and none of them are particularly well-drawn or to scale. A couple stands in the center with four strollers. The man has dark hair and is wearing a tux. The woman must be the bride with yellow-brown hair with specks of ivory mixed in. Her dress is long and white, the skirt huge and puffed out. But the man manages to stand next to her anyway—ditto for the overly large strollers that surround the two. White globs circle the couple. They are too big to be rocks. I squint at them. Maybe ghosts?
On their left is something that reminds me ofThe Last Supper, except there are seven men and seven women at the feast with little puppies—or kittens?—in colorful clothes crawling underneath the table. To the right of the couple is a house on a yellow cliff over pounding waves the color of fresh bruises.
And are those flying croissants, cupcakes and…a donut in the sky? They might be interesting interpretations of UFOs, except thematically they feel off because I just realized the thing that I thought was a glazed donut is actually a sapphire ring. It’s just that the stone is so big, I thought it was a glob of unblended paint.
Not an unfair assessment, based on the artistic talent displayed.
“Did you commission it?” I ask, debating what it’s supposed to represent. Or, if it’s a present, where I’m supposed to hang the thing.
“Commission it? Baby, Ididit.” Noah beams. “So every aspect isexactlythe way I envision things. This is actually my third try. The first two weren’t that great.”
“Oh. Well, third time’s the charm, and all that.” Now I’m morbidly curious what the first two were like. He looks at me expectantly, reminding me of Buster when he’s done something he believes is particularly clever. I smile, doing my best to appear excited. “Wow. It’s, um, amazing.”
“Thank you.” He laughs a little, the tips of his ears turning slightly red. A sheepish vulnerability tinges his smile, and I realize with unexpected tenderness that he knows his masterpiece is no da Vinci, but it was the best he could do.
I study the painting again. After the initial shock, it doesn’t seemthatbad. And most importantly, I appreciate the effort he put in.
