Zayne
“ANGEL,” I CALLED OUTto Ashrika. We stood in an art gallery two weeks after our...I wasn’t sure what to call what happened at Incognito. When Ashrika woke to find Trent gone, she seemed fine with it until two nights ago when I walked in on her crying in the kitchen. I tried asking her what was wrong, and she merely put it down to too much spice in the chili she’d just tasted. She’d moved into my bedroom and we made love a few times since but after the first three times, I sensed her restraint.
Thinking she needed to get away from the norm, I’d driven us to the countryside. So far, she appeared to be enjoying herself, to the point where she shared a full-on kiss with me after lunch and there was no reticence.
“Do you like it?” she sidled up to me and stared at the painting of a little girl pointing at something.
“I can’t decide if I love it.” I grinned, admiring the way the painter had captured the little girl’s expression as if she was desperately looking for something.
“Don’t buy it.”
I glanced at her. “You seem sure about that.”
She shrugged. “I mean if you’re going to have to look at it every day or often, you should love it without any reservations.”
“You feel that way about relationships too?” I asked without thinking.
“Who said anything about relationships?” She looked away but wasn’t quick enough to hide her wistful smile.
“Show me your favorite painting, angel.” I changed the topic, for the moment, yet in my heart I knew I had to address it at some point.
Nodding, she directed me to a painting on the opposite wall. It was one of a little girl sitting on a fence. The look on her face indicated she appeared to be contemplating on which side of the fence she needed to get down. “Fitting,” I whispered not realizing Ashrika heard me.
“Why?” she asked.
Slowly, I turned to face her and linked my fingers with hers. “You miss him, don’t you?”
She frowned. “Who?” even though she asked, I could tell she knew to whom I referred.
“I won’t break, baby.” I brushed the back of my fingers gently down her cheek. “You don’t need to hide your true feelings from me.”
“I’m not.”
Sighing, I turned to the painting and scanned the bottom to find the name of the artist. I looked up as a woman around fifty or sixty, I couldn’t be sure, walked through an inner door.
She smiled at us. “That’s the last of the two paintings I have left of the artist.”
Curious, I asked, “Which is the other one?”
She pointed to the other one with the little girl I was indecisive about.
Next to me, Ashrika laughed. “It’s the same painter. So, you can take either one.”
Smiling, I turned to the older woman. “Are you the gallery owner?”
“My daughter is, I just help out. She’s off on a week’s holiday with her husband. I’m Mary by the way and unfortunately, these two paintings are not for sale.”
“Oh, no,” Ashrika moaned.
I gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Why are these the last two paintings?” I asked Mary.
