Page 80 of For the Love of Art

“Is this–” Nathan stopped, examining the canvas. “A new artist?”

He kept looking over the art, moving it closer and then further away from his face.

“It’s a little amateur, but if you selected it, there must be more to the story.” He had his business face on.

“It’s not a new artist,” I whispered.

“Is it a piece you bought somewhere and forgot?” he asked, sounding almost offended that I might’ve gone to another gallery.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Well, then, I’m confused. Where did it come from?” He looked back at the painting.

I squeezed my fingers as I finally admitted, “I painted it.”

Nathan’s eyes widened. “You?”

“Yes.”

He looked down at it, his expression no longer one of studying but filled with sadness. “Why doesn’t it look or feel happy?”

I shrugged. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t tell him that my painting looked unhappy because I was unhappy. I was unhappy that for every chance we had to be together, something got in the way- I got in the way. I couldn’t tell him I had feelings for him when I answered a call from my ex-husband on the night he confessed his. I had no explanations for my actions, only a deep sense that I needed to know what he and I could be. The overwhelm of my emotions and my inability to put them into words was more than I could handle, and a tear slipped from my eye.

Nathan placed the canvas down and reached out to wipe the tear away. “See? It’s a sad painting.”

I let out a small chuckle, which pushed more tears out. I looked down at the ground, not wanting Nathan to witness this, though whether I looked at him or not, he knew I was crying.

His forefinger went under my chin and lifted it, so I was looking at him. “What is it about?”

I searched his face. “You. Me. Us. Bow bridge is iconic for being a romantic meeting point, and despite wanting to meet you where you are, I keep–” I stopped and swallowed the lump in my throat. I tried to start again, but the lump had reformed, and I was scared if I spoke, the dam would burst, and I’d begin to ugly cry in front of him.

“Isla.” Nathan cupped my face, stroking my cheeks with his thumbs. It made everything worse. His face blurred as the tears freefell.

“Oh my God, this is so embarrassing, and I have to go back out there,” I said between sniffles and sobs.

“They’re fine.” Nathan searched my face. “We have all the time in the world, baby.”

“Th-th-that doesn’t ch-change this being embare-bare-embarrassing,” I stuttered.

“If I kissed you, would it make it less embarrassing?” he asked.

“You want to kiss me like this?” I sniffled.

“I want to kiss you every second of every day.” His hands moved from my face, over my shoulders, and stopped just above my elbows. He gripped me tight. “Tell me what you want.”

“You, Nathan. Isn’t it obvious?”

Nathan closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. “Please say I can kiss you, baby.”

“Yes.”

Nathan’s lips hit mine with force and passion, pushing me against the wall. I moaned as his tongue entered my mouth, his hands traveling down my waist and hips. My arms wrapped around his neck, and I sucked on his lower lip, eliciting a growl. He lifted the hem of my tight skirt so I could wrap my legs around him as we kissed.

He finally put me down and pressed his forehead to mine. We were both breathing heavily, and I’d never been more aroused.

“Fuck, I want to rip this dress off you and drive my cock into you until you scream,” Nathan said before biting my lower lip.

“Yes, please,” I breathed.