When The Storm Settles II
When I finished, I climbed off the stool and stepped back to take a better look at my creation. “Oh, he’s so sad,” I muttered, pouting. I felt as though I had painted his soul.
I decided to give the painting to him, so I added a finishing touch. A note. I made it more artistic than anything I’d ever done before. My heart raced as I picked up the board and dashed downstairs.
The door slammed loudly behind me as I ran across the street to hand him the painting. He was standing up, about to walk away. “Wait!” I called out. He paused but didn’t turn around. My gaze suddenly fell to the rose. Its beautiful petals had been torn off the stem.
I rounded him and stretched out the board, lowering my face down. He towered over me. His cologne, a warm note of oud and tonka bean, lingered in the air, mingled with the earthy scent of the rain. Too much for being a perfume freak. I smirked.
I suddenly found the courage to look up at his face. It was perfect. The jawline, his eyes, his teeth. They all screamed perfection. My head spun. I hadn’t realized how beautiful it was until that moment. His gaze was fixed on the words I had signed on the board: “The universe will heal your heart.”
He raised a brow but managed to mutter “Thank you.” I could sense sincerity in his so I nodded, folding my hands behind my back. “You’re welcome."
“You live up on that floor, don’t you?” His voice was deeper this time and it shook the walls of my heart, somehow mending it.
“I do,” I stammered, realizing he must have seen me watching.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, his eyes still lingering on the painting. He seemed deeply hurt, and before I could stop myself, I hugged him.
My arms barely reached around his waist, and my head rested against his chest. His heartbeat was fast at first, then gradually calmed. Tears spilled from my eyes. I needed the hug too, much more than I had realized.
“Coffee? Tomorrow? Same time?” he asked without pulling away.
I nodded, and he wrapped an arm around me briefly. Warmth spread through me and my stomach flipped. I think I was falling for this stranger. His pain was somehow healing my soul.
“I’ll come knocking,” he said, pulling away with the painting in hand. He clutched it to his chest, and I felt a rush of pride. For once, someone saw my art and appreciated it.
“Coffee. Tomorrow,” I sang, swaying happily as I walked back home.