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Max burst out laughing, nearly sloshing his coffee over the edge of his cup before he steadied it and smiled at her.
“Nahhh. I think the yellow is to cast a slight reflection, so the white doesn’t look like a massive hole on the canvas. I always thought it was so fascinating that you could dabble in colors to give shadows of light and dark where you least expected it,” and he turned back to the window, giving her a chance to admire his profile… and the way his mind worked. “See? If there weren’t all of those highlights, those shadows, and so many hidden facets to a scene, then life would be completely boring. We need those colors, those differences, to make us real and vibrant.”
And to her shock, the words slipped past her before she realized what she was saying.
“What colors would you use to paint me?”
His beautiful eyes turned to her and softened as he spoke.
“I don’t know that I could do you justice,” he whispered openly. “How do you capture something that is beyond comprehension? That would be like me saying, ‘What color is happiness?’ or ‘What color is the soul?’. It means so many different things to so many people,” he spoke, not holding back and Daphne felt something turn over in her chest. “I think I would start with what would be easiest though…”
“What’s that?” she asked hoarsely, completely enthralled as he reached out to touch a lock of her hair.
“I would start here, layering shades of burnt umber, raw sienna, yellow ochre, some reds, a bit of browns, and… I think if I were to try it, I would use a palette knife and not a brush,” he said, completely lost in his thoughts as he stared at the lock of her hair between his fingers. “A brush would not show the curls and waves, but I think you could with the edge of a palette knife.”
“Have you ever painted before?”
“No. I’ve just watched a lot and dreamed of it.”
“You should try it sometime…”
“Maybe someday,” he said quietly, looking away.
“What would be the hardest to paint?” she asked, utterly fascinated at this unexpected side of her soldier. “You said you’d start with the easiest – so what would be the hardest thing to paint on my picture?”
And saw him turn back to her as he put down his cup on the windowsill, scooting closer. He put his thumb on her chin, turning her face slightly towards the windowsill and nodded.
“What?” she asked, unable to help herself.
“Your eyes would be the hardest to paint,” he said tenderly, and she swallowed at the emotion laced in those few words. “I adore your eyes and how they reflect every feeling inside of you. It’s like two orbs of the darkest cocoa or obsidian held up to a fire, where the light shines through the thin edges. There’s a brilliance, a light in there, and it’s not a pure brown or a deep black, but so many facets laced in those shadows. Paintings are flat, and those spectacular eyes are anything but that. They are breathtakingly beautiful and so complex that I would be nervous to even try to capture some of that glory before me,” he hesitated and pulled his hand away… only for her to catch it.
They stared at each other for several minutes, neither saying a word, and she realized that no matter how scary it felt being tied to someone, it was in moments like this that she wanted to know more about him. She wanted to see what he would paint someday and hoped he would try his hand at it eventually.
Max could have asked where she was last night and demanded an explanation as to why she didn’t return to the hospital – but he didn’t. That wasn’t him. He wanted her at his side, but only if she wanted to be there.
“Maybe you could try painting something simple like the sunrise over the ocean,” she breathed faintly, knowing what she was alluding to. “Or maybe a sunset in the Everglades. I think I would like to see you try your hand at it someday.”
“You would?”
“It’s taking me some time to adjust, but I would like to see the world through your eyes… to see those colors and how you see them.”
“Daphne,” he breathed, his beautiful eyes so full of hope and longing that it instantly made her own burn with unshed tears as she blinked nervously, glancing away, smiling, before looking back at him.
“Maybe we take this one step at a time,” she said thickly and nodded. “And if we need to use crutches along the way, sidestep something, or just adjust our pace, then we keep going… a little at a time.”
“I would love that. Can you pinch me, please?”
“Yeah,” she chuckled tearfully, moving to pinch him slightly on his arm. “If you’ll do the same – just to be on the safe side.”
“Of course,” he laughed joyfully, moving to pinch her lightly. “Friends?”
“Friends,” she nodded. “We might be married, but let’s start this all over again with the basics as friends.”
He held up his coffee cup almost in a mock toast to her – and she tipped hers slightly, tapping it against his.
“To friendship, steps taken despite how different they may be, and taking a chance to see the world together someday.”
“Amen,” he said softly as they both took a sip – and hesitated. “Can I still celebrate our wedding anniversary on the actual date, or do we start from this moment forward?”
