The owner of the motel stared at me with suspicion, while my eyes followed the girl until she reached her room on the ground floor. She opened it, and once I heard her lock the door, I sighed in relief.
Ignoring the stare from the motel owner who might have been thinking that I was some kind of creepy stalker, I walked off.
While I was heading back to the house Victor had bought to stay in almost every winter, I couldn't help but curse under my breath again.
What a stupid and troublesome girl. I hoped that I wouldn'tencounter her again.
24
________
LUKE
Seven years ago
The day after, the weather was different. The air was still a bit cool, but the sky was bright and blue. The sun warmed the town as it cast its rays.
I didn't know what the hell I was doing, but I must have been crazy, because right at that very moment, I was arranging Victor's equipment to paint the lake and mountain view before me, joining real artists who were making their masterpieces in this public space.
I placed the wooden table easel in front of me, put the canvas in place and sat on the stool.
Wait. Since when could I paint? Was I not a terrible painter?
The hell with that. Taking a deep breath, I took the brush and dipped it in some color, but before I could touch the canvas, I stopped.
Victor had said that painting made him calm. He'd said that it didn't matter what my painting looked like—because no matter what I created, it was art that only I myself could understand.
I wanted to be calm today, so I'd decided to give this a shot. But now that I stared at the blank canvas before me, and even though I was surrounded by this breathtaking view, I didn't know what I wanted to paint.
I didn't know what could make me calm the restlessness in my heart. I didn't know what I should do to make all the problems in my life feel like they were vanishing.
And then I realized that I was doing all of this because I missed my brother. I just wanted to know what he was feeling when he did this.
I wanted to experience what he loved to do. I wanted to be in his favorite place in the world. I wanted to feel his happiness when he was swept away by his own imaginary world as he swiped his brush on the canvas.
While I was lost in my thoughts, someone put money on the wooden easel. Startled, I looked up.
It was the girl from last night. She was wearing a creme wool sweater, jeans and a pair of brown boots, letting her long wavy chestnut hair loose.
"I want myself painted with that background." She pointed at the hills and mountain, the same cheerful voice I heard last night echoing back in my ears—only now, it was the sober version.
What the fuck?
Without waiting for my response, she giggled and settled herself on the bench in front of me, pointing again at the view she wanted to have as the background.
My jaw dropped. I snapped my head toward the real artists next to me. Indeed, some of them were getting paid for drawing or painting their customers.
But I was no real artist. Hell, I couldn't even remember the last time I'd painted.
But the stupid girl in front of me looked damn excited as she sat on the bench.
Should I paint her? She might faint when she saw the result later.
My gaze darted to her as she turned her head, giving me the perfect angle for her side view. She closed her eyes, enjoying the wind as it caressed her long hair.
It was the same expression that I'd seen last night. The same contentment. It was as if she was breathing freely after being caged for a long time, like she was a bird who recently learned how to fly.
When she opened her eyes, a small smile tugged at her lips. And I didn't know how this happened, but I couldn't stop staring at her.
