Page 73 of Before I Lost You

“That was the result of finding someone on Grindr.” I swallow hard and nod. “Youhaveheard of that app, right?”

“Uh—” I nod. “I’ve used it in the past.”

Kenneth nods, “I don’t really do relationships if I’m being one-hundred percent honest with you. I’m not even sure why I agreed to go out with you—no offense.”

My hands shake slightly. “None taken.” But my voice sounds small.

“Hey, I’m glad I did.” His eyes turn soft, reminding me of how he used to look at me once upon a time. I miss his eyes like that, giving me something he didn’t give anyone else. “I can tell this is going to be a lot of fun.”

I want to tell him I hope it’s fun enough to give me another chance to take him out on a second date. I want to beg him tolet me be his boyfriend again. Instead, I look toward the front of the room because the art teacher has started setting up her own canvas. I picked this place because I knew what Kenneth would love, and by the look on his face when my gaze shifts to him again, I’ve accomplished what I set out to do.

The painting we’re recreating today is of a sunset at the beach. It’s supposed to be for beginners, but I’m not going to lie, it looks way more advanced than I thought it would. Kenneth doesn’t look the least bit intimidated, and I know it’s because he’s had art classes in the past and paints as a hobby. I’ve never seen him in action, though, and I want to kick myself for not bringing him here before—backthen.

Kenneth opens the wine bottle, which has a screw top, and pours us both a glass. I take mine and clink it against his when he lifts it toward me. He looks into my eyes as he takes a small sip, then smiles widely when he sets it down on the table, dimples on full display. I have to look away so I don’t look like a love-struck fool, but that’s exactly how I feel. Still head over fucking heels for this man. I don’t think that’s ever going to change. He’s in my bone marrow. In my heart. In my veins. I can’t get rid of him without something vital going with him. And I don’t want to try.

Our eyes shift to the front of the room so we can pay attention to what the teacher is saying, and then someone comes over with paint palettes ready for us to start. I look over at Kenneth, who looks like a kid in a candy shop, and smile. He’s focused on his task, mixing colors and beginning to stroke the brush across the canvas in fluid movements. The scene is already sketched for us, so all we have to do is fill it in with paint. I’m too focused on him to even get started, and when he turns toward me, he frowns.

“Are you going to paint?” he asks, and I smile.

“I was having fun just looking at you if I’m being honest,” I reply, and he flushes a pretty shade of bubblegum pink. “And you’re going to laugh at me…”

Kenneth raises an eyebrow. “Why would I laugh?”

“I’ve never painted before.” I shrug, embarrassed.

“Really?” He looks surprised, eyes wide but twinkling. “So I’m your first?” The way he says it with his little smirk sends a shiver down my spine, reminding me of something else I gave to him first.

“I guess you are,” I tell him softly, chuckling.

“Oh, I like that way more than I should.” He grins, then leans over and grabs the paint palette on my side of the table. He takes my brush out of the water and taps it inside the cup a few times, then holds it out to me. “I’ll teach you.”

I smile tentatively, then take the paintbrush, our fingers meeting in a small touch that sends a bolt of lightning up my arm. He’s so warm, and the small contact is threatening to send me over the edge. How am I supposed to be so close to him, yet so far away? How do I sit through the next few hours without touching him at all? How do I come to terms with the fact that he’s not mine anymore?

Then Kenneth does something completely unexpected, wrapping his fingers over mine and directing them to the paint. He mixes green and blue together, then strokes the brush over the canvas to paint the water. The color is striking, beautiful, almost matching the way his eyes look with the shirt he’s wearing. It makes my stomach do a little flip, and I’m suddenly feeling breathless. I try to hold my breath for a moment, then take a deep inhale, but it doesn’t stop my hand from shaking in his. He looks at me, surprised, but then goes back to his task—directing my hand over the canvas until I’ve gotten the hang of it.

“Now you try it,” he says softly, letting go of me. I miss the heat of his body immediately, but I try to smile and turn back to thepainting instead of him. I tentatively stroke the paintbrush over the canvas, recreating the movements he taught me, and before long, I see something come to life right before my eyes. When I look at him with wide eyes, he smiles. “You’re doing great, sweetheart.”

My abdomen tightens at the nickname, giving me a physical reaction I didn’t realize was still possible over something so simple. I force myself to smile instead of faint, like my body wants to, and then he picks up his brush and starts painting his own sunset at the beach. It’s hard to focus on mine when I want to watch him instead, but when he gives me little encouraging smiles and tips his chin at my painting, stopping to stare, I give in and get back to work.

We both spend time painting, but before long, I grow exasperated. I want to ask him about himself, but I’m afraid of having the same conversations we used to. What if fate repeats itself? What if—

“So, Conrad…” Kenneth stops painting to look at me briefly. My brows rise as I wait for him to talk. “Did you play any sports growing up?”

It’s a random question, but I guess it opens the door to a conversation, so I nod. “I played hockey. I gave it up after college, though. I was more focused on my career anyway.”

“Did you have a scholarship?” he asks, painting again.

“Yeah.” I nod even though he can’t see me. I get back to painting now, too, trying not to think too hard about my answers. I want to get to know him, want him to know me too—again. “I had a full ride.”

“Bet your parents are proud of you,” Ken says softly, looking at me. When I swallow hard, he frowns.

“Uh—yeah.” I swallow again, my throat constricting. “My dad was especially proud when I graduated. It’s all I ever wanted—to make him proud.”

Kenneth frowns. “Is your dad—”

“Dead?” I finish, then nod. “Yes.”

He clears his throat, “I’m sorry. Can I ask what happened?”